The Works of George Herbert: PoetryW. Pickering, 1846 |
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Page vi
... tell him , he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have paffed betwixt God and my foul , before I could fubject mine to the will of Jefus my mafter , in whofe fervice I have now found perfect freedom ; defire ...
... tell him , he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual conflicts that have paffed betwixt God and my foul , before I could fubject mine to the will of Jefus my mafter , in whofe fervice I have now found perfect freedom ; defire ...
Page 3
... tell another's jeft , therein Omit the oaths , which true wit cannot need : Pick out of tales the mirth , but not the fin . He pares his apple that will cleanly feed . Play not away the virtue of that name , Which is thy beft ftake ...
... tell another's jeft , therein Omit the oaths , which true wit cannot need : Pick out of tales the mirth , but not the fin . He pares his apple that will cleanly feed . Play not away the virtue of that name , Which is thy beft ftake ...
Page 4
... tell lies , and those that fear the rod ; The ftormy working foul fpits lies and froth . Dare to be true . Nothing can need a lie : A fault , which needs it most , grows two thereby . Fly idleness , which yet thou canst not fly By ...
... tell lies , and those that fear the rod ; The ftormy working foul fpits lies and froth . Dare to be true . Nothing can need a lie : A fault , which needs it most , grows two thereby . Fly idleness , which yet thou canst not fly By ...
Page 29
... tell the tale is told . My God , my God , why doft thou part from me ? Was fuch a grief as cannot be . Shall I then fing , skipping , thy doleful story , And fide with thy triumphant glory ? Shall thy strokes be my stroking ? thorns ...
... tell the tale is told . My God , my God , why doft thou part from me ? Was fuch a grief as cannot be . Shall I then fing , skipping , thy doleful story , And fide with thy triumphant glory ? Shall thy strokes be my stroking ? thorns ...
Page 33
... tell ? Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes ? Or , fince one ftar fhow'd thy firft breath , Shall all thy death ? Or fhall each leaf , Which falls in Autumn , score a grief ? Or cannot leaves , but fruit , be fign Of the true ...
... tell ? Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes ? Or , fince one ftar fhow'd thy firft breath , Shall all thy death ? Or fhall each leaf , Which falls in Autumn , score a grief ? Or cannot leaves , but fruit , be fign Of the true ...
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Common terms and phrases
aftra againſt alſo anſwer atque Becauſe beſt bleffed bliſs blood breaſt Cathari Christopher Harvey Church cloſe croſs Cùm dear death decus defire didſt doth duft e'en earth eyes faid fame fear ferve fhall fhow thyself fide figh fince fing firſt fleſh fome forrow foul ftill fuch fure fweet glaſs glory grace grief hæc hand hath heart heaven Herbert himſelf holy houſe laſt leaſt lefs loft Lord meaſure mihi moſt mufic muſt nunc paſs pleaſe pleaſure pofy poor preſent quæ Quin raiſe reft reſt reſtore roſe ſay ſee ſeek ſerve ſhall ſhame ſhe ſhine ſhould ſhow ſky ſpeak ſphere ſpirit ſtand ſtars ſtate ſtay ſtill ſtone ſtore ſtory ſtraight ſtrange ſtrength ſweet Synagogue taſte tears thee theſe thine things thoſe thou art thou didst thou doft thy praiſe tibi treaſure unto uſe verſe whofe whoſe wind
Popular passages
Page 203 - I aspire To a full consent. Not a word or look I affect to own, But by book, And thy book alone. Though I fail, I weep : Though I halt in pace, Yet I creep To the throne of grace.
Page 215 - I, the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah, my dear ! I cannot look on thee.' Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, 'Who made the eyes but I ?' 'Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame Go where it doth deserve.
Page 118 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...
Page 228 - My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames ? Doth Poetry Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ? Why are not Sonnets made of thee ? and lays Upon thine altar burnt ? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight...
Page 98 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Page 172 - Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed: I will abroad. Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load.
Page 171 - I STRUCK the board and cried, " No more ! I will abroad. What, shall I ever sigh and pine ? My lines and life are free ; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit ? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit ? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it : there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only lost to me ? Have I no...
Page 82 - A better lodging, than a rack, or grave. THE shepherds sing ; and shall I silent be ? My God, no hymn for thee ? My soul's a shepherd too ; a flock it feeds Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. The pasture is thy word ; the streams, thy grace Enriching all the place. Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers Out-sing the daylight hours.
Page 91 - ... Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie. My music shows ye have your closes. And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives ; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
Page 1 - THOU, whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure : A verse may find him, who a Sermon flies, And turn delight into a Sacrifice.