Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.
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.
When sparrows build and the leaves break forth My old sorrow wakes and cries.
The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.
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.
How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.
I am athirst for God, the living God.
Children bring their own love with them when they come.
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 don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.
It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
The moon is bleached as white as wool,
And just dropping under;
Every star is gone but three,
And they hang far asunder,--
There's a sea-ghost all in gray,
A tall shape of wonder!
When our thoughts are born,
Though they be good and humble, one should mind
How they are reared, or some will go astray
And shame their mother.
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.
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.
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.
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.
O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile:
So have all sages said, all poets sung.
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world.
For hearts where wakened love doth lurk,
How fine, how blest a thing is work!
For work does good when reasons fail.
Work is its own best earthly meed,
Else have we none more than the sea-born throng
Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.
Yet there are some resting-places, / Life's untroubled interludes; / Times when neither past nor future / On the soul's deep calm intrudes.
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