I run the gauntlet of a file of doubts, Each one of which down hurls me to the ground.
When pride thaws, look for floods.
Tis light translateth night; 'tis inspiration Expounds experience; 'tis the west explains The east; 'tis time unfolds Eternity.
I am tired of looking on what is, One might as well see beauty never more, As look upon it with an empty eye. I would this world were over. I am tired.
Ah, nothing comes to us too soon but sorrow.
Dewdrops, Nature's tears, which she Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die. The sun insists on gladness; but at night, When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep.
Stars which stand as thick as dewdrops on the field of heaven.
The sun, centre and sire of light, The keystone of the world-built arch of heaven.
Ask not of me, love, what is love? Ask what is good of God above; Ask of the great sun what is light; Ask what is darkness of the night; Ask sin of what may be forgiven; Ask what is happiness of heaven; Ask what is folly of the crowd; Ask what is fashion of the shroud; Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss; Ask of thyself what beauty is.
The dew, 'Tis of the tears which stars weep, sweet with joy.
England! my country, great and free! Heart of the world, I leap to thee!
Burn to be great, Pay not thy praise to lofty things alone. The plains are everlasting as the hills, The bard cannot have two pursuits; aught else Comes on the mind with the like shock as though Two worlds had gone to war, and met in air.
Hell is the wrath of God--His hate of sin.
As the master so the valet.
And these are joys, like beauty, but skin deep.
He hath no power that hath not power to use.
Any heart turned Godward feels more joyIn one short hour of prayer, than e'er was raisedBy all the feasts of earth since its foundation.
America, thou half-brother of the world; with something good and bad of every land.
I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.
Love spends his all, and still hath store.
Evil and good are God's right hand and left.
Oh, could we lift the future's sable shroud.
Death is another life.
The goodness of the heart is shown in deeds Of peacefulness and kindness. Hand and heart Are one thing with the good, as thou should'st be. Do my words trouble thee? then treasure them, Pain overgot gives peace, as death doth Heaven. All things that speak of Heaven speak of peace.
Thou art a woman, And that is saying the best and worst of thee.
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