Hallowed Shades of Ecstasy: God Makes No Mistakes

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Things fasten upon thee only according as the degree of thy own love and inclination for them gives opportunity and advantage. Things have their laws as well as men; and things refuse to be trifled with. Things ill got had ever bad success. Things may serve long, but not serve ever. Things more excellent than every image are expressed through images. Things must turn when they can go no farther. Things refuse to be mismanaged long. Things will always right themselves in time, if only those who know what they want to do, and can do, persevere unremittingly in work and action.

Things will never be bettered by an excess of haste. Things without remedy should be without regard; what is done, is done. Think all you speak, but speak not all you think. Think not I came to send peace on the earth; I came not to send peace but a sword. Think not thy own shadow longer than that of others. Sir Thomas Browne. Think not your estate your own, while any man can call upon you for money which you cannot pay. It is thy own; it is all thou hast to front eternity with.

Think with awe on the slow, the quiet power of time. Think wrongly, if you please, but in all cases think for yourself. Think ye that God made the universe, and then let it run round his finger? Thinkers are scarce as gold; but he whose thoughts embrace all his subject, pursues it uninterruptedly and fearless of consequences, is a diamond of enormous size. Thinking about sin, beyond what is indispensable for the firm effort to get rid of it, is waste of energy and waste of time.

Matthew Arnold. Thinking is the function; living is the functionary. Thinking leads man to knowledge. He may see and hear, and read and learn, whatever he pleases, and as much as he pleases; he will never know anything of it, except that which he has thought over, that which by thinking he has made the property of his mind. Hamlet , i. This bodes some strange eruption to our state. This century is not ripe for my ideal; I live a citizen of those that are to come. Spanish Proverb. Henry V. Macbeth , i. This ever-renewing generation of appearances rests on a reality, and a reality that is alive.

Hamlet , v. John Quincy Adams. This is faith; it is nothing more than obedience. This is how I define talent; it is a gift God has given us in secret, which we reveal without knowing it. This is not a time for purism of style; and style has little to do with the worth or unworth of a book. This is not the liberty which we can hope, that no grievance should arise in the commonwealth, but when complaints are freely heard, deeply considered, and speedily reformed, then is the utmost bound of civil liberty attained that wise men look for.

This is the first condition of a living morality as well as of vital religion, that the soul shall find a true centre out from and above itself, round which it shall revolve. This is the humour of it. Henry VIII. Hamlet , iii. This is the very curse of an evil deed, that it engenders and must bring forth more evil. This is true philanthropy, that buries not its gold in ostentatious charity, but builds its hospital in the human heart. This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them. Said of Jesus by the Jews in way of reproach. Hamlet , iv. Lewis Morris. This present is a ruinous and ruining world.

This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but knew what to do with it. This was a man. This was the most unkindest cut of all. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where I shall have my music for nothing. Tempest , iii. This world belongs to the energetic. This world is a busy scene, and man a creature destined for a progressive struggle. This world is full of fools, and he who would not wish to see one must not only shut himself up alone, but must also break his looking-glass. This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me!

This world, where much is to be done and little to be known. Thistles and thorns prick sore, but evil tongues prick more. Dutch Proverb. King Lear , i. Those are often raised into the greatest transports of mirth who are subject to the greatest depressions of melancholy. Those deserve to be doubly laughed at that are peevish and angry for nothing to no purpose.

Those faces which have charmed us the most escape us the soonest. Those faults conscience has not strength to prevent, it seldom has justice enough to accuse. Those of us who are worth anything spend our manhood in unlearning the follies or expiating the mistakes of our youth. Those only are despicable who fear to be despised.

La Rochefoucauld. Those only deserve a monument who do not need one. Those only obtain love, for the most part, who seek it not. Those only who know little can be said to know anything. The greater the knowledge the greater the doubt. Those people who are always improving never become great. Greatness is an eminence, the ascent to which is steep and lofty, and which a man must seize on at once by natural boldness and vigour, and not by patient, wary steps. Those persons who do most good are least conscious of it. Ward Beecher. Those that are the loudest in their threats are the weakest in the execution of them.

Those that come unsought for are commonly the most valuable, and should be secured, because they seldom return. Those that dare lose a day are dangerously prodigal; those that dare misspend it, desperate. Bishop Hall. Those that think must govern those that toil. Those who are bent to do wickedly will never want tempters to urge them on. Those who are quite satisfied sit still and do nothing; those who are not quite satisfied are the sole benefactors of the world.

Those who attempt to level never equalise; they load the edifice of society by setting up in the air what the solidity of the structure requires to be on the ground. Those who attempt to reason us out of our follies, begin at the wrong end, since the attempt naturally presupposes us capable of reason. Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves. Those who can sit at home and gloat over their thousands in silent satisfaction are generally found to do it in plain clothes.

Those who carry much upon their clothes are remarked for having but little in their pockets. Those who do nothing generally take to shouting. Those who dwell in fear dwell next door to hate; and I think it is the cowardice of women that makes them such intense haters. Those who educate children well are more to be honoured than they who produce them; for these only gave them life, those the art of living well. Those who first study fate, and say, Fate is the only cause of fortune and misfortune, terrify themselves.

Those who give the first shock to a state are naturally the first to be overwhelmed in its ruin. Those who have even studied good books may still be fools. Those who injure one party to benefit another are quite as unjust as if they converted the property of others to their own benefit. Those who make the best use of their time have none to spare. Those who make the worst use of their time most complain of its shortness. Those who only run after little things will not go far.

