’Tis my happiness below Not to live without the cross, But the Saviour’s power to know, Sanctifying every loss; Trials must and will befall;

Source of love, and light of day, Tear me from myself away; Every view and thought of mine Cast into the mould of thine; Teach, O teach this faithless hea…

To keep the lamp alive, With oil we fill the bowl; ’Tis water makes the willow thrive… And grace that feeds the soul. The Lord’s unsparing hand

As yet a stranger to the gentle fi… That Amathusia’s smiling Queen in… Not seldom I derided Cupid’s dart… And scorn’d his claim to rule all… Go, child, I said, transfix the t…

On the Burning of Lord Mansfield… So then - the Vandals of our isle… Sworn foes to sense and law, Have burnt to dust a nobler pile Than ever Roman saw!

Fair Lady, whose harmonious name… Through all his grassy vale deligh… Base were, indeed, the wretch, who… To love a spirit elegant as thine, That manifests a sweetness all div…

My dear friend, If reading verse be your delight, ’Tis mine as much, or more, to wri… But what we would, so weak is man, Lies oft remote from what we can.

Reader! behold a monument That asks no sigh or tear, Though it perpetuate the event Of a great burial here.

There is a book, which we may call (Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small; The ladies thumb it much. Words none, things numerous it con…

Grant me the Muse, ye gods! whose… Seeks not the mountain-top’s perni… Who can the tall Parnassian cliff… To visit oft the still Lethean la… Now her slow pinions brush the sil…

Oh that those lips had language!… With me but roughly since I heard… Those lips are thine– thy own swee… The same that oft in childhood sol… Voice only fails, else, how distin…

’Twas in the glad season of spring… Asleep at the dawn of the day, I dream’€™d what I cannot but sin… So pleasant it seem’d as I lay. I dream’€™d that, on ocean afloat,

The new-born child of gospel grace… Like some fair tree when summer’s… Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face Lifts up his blooming branch on hi… No fears he feels, he sees no foes…

Sleep at last has fled these eyes, Nor do I regret his flight, More alert my spirits rise, And my heart is free and light. Nature silent all around,

The genius of the Augustan age His head among Rome’s ruins reare… And bursting with heroic rage, When literary Heron appeared, Thou hast, he cried, like him of o…