The Complete Works of Henry Kirke White: With an Account of His Life

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J. H. A. Frost, 1829 - English poetry - 420 pages

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Page 348 - He bowed the heavens also, and came down : and darkness was under His feet. And He rode upon a cherub, and did fly : yea, He did fly upon the wings of the wind.
Page 124 - Hark ! hark ! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem.
Page 124 - It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moored, my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star, the Star of Bethlehem.
Page 349 - Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters, and maketh the clouds his chariot, and walketh upon the wings of the wind.
Page 198 - And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart. Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which...
Page 284 - We know whom we have believed, and are persuaded that he is able to keep that which we have committed unto him against that day.
Page 139 - Tis passing strange, to mark his fallacies: Behold him proudly view some pompous pile, Whose high dome swells to emulate the skies, And smile, and say, my name shall live with this Till Time shall be no more...
Page 28 - O'er Beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away. Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid.
Page 85 - ... Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands, And thou dost bear within thine awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet. Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud, and wind, Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon, Or on the red wing of the fierce Monsoon, : / Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. In the drear silence of the polar span Dost thou repose ? or in the solitude Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ? Vain...
Page 27 - Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven, For thou severe wert sent from heaven To wean me from the world ; To turn my eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die.

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