A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.
I have lived to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered.
Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
There is but halting for the wearied foot;
The better way is hidden. Faith hath failed;
One stronger far than reason mastered her.
It is not reason makes faith hard, but life.
I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.
Children bring their own love with them when they come.
When sparrows build and the leaves break forth My old sorrow wakes and cries.
I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
I have lived life long enough to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered
It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.
Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man. Behold, "There is a God," thou sayest. Thou sayest well: In that thou sayest all. To Be is more Of wonderful, than being, to have wrought, Or reigned, or rested.
O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!
And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.
A birthday:-and now a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rife-
A thoughtful day from dawn to close:
The middle day of human life.
From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love
To long for, pureness to desire, a mount
Of consecration it were good to scale.
Yet there are some resting-places, / Life's untroubled interludes; / Times when neither past nor future / On the soul's deep calm intrudes.
And the guelder rose
In a great stillness dropped, and ever dropped,
Her wealth about her feet.
O sleep! O sleep!
Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep,
Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand
Over the lids that crave thy visits bland,
Thou kind, thou comforting one.
For I have seen his face, as I desired,
And all my story is done.
O, I am tired.
O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep;
Thou bearest angels to us in the night,
Saints out of heaven with palms.
Seen by thy light
Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep;
Love is a pouting child.
What change has made the pastures sweet
And reached the daisies at my feet,
And cloud that wears a golden hem?
This lovely world, the hills, the sward--
They all look fresh, as if our Lord
But yesterday had finished them.
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover
Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,
Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow ...
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
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