Reminiscences of Glasgow and the West of Scotland, Volume 1

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J. Tweed, 1865 - Glasgow (Scotland) - 640 pages
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Page 93 - Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean— roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
Page 178 - The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amidst the war of elements, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds.
Page 190 - Oh Death ! where is thy sting ? Oh Grave ! where is thy victory ? The sting of Death is sin, and the strength of sin is the Law.
Page 86 - O luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's decree, How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! How do thy potions, with insidious joy Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown...
Page 191 - Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft, is ever won.
Page 79 - O God of Bethel, by whose hand Thy people still are fed, Who through this weary pilgrimage Hast all our fathers led, 2 Our vows, our prayers, we now present Before Thy throne of grace; God of our fathers, be the God Of their succeeding race.
Page 148 - And sic a night he taks the road in As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; The rattling...
Page 292 - Church and the King have willed — that the Queen should be deprived of its solemn service. She has instead of that solemnity, the heartfelt prayers of the people. She wants no prayers of mine. But I do here pour forth my humble supplications at the Throne of Mercy, that that mercy may be poured down upon the people, in a larger measure than the merits of its rulers may deserve, and that your hearts may be turned to justice.
Page 192 - Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse, The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being...
Page 307 - Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the play-place of our early days. The scene is touching, and the heart is stone That feels not at that sight, and feels at none.

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