Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness.
It is the month of June,
The month of leaves and roses,
When pleasant sights salute the eyes,
And pleasant scents the noses.
He who binds
His soul to knowledge, steals the key of heaven.
Wisdom, sits alone, topmost in heaven: she is its light, its God; and in the heart of man she sits as high, though groveling minds forget her oftentimes, seeing but this world's idols.
Gentleness is the great point to be obtained in the study of manners.
A lamp is lit in woman's eye; that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.
The highest triumph of art, is the truest presentation of nature.
It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought.
If there is anything that keeps the mind open to angel visits, and repels the ministry of ill, it is human love.
They are all up — the innumerable stars—
And hold their place in heaven. ...
There they stand,
Shining in order, like a living hymn
Written in light, awaking at the breath
Of the celestial dawn, and praising
Him Who made them, with the harmony of sphere.
The night is made for tenderness,--so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music,--and so deeply pure that the fond thought is chastened as it springs and on the lip made holy.
I knelt, and with the fervor of a lip unused to the cool breath of reason, told my love.
The lily and the rose in her fair face striving for precedence.
One lamp — thy mother’s love — amid the stars Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before The throne of God, burn through eternity - Holy — as it was lit and lent thee here.
The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away.
The taste forever refines in the study of women.
Ah me! the world is full of meetings such as this,--a thrill, a voiceless challenge and reply, and sudden partings after!
The value of life deepens incalculably with the privileges of travel.
Nature has thrown a veil of modest beauty over maidenhood and moss-roses.
The soul of man createth its own destiny.
Vulgarity is more obvious in satin than in homespun.
The innocence that feels no risk and is taught no caution, is more vulnerable than guilt, and oftener assailed.
O, when the heart is, full, when bitter thoughts come crowding thickly up for utterance, and the poor common words of courtesy are such a very mockery, how much the bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
One gets, sensitive about losing mornings after getting a little used to them with living in a country. Each one of these endlessly varied daybreaks is an opera but once performed.
T is the work of many a dark hour, many a prayer, to bring the heart back from an infant gone.
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