Envy poems

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Imitations of Horace: The First Epistle of the Second Book

© Alexander Pope

Though justly Greece her eldest sons admires,
Why should not we be wiser than our sires?
In ev'ry public virtue we excel:
We build, we paint, we sing, we dance as well,
And learned Athens to our art must stoop,
Could she behold us tumbling through a hoop.

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Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot

© Alexander Pope

Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.

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An Essay On Criticism

© Alexander Pope

But you who seek to give and merit Fame,
And justly bear a Critick's noble Name,
Be sure your self and your own Reach to know.
How far your Genius, Taste, and Learning go;
Launch not beyond your Depth, but be discreet,
And mark that Point where Sense and Dulness meet.

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Eloisa to Abelard

© Alexander Pope

Yet here for ever, ever must I stay;
Sad proof how well a lover can obey!
Death, only death, can break the lasting chain;
And here, ev'n then, shall my cold dust remain,
Here all its frailties, all its flames resign,
And wait till 'tis no sin to mix with thine.

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Gone

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

IN Collins Street standeth a statute tall,
A statue tall, on a pillar of stone,
Telling its story, to great and small,
Of the dust reclaimed from the sand waste lone;

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To The Chapel Bell

© Robert Southey

"Lo I, the man who erst the Muse did ask
Her deepest notes to swell the Patriot's meeds,
Am now enforst a far unfitter task
For cap and gown to leave my minstrel weeds,"
For yon dull noise that tinkles on the air
Bids me lay by the lyre and go to morning prayer.

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On The Death Of A Favourite Old Spaniel

© Robert Southey

And they have drown'd thee then at last! poor Phillis!
The burthen of old age was heavy on thee.
And yet thou should'st have lived! what tho' thine eye
Was dim, and watch'd no more with eager joy

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An Elegy upon the Death of the Dean of St. Paul's, Dr. John

© Thomas Carew

Here lies a king, that rul'd as he thought fit
The universal monarchy of wit;
Here lie two flamens, and both those, the best,
Apollo's first, at last, the true God's priest.

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New England Mind

© Robert Francis

My mind matches this understand land.
Outdoors the pencilled tree, the wind-carved drift,
Indoors the constant fire, the careful thrift
Are facts that I accept and understand.

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Psalm LXXIII: Now I'm Convinced the Lord Is Kind

© Isaac Watts

Now I 'm convinced the Lord is kind
To men of heart sincere;
Yet once my foolish thoughts repined,
And bordered on despair.

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Psalm 73

© Isaac Watts

v.22,3,6,17-20
L. M.
The prosperity of sinners cursed.

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Psalm 37 part 1

© Isaac Watts

v.1-15
C. M.
The cure of envy, fretfulness, and unbelief.

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Psalm 118 part 3

© Isaac Watts

v.22,23
C. M.
Christ the foundation of his church.

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Psalm 112

© Isaac Watts

That man is blest who stands in awe
Of God, and loves his sacred law:
His seed on earth shall be renowned;
His house the seat of wealth shall be,
An inexhausted treasury,
And with successive honors crowned.

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Hymn 88

© Isaac Watts

Life is the time to serve the Lord,
The time t' insure the great reward;
And while the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return.

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Hymn 43 part 2

© Isaac Watts

How vast the treasure we possess!
How rich thy bounty, King of grace!
This world is ours, and worlds to come;
Earth is our lodge, and heav'n our home.

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Hymn 38 part 2

© Isaac Watts

Blessed Redeemer, how divine,
How righteous is this rule of thine!
"To do to all men just the same
As we expect or wish from them."

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Hymn 36

© Isaac Watts

O 'tis a lovely thing to see
A man of prudent heart,
Whose thoughts, and lips, and life agree
To act a useful part.

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Hymn 132

© Isaac Watts

O let our lips and lives express
The holy gospel we profess;
So let our works and virtues shine,
To prove the doctrine all divine.

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Hymn 130

© Isaac Watts

Now by the bowels of my God,
His sharp distress, his sore complaints,
By his last groans, his dying blood,
I charge my soul to love the saints.