The poetical works of Reginald Heber, late Lord Bishop of Calcutta

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John Murray, 1870 - 324 pages

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Page 85 - What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile : In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown : The heathen, in his blindness, Bows down to wood and stone.
Page 308 - And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it. And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.
Page 66 - Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see, Only Thou art holy, there is none beside Thee, Perfect in power, in love, and...
Page 308 - And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God...
Page 69 - Lord, thy guests away. 2 Long have we roamed in want and pain ; Long have we sought thy rest in vain ; Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost, Long have our souls been tempest-tost : Low at thy feet our sins we lay ; Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away.
Page 86 - BREAD of the world, in mercy broken, Wine of the soul, in mercy shed, By Whom th.e words of life were spoken, And in Whose death our sins are dead ; 2 Look on the heart by sorrow broken, Look on the tears by sinners shed ; And be Thy feast to us the token That by Thy grace our souls are fed.
Page 305 - And the house, when it was in building, was built of stone made ready before it was brought thither : so that there was neither hammer nor axe nor any tool of iron heard in the house, while it was in building.
Page 71 - O God, O good beyond compare, If thus thy meaner works are fair, If thus thy bounties gild the span Of ruined earth and sinful man, How glorious must the mansion be Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee.
Page 49 - BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning, dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid; star of the east, the horizon adorning, guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
Page 54 - WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming, When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, Nor hope lends a ray the poor seaman to cherish, We fly to our Maker: "Save, LORD! or we perish.

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