A key to Hiley's Practical English composition, Part 2

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Page 148 - 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 153 - The only point where human bliss stands still, And tastes the good without the fall to ill ; Where only merit constant pay receives, Is...
Page 148 - Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, he gives not thee to know, But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. Hope springs eternal in the human breast: Man never is, but always to be blest.
Page 143 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ; While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed ; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round...
Page 143 - Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth when every sport could please...
Page 38 - There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
Page 141 - Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot, the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed; No costly lord, the sumptuous banquet deal, To make him loathe his vegetable meal: But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.
Page 145 - Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began.
Page 150 - Why has not man a microscopic eye ? For this plain reason, man is not a fly.
Page 144 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

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