The Works of Hannah More, Volume 1

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T. Cadell, 1830

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Page 247 - Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast.
Page 137 - Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils : for wherein is he to be accounted of?
Page 391 - Thammuz came next behind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties, all a summer's day; While smooth Adonis from his native rock Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded...
Page 175 - Since trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs ; Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease, And though but few can serve, yet all may please; O let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence. To spread large bounties though we wish in vain, Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain...
Page 161 - The soul on earth is an immortal guest, Compelled to starve at an unreal feast : A spark, which upward tends by nature's force -. A stream, diverted from its parent source ; A drop, dissevered from the boundless sea ; A moment, parted from eternity ; A pilgrim, panting for the rest to come ; An exile, anxious for his native home.
Page 72 - Dissever'd each from each, ere long to feed The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well! Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks...
Page 69 - Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief? What victor king, what gen'ral drench'd in blood. Claims this high privilege? What are his rights ? What proud credentials does the boaster bring To prove his claim? W:hat cities laid in ashes? What ruin'd provinces? What slaughter'd realms? What heads of heroes, and what hearts of kings, In battle kill'd, or at his altars slain.
Page 174 - As words are but th' external marks to tell The fair ideas in the mind that dwell ; And only are of things the outward sign, And not the things themselves they but define ; So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears, And all the graceful...
Page 24 - Fountain of Mercy! whose pervading eye Can look within and read what passes : there, Accept my thoughts for thanks ! I have no words. My soul, o'erfraught with gratitude, rejects The aid of language Lord!
Page 35 - O bienheureux mille fois L'enfant que le Seigneur aime, Qui de bonne heure entend sa voix, Et que ce Dieu daigne instruire lui-même...

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