Forget-me-not: Or, the Philipena

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Dayton & Wentworth, 1853 - English poetry - 128 pages

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Page 14 - I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn ; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away...
Page 84 - Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven ; All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.
Page 14 - I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing; And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing: My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow!
Page 23 - FOR what shall I praise thee, my. God and my king? For what blessings the tribute of gratitude bring ? Shall I praise thee for pleasure, for health, and for ease ? For the spring of delight, and the sunshine of peace ? Shall I praise thee...
Page 38 - Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange For Deity offended ! When ranting round in pleasure's ring. Religion may be blinded ; Or, if she gie a random sting, It may be little minded ; But when on life we're tempest-driv'n, A conscience but a canker — A correspondence fix'd wi...
Page 38 - LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, A something to have sent you, Tho' it should serve nae ither end Than just a kind memento ; But how the subject theme may gang, Let time and chance determine ; Perhaps, it may turn out a sang, Perhaps, turn out a sermon.
Page 15 - I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. It was a childish ignorance, — But now 'tis little joy: To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy ! THOMAS HOOD.
Page 25 - To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. Ages and climes remote to Thee impart What charms in Genius, and refines in Art ; Thee, in whose hand the keys of Science dwell, The pensive portress of her holy cell ; Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.
Page 83 - Through scenes of tumult while we roam, The heart, alas ! is ne'er at home, It hopes in time to roam no more; The mariner, not vainly brave, Combats the storm, and rides the wave, To rest at last on shore. Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe, How vain your mask of state! The good alone have joy sincere, The good alone are great : ODE ON LORD H**'s BIRTH- DAY.
Page 13 - With ardour as intense, as pure, As when, amidst the rites divine, I took thy troth, and plighted mine, To thee, sweet girl, my second ring A token and a pledge I bring : With this I wed, till death us part, Thy riper virtues to my heart; Those virtues which, before untried, The wife has added to the bride : Those virtues, whose progressive claim, Endearing wedlock's very name, My soul enjoys, my song approves, For conscience

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