The Military Bijou; Or The Contents of a Soldier's Knapsack ...

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Stran 44 - It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown : His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; But mercy is above this sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, When mercy seasons justice.
Stran 99 - Live, while you live, the epicure would say, And seize the pleasures of the present day. Live, while you live, the sacred preacher cries, And give to GOD each moment as it flies.
Stran 240 - There is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside...
Stran 44 - Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.
Stran 240 - Views not a realm so beautiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole : For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace, The heritage of Nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely blest, A dearer, sweeter spot, than all the rest...
Stran 240 - Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night ; A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth. The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air...
Stran 45 - Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?
Stran 9 - BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand?
Stran iv - And the soldiers likewise demanded of him, saying, And what shall we do? And he said unto them, Do violence to no man, neither accuse any falsely; and be content with your wages.

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