The Bee: A Collection of Poems, Chiefly Designed for the Young

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Joseph Blundell, 187, Great Britain-Street, 1828 - 180 páginas
 

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lightly o lighty i just write some words.the poems on natures are most good as per i belive

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Página 83 - Though in the paths of death I tread. With gloomy horrors overspread, My steadfast heart shall fear no ill, For thou, O Lord ! art with me still; Thy friendly crook shall give me aid, And guide me through the dreadful shade.
Página 94 - If I am right, Thy grace impart Still in the right to stay ; If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart To find that better way!
Página 55 - There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest...
Página 153 - From all that dwell below the skies, Let the Creator's praise arise ; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2. Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word : Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Página 154 - Mercies, O my God, My rising Soul surveys; Transported with the View, I'm lost In Wonder, Love, and Praise. W! O how shall Words with equal Warmth The Gratitude declare That glows within my Ravish'd Heart ! But thou canst read it there. Thy Providence my Life sustain'd And all my Wants redrest, When in the silent Womb I lay, And hung upon the Breast.
Página 115 - And darkness and doubt are now flying away, No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb ! EARLY PIETY.
Página 41 - Tis the voice of the sluggard ; I heard him complain, " You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again." As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. "A little more sleep, and a little more slumber...
Página 67 - THERE is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign ; Infinite 'day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.
Página 144 - For though in dreadful whirls we hung High on the broken wave, I knew thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save.

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