Fairest and best adorned is she Whose clothing is humility.
Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed, The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.
Bliss in possession will not last; Remembered joys are never past.
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent, a day's march nearer home.
We fought the Revolutionary War for no taxation without representation, it seems to me that we are much worse off today, because we are heavily taxed, and only the king's corporations control this Country, together with mob rule, of the special interests.
If God hath made this world so fair,
Where sin and death abound,
How beautiful beyond compare
Will paradise be found!
To-morrow — oh, 'twill never be, If we should live a thousand years! Our time is all to-day, to-day, The same, though changed; and while it flies With still small voice the moments say: "To-day, to-day, be wise, be wise.
Tis human actions paint the chart of time.
Night is the time to weep,To wet with unseen tearsThose graves of memory where sleepThe joys of other years.
Prayer moves the arm Which moves the world, And brings salvation down.
Two roses on one slender spray In sweet communion grew, Together hailed the morning ray And drank the evening dew.
The Dove, on silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.
Dark-green and gemm'd with flowers of snow, With close uncrowded branches spread Not proudly high, nor meanly low, A graceful myrtle rear'd its head.
There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.
While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn.
The tulip's petals shine in dew, All beautiful, but none alike.
Eagle of flowers! I see thee stand, And on the sun's noon-glory gaze; With eye like his, thy lids expand, And fringe their disk with golden rays: Though fix'd on earth, in darkness rooted there, Light is thy element, thy dwelling air, Thy prospect heaven.
Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.
A mother's love — how sweet the name! What is a mother's love? — A noble, pure and tender flame, Enkindled from above, To bless a heart of earthly mould; The warmest love that can grow cold; This is a mother's love.
There is a world above, Where parting is unknown; A whole eternity of love, Form'd for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that happier sphere.
When to the cross I turn my eyes,And rest on Calvary,O Lamb of God, my sacrifice,I must remember Thee.
Time is eternity begun.
When the good man yields his breath (For the good man never dies).
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