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If intermingled in the tomb with kings,
Mark if his birth make any difference,
Be just in all you say and all you do;
Alas! this day First gave me birth, and (which is strange to tell) The fates e'er since, as watching its return, Have caught it as it flew, and mark'd it deep With something great; extremes of good or ill.
Young. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting, The soul that rises with us, our life's star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
And not in utter nakedness,
From God, who is our home. Wordsworth.
Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said, “Were he ordained to run
He would do all that he had done.”
In sober birthdays speaks to me;
Haply for high and pure designs,
Upon unholy earthly shrines.
If any white-wing'd power above
My joys and griefs survey,
He surely bless'd that day.
And gladly shall my eyes,
My heart is with thee o'er the seas,
Before I wept upon thy knees. Willis.
I've learned to judge of men by their own deeds,
That word possessed in earlier years!
Now it but dims mine eye with tears;
When birthdays had for me a charm,
Mrs. C. B. Wilson.
What crowding thoughts it brings;
Where hope eternal springs.
Recalls to mind the past,
Of joys too pure to last. E. N. Marks.
FRIENDS now fast sworn
There lived a poet in this town,
The heart's enchantment o'er;
It can be charmed no more.—Miss Landon,
BLADDER. That huge great body which the giant bore, Was vanquished quite, and of that monstrous mass Was nothing left, but like an empty bladder was.
Spenser. I have ventured Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, These many summers, on a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth; my high-blown pride At length broke under me.
Shakspere. This same world of ours; 'Tis but a pool amid, a storm of rain, And we the air bladders that course up and down, And joust and tilt in every tournament; And when one bubble runs foul of another, The weaker needs must break.
Shall do a court'sy to our wrath, which men
Donne, Each finding, like a friend, Something to blame, and something to commend.
Pope. Fond man, the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream, and shadow of a shade! What worlds hast thou produced, what creatures
framed, What insects cherished, that thy God is blamed?
BLASPHEMY. We cannot weigh our brother with ourself. Great men may jest with saints; 't is wit in them; But, in the less, foul profanation. That in the captain 's but a choleric word, Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. Shakspere.
O man, take heed how thou the Gods do move,
To cause full wrath, which thou canst not resist; Blasphemous words the speaker vain do prove.
Sir P. Sidney. And dar’st thou to the Son of God propound To worship thee accurst; now more accurst For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve, And more blasphemous.
Milton. Should each blasphemer quite escape the rod, Because the insult's not to man, but God? Pope. Deny the curst blasphemer's tongue to rage, And turn God's fury from an impious age.--Tickell.
They would defy That which they loved most tenderly; Quarrel with minced pies, and disparage Their best and dearest friend, plum-porridge; Fat pig and goose itself oppose, And blaspheme custard thro’ their nose. Butler.
Shakspere. Blessed be that great power that hath us blessed With longer life than earth or heaven can have.
Davies. He that neglects a blessing, though he want A present knowledge how to use it, Neglects himself.
Beaumont and Fletcher.
Man never is, but always to be blest.
THESE eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and eer Right onward. What supports mé, dost thou ask?