Selections from the Christian Poets, Ancient and Modern

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Seeleye, 1851 - 431 páginas

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Página 341 - Friend after friend departs ; Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end.
Página 54 - THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on Kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Página 263 - ONE there is, above all others, Well deserves the name of Friend; His is love beyond a brother's, Costly, free, and knows no end: They who once His kindness prove, Find it everlasting love.
Página 225 - FOR a closer walk with God ! A calm and heavenly frame ! A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb...
Página 351 - GO to dark Gethsemane, Ye that feel the tempter's power, Your Redeemer's conflict see, Watch with him one bitter hour ; Turn not from his griefs away, Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.
Página 320 - Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set - but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Página 353 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear ; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Página 234 - E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming Love has been my theme, And shall be till I die. 5 Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave.
Página 290 - Waft, waft, ye winds, His story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole ; Till o'er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign ! 727 Psalm 60.
Página 68 - WHEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he, returning, chide, "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?

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