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Updated: May 25, 2025
Who, then, were the first authors of this opinion, that we owe no justice to dumb animals? Who first beat out accursed steel, And made the lab'ring ox a knife to feel. In the very same manner oppressors and tyrants begin first to shed blood.
Or is he priest, or is he acolyte, Or layman devotee who prays in novice robes bedight? O day and night! O day and night! whence comes this feeling? For all unreal seem day and night and life and death, And all unreal the hope that sets my senses reeling, And stills my pulse an instant, checks my lab'ring breath. Yet louder rolls the mighty organ thund'ring.
Simon The Plain of Antioch A Turcoman Encampment Climbing Akma Dagh The Syrian Gates Scanderoon An American Captain Revolt of the Koords We take a Guard The Field of Issus The Robber-Chief, Kutchuk Ali A Deserted Town A Land of Gardens. "Mountains, on whose barren breast The lab'ring clouds do often rest." Milton.
Shakespear, who taught by none, did first impart, To Fletcher wit, to lab'ring Johnson, art. He, monarch-like gave there his subjects law, And is that nature which they paint and draw; Fletcher reached that, which on his heights did grow, While Johnson crept, and gathered all below: This did his love, and this his mirth digest, One imitates him most, the other best.
The rich, in due return, impart their store; Which comfortably feeds the lab'ring poor. Nor let the rich the lowest slave disdain: He's equally a link of Nature's chain: Labours to the same end, joins in one view; And both alike the will divine pursue; And, at the last, are levell'd, king and slave, Without distinction, in the silent grave." Wednesday morning.
Virgil, in his first Georgic, refers to the possible future discovery of Roman remains, and Dryden translates the passage thus: "Then after lapse of time, the lab'ring swains, Who turn the turfs of these unhappy plains, Shall rusty piles from the plough'd furrows take, And over empty helmets pass the rake."
"By Him my prayers acceptance gain, Although with sin defiled; Satan accuses me in vain, And I am own'd a child. Weak is the effort of my heart, And cold my warmest thought But when I see thee as thou art, I'll praise thee as I ought. Till then, I would thy love proclaim With every lab'ring breath; And may the music of thy name Refresh my soul in death." Ellen paused a minute.
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