The Spectator, Volume 8

Front Cover
Alexander Chalmers
E. Sargeant, M. & W. Ward, Munroe, Francis & Parker, and Edward Cotton, Boston, 1810

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Page 99 - I HAVE SET THE LoRD ALWAYS BEFORE ME : Because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.
Page 71 - What though, in solemn silence, all Move round the dark terrestrial ball ; What though no real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found; In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, For ever singing as they shine, The hand that made us is divine.
Page 12 - To all my weak complaints and cries, Thy mercy lent an ear, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt To form themselves in pray'r. Unnumber'd comforts to my soul Thy tender care bestow'd, Before my infant heart conceiv'd From whence those comforts flow'd.
Page 99 - I have set the Lord always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Therefore my heart is glad, and my glory rejoiceth : my flesh also shall rest in hope. For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption.
Page 104 - To daily fraud, contempt, abuse and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day! O first created beam, and thou great Word, Let there be light, and light was over all; Why am I thus bereaved Thy prime decree?
Page 182 - They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters ; These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.
Page 145 - WHO shall decide, when doctors disagree, And soundest casuists doubt, like you and me...
Page 12 - Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ, Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy.
Page 63 - There was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it: 15 Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; yet no man remembered that same poor man.
Page 84 - I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What's that, my lord? Ham. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i

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