The Complaint: Or, Night-thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality: To which is Added, a Paraphrase on Part of the Book of Job..

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A. Millar, ... and R. and J. Dodsley, 1756 - 418 pages

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Page 3 - The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, But from its loss. To give it then a tongue Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, It is the, knell of my departed hours : Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
Page 18 - Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread; But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, Soon close ; where past the shaft, no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave no furrow from the keel; So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
Page 64 - What is this life ? How few their fav'rite know ! Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace, By passionately loving life, we make Lov'd life unlovely; hugging her to death. We give to Time Eternity's regard; And, dreaming, take our passage for our port. Life has no value as an end, but means; An end deplorable ! a means divine ! When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing ; worse than...
Page 91 - Religion's All. Descending from the skies To wretched man, the goddess in her left Holds out this world, and, in her right, the next...
Page 93 - ... ?—Thou, my all! My theme, my inspiration, and my crown ! My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth !—my world ! My light in darkness! and my life in death ! My boast through time!
Page 101 - Till one calls him, who varies not his call, " But holds him fast, in chains of darkness bound, " Till nature dies, and judgment sets him free; " A freedom far less welcome than his chain...
Page 41 - Can gold gain friendship ? Impudence of hope ! As well mere man an angel might beget. Love, and love only, is the loan for love. Lorenzo ! pride repress ; nor hope to find A friend, but what has found a friend in thee. All like the purchase ; few the price will pay ; And this makes friends such miracles below.
Page 51 - Sweet harmonist ! and beautiful as sweet ! And young as beautiful ! and soft as young ! And gay as soft ! and innocent as gay ! And happy (if aught happy here) as good!
Page 71 - These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, The terrors of the living, not the dead. Imagination's fool, and Error's wretch, Man makes a death which Nature never made : Then on the point of his own fancy falls, And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.
Page 100 - Talk they of morals? O thou bleeding Love! Thou Maker of new morals to mankind! The grand morality is love of Thee.

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