My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.
The mind doth shape itself to its own wants, and can bear all things.
O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues halt thou.
The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial; but there doth live a Power that to the battle girdeth the weak.
I believe this earth on which we stand is but the vestibule to glorious mansions through which a moving crowd forever press.
Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base; Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.
Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod, And sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting the soul.
The tyrant now Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend He now dare trust.
Words of affection, howsoe'er expressed, The latest spoken still are deem'd the best.
Good-morrow to thy sable beak, And glossy plumage, dark and sleek, Thy crimson moon and azure eye
To make the cunning artless, tame the rude, subdue the haughty, shake the undaunted soul; yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth, and lead him forth as a domestic cur,--these are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty.
War is honorable In those who do their native rights maintain; In those whose swords an iron barrier are Between the lawless spoiler and the weak; But is, in those who draw th' offensive blade For added power or gain, sordid and despicable As meanest office of the worldly churl.
Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot; Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes; Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.
Stand there, damn'd meddling villain, and be silent; For if thou utt'rest but a single word, A cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I'll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, To bellow with the damn'd!
A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
There is a sight all hearts beguiling-- A youthful mother to her infant smiling, Who with spread arms and dancing feet, A cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.
I am as one Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height, And having gained what to the upcast eye The summit's point appear'd, astonished sees Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, Towering aloft, as distant as before.
Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.
The inward sighs of humble penitence Rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal'd hymns Are scatter'd with the sounds of common air.
The plainest case in many words entangling.
It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.
Tis ever thus when favours are denied; All had been granted but the thing we beg: And still some great unlikely substitute-- Your life, your soul, your all of earthly good-- Is proffer'd, in the room of one small boon.
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