The Poetical Works of George Herbert

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Little, Brown and Company, 1855 - 315 pages
 

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Page 192 - ... double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not; forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands, 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 232 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things thee to see, And what I do in any thing, To do it as for thee...
Page 200 - I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature : So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast.
Page 191 - COLLAR. 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...
Page 20 - Judge not the preacher, for he is thy judge : If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. The worst speak something good. If all want sense, God takes a text and preacheth patience.
Page 104 - The dew shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die. 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.
Page 115 - Honour the Lord with thy substance, and with the first fruits of all thine increase: So shall thy barns be filled with plenty, and thy presses shall burst out with new wine.
Page 43 - With Thee O let me rise As larks, harmoniously, And sing this day Thy victories : Then shall the fall further the flight in me.
Page 7 - By all means use sometimes to be alone. Salute thyself : see what thy soul doth wear. Dare to look in thy chest ; for 'tis thine own : And tumble up and down what thou find'st there.
Page 60 - O rack me not to such a vast extent; Those distances belong to thee : The world's too little for thy tent, A grave too big for me.

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