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#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters
What shall I render to Thy name Or how Thy praises speak? My thanks how shall I testify? O Lord, Thou know’st I’m weak. I owe so much, so little can
O Lord, Thou hear’st my daily moa… And see’st my dropping tears. My troubles all are Thee before, My longings and my fears. Thou hitherto hast been my God;
As loving hind that (hartless) wan… Scuds through the woods and fern w… Perplext, in every bush and nook d… Her dearest deer, might answer ear… So doth my anxious soul, which now…
A worthy Matron of unspotted life… A loving Mother and obedient wife… A friendly Neighbor, pitiful to p… Whom oft she fed, and clothed with… To Servants wisely aweful, but ye…
Most truly honoured, and as truly… If worth in me or ought I do appe… Who can of right better demand the… Than may your worthy self from who… The principal might yield a greate…
By night when others soundly slept And hath at once both ease and Re… My waking eyes were open kept And so to lie I found it best. I sought him whom my Soul did Lov…
Sometime now past in the Autumnal… When Phoebus wanted but one hour… The trees all richly clad, yet voi… Were gilded o’re by his rich golde… Their leaves and fruits seem’d pai…
Thou ill-form’d offspring of my fe… Who after birth didst by my side r… Till snatched from thence by frien… Who thee abroad, expos’d to public… Made thee in raggs, halting to th’…
The former four now ending their d… Ceasing to vaunt their good, or th… Lo other four step up, crave leave… The native qualityes that from the… But first they wisely shew’d their…
No sooner come, but gone, and fal’… Acquaintance short, yet parting ca… Three flours, two searcely blown,… Cropt by th’Almighties hand; yet… With dreadful awe before him let’s…
Dear Sir of late delighted with t… Of your four Sisters cloth’d in b… Of fairer Dames the Sun, ne’r saw… Though made a pedestal for Adams… Their worth so shines in these ric…
As weary pilgrim, now at rest, Hugs with delight his silent nest His wasted limbes, now lye full so… That myrie steps, haue troden oft Blesses himself, to think vpon
In anguish of my heart replete wit… And wasting pains, which best my b… In tossing slumbers on my wakeful… Bedrenched with tears that flowed… Till nature had exhausted all her…
I had eight birds hatcht in one ne… Four Cocks were there, and Hens t… I nurst them up with pain and care… No cost nor labour did I spare Till at the last they felt their w…
In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, I wakened was with thund’ring nois… And piteous shrieks of dreadful vo… That fearful sound of “fire” and “…
