The temple, sacred poems and private ejaculations. [With] The synagogue

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Page 51 - LIFE. I MADE a posy, while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band.
Page 116 - COME, my way, my truth, my life ! Such a way as gives us breath ; Such a truth as ends all strife ; Such a life as killeth death. Come, my light, my feast, my strength ! Such a light as shows a feast ; Such a feast as mends in length ; Such a strength as makes his guest. Come, my joy, my love, my heart ! Such a joy as none can move ; Such a love as none can part ; Such a heart as joys in love.
Page 77 - But who hath praise enough \ nay, who hath any \ None can express thy works, but he that knows them ; And none can know thy works, which are so many, And so complete, but only he that owes them.
Page 38 - Christ hath took in this piece of ground, And made a garden there for those Who want herbs for their wound.
Page 63 - But groans are quick, and full of wings, And all their motions upward be ; And ever as they mount, like larks they sing : The note is sad, yet music for a King.
Page 145 - Gospel, ev'n as we. My God, Thou dost prepare for them a way, By carrying first their gold from them away : For gold and grace did never yet agree ; Religion always sides with poverty.
Page 15 - Prayer the Churches banquet, Angels age, Gods breath in man returning to his birth, The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage, The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth; Engine against th...
Page 55 - Which shall befriend him at the house of death. When man grows staid and wise, Getting a house and home, where he may move Within the circle of his breath, Schooling his eyes, That dumb inclosure maketh love Unto the coffin that attends his death. When age grows low and weak, Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry year, Till all do melt...
Page 38 - A better lodging, than a rack, or grave. THE shepherds sing ; and shall I silent be ? My God, no hymn for thee ? My soul's a shepherd too ; a flock it feeds Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. The pasture is thy word ; the streams, thy grace Enriching all the place. Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers Out-sing the daylight hours.
Page 126 - The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivelled heart Could have recovered greenness?

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