The London Mercury, Volume 15

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Field Press Limited, 1927
 

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Page 257 - MAN, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down like a flower ; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.
Page 258 - We give thee hearty thanks, for that it hath pleased thee to deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful world...
Page 258 - FORASMUCH as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ; in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ...
Page 257 - O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death. Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts; shut not thy merciful ears to our...
Page 158 - We stood by a pond that winter day, And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, And a few leaves lay on the starving sod; — They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove Over tedious riddles of years ago; And some words played between us to and fro On which lost the more by our love.
Page 160 - Lothly a rival's air, Cankering in black despair If overborne. Since, then, no grace I find Taught me of trees, Turn I back to my kind, Worthy as these. There at least smiles abound, There discourse trills around, There, now a'nd then, are found Life-loyalties.
Page 62 - I would I were a stone, or tree, Or flowre by pedigree, Or some poor high-way herb, or Spring To flow, or bird to sing! Then should I (tyed to one sure state,) All day expect my date; But I am sadly loose, and stray A giddy blast each way; O let me not thus range ! Thou canst not change.
Page 169 - By briefest meeting something sure is won ; It will have been : Nor God nor Demon can undo the done, Unsight the seen, Make muted music be as unbegun, Though things terrene Groan in their bondage till oblivion supervene.
Page 168 - Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now you are not as you were When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair.
Page 270 - Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings; Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'er enjoys: So well-bred spaniels...

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