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Page 55 - O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'er-flowing full.
Page 197 - Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth ; and the heavens are the work of thy hands. They shall perish, but thou shall endure ; yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment ; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed : But thou art the same, and thy years shall have no end.
Page 184 - Who hath sent out the wild ass free ? or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass ? Whose house I have made the wilderness, and the barren land his dwellings. He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth he the crying of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture, and he searcheth after every green thing.
Page 690 - I have set the LORD always before me : Because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
Page 314 - Their orators thou then extoll'st as those The top of eloquence — statists indeed, And lovers of their country, as may seem ; But herein to our Prophets far beneath, As men divinely taught, and better teaching The solid rules of civil government, In their majestic, unaffected style, Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome.
Page 197 - Of old hast THOU laid the foundation of the earth : And the heavens are the work of thy hands. They shall perish, but THOU shalt endure : Yea, all of them shall wax old like a garment ; As a vesture shalt THOU change them, and they shall be changed : But THOU art the same, And thy years shall have no end. The children of thy servants shall continue, And their seed shall be established before thee.
Page 625 - And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, And all Arabia breathes from yonder box ; The tortoise here and elephant unite, Transformed to combs, the speckled, and the white.
Page 47 - Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it. Time hath spared the epitaph of Adrian's horse, confounded that of himself. In vain we compute our felicities by the advantage of our good names, since bad have equal durations, and Thersites is like to live as long as Agamemnon.