Songs of the soul, from the writings of British, Continental and transatlantic authors, collected and arranged by the compilers of 'Truths illustrated by great authors'.

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第521页 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh ; The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
第536页 - Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again...
第121页 - God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!
第181页 - These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
第194页 - New mercies each returning day Hover around us while we pray ; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.
第182页 - On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
第367页 - It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear. A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.
第117页 - Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song ! where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on th...
第384页 - The indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a friend, and with his blood ; The couch of time ; care's balm and bay ; The week were dark, but for thy light. Thy torch doth show the way.
第182页 - Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix, And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our Great Maker still new praise.

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