(Isaiah, IX. 15-20) Hear what God the Lord hath spoke… “O my people, faint and few, Comfortless, afflicted, broken, Fair abodes I build for you.

John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A trainband captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin’s spouse said to her…

’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;

Between Nose and Eyes a strange c… The spectacles set them unhappily… The point in dispute was, as all t… To which the said spectacles ought… So the Tongue was the Lawyer and…

Thy country, Wilberforce, with ju… Hears thee, by cruel men and impio… Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th’… From exile, public sale, and slav’… Friend of the poor, the wrong’d, t…

I thirst, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to shar… Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid That I should seek my pleasures t… It was the sight of Thy dear cros…

Lord, who hast suffer’d all for me… My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee… Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush;

Kinsman beloved, and as a son by m… When I behold this fruit of thy r… The sculptured form of my old favo… I reverence feel for him, and love… Joy too and grief. Much joy that…

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

Beware, my friend! of crystal broo… Or fountain, lest that hideous hoo… Thy nose, thou chance to see; Narcissus’ fate would then be thin… And self-detested thou wouldst pin…

You bid me write to amuse the tedi… And save from withering my poetic… Hard is the task, my friend, for v… From the free mind, not fettered d… Restless amidst unceasing tempests…

Night! how I love thy silent shad… My spirits they compose; The bliss of heaven my soul pervad… In spite of all my woes. While sleep instils her poppy dews

On the green margin of the brook, Despairing Phyllida reclined, Whilst every sigh, and every look, Declared the anguish of her mind. Am I less lovely then? (she cries…

In vain to live from age to age While modern bards endeavour, I write my name in Patty’s page, And gain my point for ever.

Time was when I was free as air, The thistle’s downy seed my fare, My drink the morning dew; I perch’d at will on every spray, My form genteel, my plumage gay,