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Page 266 - Like the vase, in which roses have once been distilled — You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will. But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
Page 251 - tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow.
Page 41 - Rome, we skim off the cream of other men's wits, pick the choice flowers of their tilled gardens to set out our own sterile plots. . . . [W]e weave the same web still, twist the same rope again and again.
Page 269 - Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall: Lord of himself, though not of lands, And, having nothing, yet hath all.
Page 118 - Locked in so gloomy a dwelling ; My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down, While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Page 255 - But let Affliction pour its smart ; How soon we quail beneath the rod : With shattered pride and prostrate heart ; We seek the long-forgotten God.
Page 64 - A soft answer turneth away wrath : but grievous words stir up anger.
Page 57 - I know, and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself: but to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is unclean.