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It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hand to borrow good words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work of grace only from above.
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When I consider how my light is spent,Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,And that one talent which is death to hideLodged with me useless.
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And the jocund rebecks soundTo many a youth, and many a maid,Dancing in the checkered shade.And young and old come forth to playOn a sunshine holiday.
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O impotence of mind, in body strong! But what is strength without a double share Of wisdom, vast, unwieldy, burdensome, Proudly secure, yet liable to fall By weakest subtleties, not made to rule, But to subserve where wisdom bears command.
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Who shall silence all the airs and madrigals that whisper softness in chambers?
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For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.
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O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
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Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
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Such sober certainty of waking bliss.
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Angels contented with their face in heaven, Seek not the praise of men.
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Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise...
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
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From that high mount of God whence light and shade Spring both, the face of brightest heaven had changed To grateful twilight.
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Innumerable as the stars of night, Or stars of morning, dewdrops which the sun Impearls on every leaf and every flower.
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As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?
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The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.
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From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.
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Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day.
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Nor turned I ween Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites Mysterious of connubial love refused: Whatever hypocrites austerely talk Of purity and place and innocence, Defaming as impure what God declares Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all.
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And I will place within them as a guide My umpire conscience, whom if they will hear Light after light well used they shall attain, And to the end persisting, safe arrive.
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He who reigns within himself and rules passions, desires, and fears is more than a king.
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If all the world Should in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse, Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Th' All-giver would be unthank'd, would be unprais'd.
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Joking decides great things, Stronger and better oft than earnest can.