Blossomings in the Apple Country: A Memorial

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Page 46 - This languishing head is at rest — Its thinking and aching are o'er ; This quiet, immovable breast Is heaved by affliction no more ; This heart is no longer the seat Of trouble and torturing pain ; It ceases to flutter and beat — It never shall flutter again.
Page 34 - THE morning flowers display their sweets, And gay their silken leaves unfold; As careless of the noon-tide heats, As fearless of the evening cold. 2 Nipt by the wind's unkindly blast, Parch'd by the sun's directer ray, The momentary glories waste, The short-lived beauties die away.
Page 12 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; And,— when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 56 - Yet still to his footstool in prayer I may go, And ask for a share in his love ; And if I thus earnestly seek him below, I shall see him and hear him above...
Page 10 - Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate All but the page prescribed, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below ? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Page 18 - When a few years are come, Then I shall go the way whence I shall not return.
Page 11 - To examine themselves, whether they repent them truly of their former sins, stedfastly purposing to lead a new life; have a lively faith in God's mercy through Christ, with a thankful remembrance of his death; and be in charity with all men.
Page 47 - Repose, Have strangely forgotten to weep: The Fountains can yield no Supplies, These Hollows from Water are free, The Tears are all wip'd from these Eyes, And Evil they never shall see.
Page 49 - ... flowers, that gave all the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, an essence that breathes of it many a year; thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendcmeer.
Page 30 - his own bitterness ; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.

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