Dear old England: a description of our fatherland

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James Nisbet and Company, 1872 - Christian life - 458 pages
 

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Page 308 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Page 124 - The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage ; But when his fair course is not hindered, He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones, Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge He overtaketh in his pilgrimage, And so by many winding nooks he strays, With willing sport, to the wild ocean.
Page 452 - God ! mine inmost soul convert ! And deeply on my thoughtful heart Eternal things impress ; Give me to feel their solemn weight, And tremble on the brink of fate, And wake to righteousness.
Page 277 - ... houses all in one flame! The noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches was like...
Page 308 - This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new open'd : O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes...
Page 362 - leap out — leap out;' bang, bang the sledges go: Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low — A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow; The leathern mail rebounds the hail, the rattling cinders strow The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow, And thick and loud the swinking crowd at every stroke pant 'ho!
Page 378 - Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear, That mourns thy exit from a world like this ; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, And stayed thy progress to the seats of bliss • No more confined to grov'ling scenes of night, No more a tenant pent in mortal clay, Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight, And trace thy journey to the realms of day.

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