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Soldiers in arms! Defenders of our soil! Who from destruction save us who from spoil Protect the sons of peace, who traffic or who toil Would I could duly praise you, that each deed Your foe's might honor, and your friends might read.

George Crabbe

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George Crabbe
Age: 79 †
Born: 1754
Born: December 24
Died: 1834
Died: February 3
Entomologist
Medicine
Poet
Surgeon
Writer
Aldeburgh
Suffolk
Would
Save
Soldiers
Honor
Traffic
Duly
Protect
Soil
Defenders
Arms
Soldier
Foe
Friends
Deeds
Spoil
Read
Son
Deed
Peace
Destruction
Sons
Might
Praise
Toil

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Dreams are like portraits and we find they please because they are confessed resemblances.
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Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd.
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An infatuated man is not only foolish, but wild.
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And took for truth the test of ridicule.
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With eye upraised his master's look to scan, The joy, the solace, and the aid of man: The rich man's guardian and the poor man's friend, The only creature faithful to the end.
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Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, And slumber out their immortality.
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See Time has touched me gently in his race, And left no odious furrows in my face.
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Men of many words sometimes argue for the sake of talking men of ready tongues frequently dispute for the sake of victory men in public life often debate for the sake of opposing the ruling party, or from any other motive than the love of truth.
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Life's bloomy flush was lost.
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Arrogance is the act of the great presumption that of the little.
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Against her foes Religion well defends Her sacred truths, but often fears her friends.
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Beauties, when disposed to sleep, Should from the eye of keen inspector keep: The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise, May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes, And all the homely features homelier makes.
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But jest apart--what virtue canst thou trace In that broad trim that hides thy sober face? Does that long-skirted drab, that over-nice And formal clothing, prove a scorn of vice? Then for thine accent--what in sound can be So void of grace as dull monotony?
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We cannot heal the throbbing heart till we discern the wounds within.
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In this wild world the fondest and the best Are the most tried, most troubled and distress'd.
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With awe, around these silent walks I tread These are the lasting mansions of the dead.
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Lawyers Are: By law's dark by-ways he has stored his mind with wicked knowledge on how to cheat mankind.
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The gentle fair on nervous tea relies, Whilst gay good-nature sparkles in her eyes An inoffensive scandal fluttering round, Too rough to tickle, and too light to wound.
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Blest be the gracious Power, who taught mankind To stamp a lasting image of the mind! Beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing, Their mutual feelings, in the opening spring But Man alone has skill and power to send The heart's warm dictates to the distant friend 'Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise Ages remote, and nations yet to rise.
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Through the sharp air a flaky torrent flies, Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare, And shed their substance on the floating air.
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