Mrs. Greville, Volume 3

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Page 178 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports...
Page 290 - And strews her lights below, And deepens on and up ! the gates Roll back, and far within For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, To make me pure of sin. The sabbaths of Eternity, One sabbath deep and wide — A light upon the shining sea — The Bridegroom with his bride ! SIR GALAHAD.
Page 244 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown ; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and...
Page 76 - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, ^ That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Page 152 - THEN our heads are bowed with woe, •• When our bitter tears o'erflow, When we mourn the lost, the dear, Jesus, Son of Mary, hear...
Page 262 - All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow, All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her bosom, Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured,
Page 287 - O, but they say the tongues of dying men Enforce attention like deep harmony : Where words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
Page 69 - Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant There's nothing serious in mortality: All is but toys: renown and grace is dead ; The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees Is left this vault to brag of.
Page 287 - More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before: The setting sun, and music at the close, As the last taste of sweets, is sweetest last ; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past I Though Richard my life's counsel would not hear, My death's sad tale may yet undeaf his ear.
Page 274 - Out, alas! she's cold; Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated. Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.

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