The Widow of the City of Naïn: And Other Poems

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J.M. Richardson and J. Hatchard, 1819 - 87 sider
 

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Side 54 - And the Lord turned, and looked upon Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said unto him, Before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice. And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.
Side 61 - When the pangs of death assail me, Weep not for me : Christ is mine, — He cannot fail me, — Weep not for me. Yes ! though sin and doubt endeavour From His love my soul to sever, Jesus is my strength for ever ; — Weep not for me...
Side 31 - DEAR as thou wert, and justly dear, We will not weep for thee : One thought shall check the starting tear It is — that thou art free.
Side 37 - twas his last ; Ye, who beheld when Jesus died, Say ye — for none can tell beside — How matchless grace and love divine In that immortal glance would shine. And she, too, felt and owned its power To soothe in that despairing hour ; Her pulse beat quick, and to her heart A ray of rapture seemed to dart : The cloud that hung upon her brow Wore off, and all was comfort now ; — And why? she thought not on the dead — Her sight on him was rivetted...
Side 63 - O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not.
Side 53 - E'en while his wrath is o'er me shed, I know my Saviour reigneth. The worm may waste this with 'ring clay, When flesh and spirit sever ; My soul shall see eternal day, And dwell with God for ever.
Side 47 - And yet I have revelled in Hope's fairy dream, And tasted the raptures of Love's purest bliss ; Delusive are both, though alluring they seem, Like vapours that gleam o'er a hidden abyss. The proud thirst of glory was mine from my birth, But what can this world to ambition display ; Which grasps at the skies, but is bounded by earth — A spirit of fire in a prison of clay.
Side 49 - I feel, ere life has passed away, His very worm consuming. Night spreads her mantle o'er the sky, And all around are sleeping, While I, in tears of agony, My restless couch am steeping. I sigh for morn — the rising day Awakes the earth to gladness ; I turn, with sickening soul, away — It smiles upon my sadness.
Side 59 - And when the dark thought of my fate shall awaken The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek, When by all, but the God of the Orphan, forsaken, A home and a father in vain thou...
Side 36 - Not such as man for man may feelNo — all was passionless and pure — That godlike majesty of woe, Which counts it glory to endure, And knows nor hope nor fear below ; Nor aught that still to earth can bind. But love and pity for mankind. And in His eye a radiance shone — Oh ! how shall mortal dare essay, On whom no prophet's vest is thrown, To paint that pure celestial ray ? Mercy, and tenderness, and love, And all that finite sense can deem Of Him who reigns enthroned above ; Light — such...

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