27 quotes
Love masters agony; the soul that seemed
Forsaken, feels her present God again,
And in her Father's arms
Contented dies away.
The Christian Year (1827)
When the shore is won at last,
Who will count the billows past?
The Christian Year (1827)
As fire is kindled by fire, so is a poet's mind kindled by contact with a brother poet.
Lectures on Poetry 1832–1841 (1844)
'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.
The Christian Year (1827)
The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask.
The Christian Year (1827)
But when eve's silent footfall steals
Along the eastern sky,
And one by one to earth reveals
Those purer fires on high.
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
The Christian Year (1827)
Time's waters will not ebb, nor stay.
The Christian Year (1827)
Sprinkled along the waste of years
Full many a soft green isle appears:
Pause where we may along the desert road,
Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode.
The Christian Year (1827)
The voice that breathed o'er Eden,
That earliest wedding day,
The primal marriage blessing,
It hath not passed away.
And taught by thee the Church prolongs
Her hymns of high thanksgiving still.
God hath sworn to lift on high
Who sinks himself by true humility.
When you find yourself, as I daresay you sometimes do, overpowered as it were by melancholy, the best way is to go out, and do something kind to somebody or other.
Sun of my soul! thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near:
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes!
The Christian Year (1827)
The watchful mother tarries nigh
Though sleep have closed her infant's eye,
For should he wake, and find her gone,
She knows she could not bear his moan.
The Christian Year (1827)
Sweet is the smile of home; the mutual look
When hearts are of each other sure;
Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,
The haunt of all affections pure.
The Christian Year (1827)
Why should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die,
Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own,
Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh?
The Christian Year (1827)
Pride of the dewy morning,
The swain's experienced eye
From thee takes timely warning,
Nor trusts the gorgeous sky.
Sweet is the infant's waking smile,
And sweet the old man's rest—
But middle age by no fond wile,
No soothing calm is blest.
Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell.