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Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
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The only amarantine flower on earth Is virtue.
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Our love is principle, and has its root In reason, is judicious, manly, free.
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Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires Their balmy odors, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the seaside sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth Happy who walks with him!
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Man on the dubious waves of error toss'd.
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The parson knows enough who knows a Duke.
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I am out of humanity's reach.I must finish my journey alone,Never hear the sweet music of speech;I start at the sound of my own.
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God never meant that man should scale the Heavens By strides of human wisdom. In his works, Though wondrous, he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines.
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Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, Force many a shining youth into the shade, Not to redeem his time, but his estate, And play the fool, but at the cheaper rate.
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Sacred interpreter of human thought, How few respect or use thee as they ought! But all shall give account of every wrong, Who dare dishonor or defile the tongue; Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, Or sell their glory at a market-price!
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Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor.
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We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
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Go, mark the matchless working of the power That shuts within the seed the future flower; Bids these in elegance of form excel. In color these, and those delight the smell; Sends nature forth, the daughter of the skies, To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes.
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Domestic happiness, thou only bliss Of paradise that has surviv'd the fall!
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The mind, relaxing into needful sport, Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.
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When I thinkof my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
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Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, To turn a penny in the way of trade.
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I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
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Visits are insatiable devourers of time, and fit only for those who, if they did not that, would do nothing.
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And in that hour, The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd To such gigantic and enormous growth, Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. Hence date the persecution and the pain That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, Regardless of their plaints.
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When one that holds communion with the skies Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise, And once more mingles with us meaner things, 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings.
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A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.
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What is there in the vale of lifeHalf so delightful as a wife;When friendship, love and peace combineTo stamp the marriage-bond divine?
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The few that pray at all pray oft amiss.