Those who profess most are ever the least sincere. Those who regularly undertake to cultivate friendship find ingratitude generally repays their endeavours. Those who seek for something more than happiness in this world must not complain if happiness be not their portion. Those who seem to doubt or deny us what is justly ours, let us either pity their prejudice or despise their judgment.

Those who set their minds to deny things, and are fond of pulling things to pieces, must be treated like deniers-of-motion; one need only keep incessantly walking up and down before them in as composed a manner as possible. Those who trust us educate us. George Eliot. Those who will not be ruled by the rudder must be ruled by the rock. Cornish Proverb. Those who would make us feel must feel themselves. Thou art ignorant of what thou art, and much more ignorant of what is fit for thee. Windes Life's Finest Things Life's finest things, the things that last, Are ours, but never fettered fast. The exodus of birds and fowls when blasts begin to blow, The fuzzy Spring buds peeping forth, at passing of the snow; Prolific Summer's teeming life, the omtone of the bee, Resplendent Autumn's full-toned leaves ablaze on every tree; 76 QUOTABLE POEMS The sorcery of Winter's moon, frost's leafage on the pane, The solemn forest's awful hush, the rhythm of the rain; A timid breeze that wakes a lake, the ocean's troubled breast, A storm-scourged mountain rearing high its chaste un- bending crest; Recall the tender words of love or long forgotten lays, The bonfire's spicy fragrant smoke on Indian-summer days.

The flaming death robes of the day, the marvel of its birth, The frozen green in the fissures that split the glacier's girth. The glint of gorgeous green-blue eyes in peacock's spread of tail, A sense of God's omnipotence when thunder rends the vale, Proud dreams and schemes of vibrant youth which surely must come true, That brave exalted purpose of the child that once was you; The nursing back a loved one from the verge of voiceless dust, The greatest boon to human kind, the great, great gift of trust.

Life's finest things, the things that last, Are ours, but never fettered fast. The finest things writ on the scroll Are only grappled by the soul. Bangs Burgess What of the Darkness? What of the darkness? Is it very fair? Are there great calms? Like soft-shut lilies, all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know, With some strange faith our faces never dare Dwells it in Darkness? Do you find it there? Is it a Mouth to kiss our weeping dry? Is it a Hand to still the pulse's leap?

Is it a Voice that holds the runes of sleep? Day shows us not such comfort anywhere Dwells it in Darkness? Out of the Day's deceiving light we call Day that shows man so great, and God so small, That hides the stars, and magnifies the grass O is the Darkness too a lying glass! Or undistracted, do you find truth there? What of the Darkness? Richard le Gallienne Christmas Eve The door is on the latch tonight, The hearth-fire is aglow, I seem to hear soft passing feet The Christ child in the snow.

My heart is open wide tonight For stranger, kith or kin; I would not bar a single door Where love might enter in. He answered my question in mild surprise: " True work is the pathway to Paradise. They sang their answer: " This way it lies, And joy is the pathway to Paradise. I asked my question. The mother smiled And looked down into her baby's eyes: " Oh, love is the pathway to Paradise. Davis Sonnet Be secret, heart; and if your dreams have come To nothingness, and if their weight was sweet Within you then be silent in def eat, Counting your lost imaginings as the sum Of destined joy. Lest men should call you dumb Sing still the songs that hold within their beat The hopes of every man, and the wild, sweet Predictions of what earth shall yet become.

Be secret, heart. The words that you would tell Of your own longing, and your keen distress Hold them to silence; kill, destroy, suppress That melody, although you love it well. And sing the songs that men have always sung Of love and sorrow, since the world was young. He dared not come by light of day To move where sinners trod: He must hold apart from the common heart, For he was a man of God. But the honest Christ, He walked with men Nor held His ways apart With publicans talked, with harlots walked, And loved them all in His heart. Came Nicodemus to Christ by night; And long they reasoned, alone, Till the old man saw the sham of the law That turned his being to stone; He tore the formal husks from his life; He was born again, though gray.

Reach your hand and take it. You are The builder, And no one else can make it. Mary Carolyn Dames Miracles Why, who makes much of a miracle? As to me I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with the rest, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car.

Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a Summer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields, Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air, Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright, Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in Spring ; These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me the sea is a continual miracle, The fishes that swim the rocks the motion of the waves the ships with men in them, What stranger miracles are there? Walt Whitman Faith " Must I submissive bow to earth my head? Restrain the restless daring of my mind? Bound by the palimpsests of men long dead, Live in the daylight as a man made blind? This pathway leads to kindled mysteries That none have ever seen except the meek. Bravely I go upon a lonely quest. I will not fold my hands and close my eyes To gain an easy and ignoble rest.

Test it. Thou shalt find Precipitous the pathways to be trod. Summon the utmost valiance of thy mind. Only the audacious ever win to God. Then might I know the purer ecstasy Of conquering Earth's test of alien tears And Life, perchance, her promise might redeem, And Love be more than a delusive dream! Corinne Roosevelt Robinson From Ode on Intimations of Immortality There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream, It is not now as it hath been of yore; Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

O joy! Hence in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither; Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. William Wordsworth The World Is One The world is one; we cannot live apart, To earth's remotest races we are kin; God made the generations of one blood; Man's separation is a sign of sin.

What though we solve the secret of the stars, Or from the vibrant ether pluck a song, Can this for all man's tyranny atone While Mercy weeps and waits and suffers long? Put up the sword, its day of anguish past; Disarm the forts, and then, the war-flags furled, Forever keep the air without frontiers, The great, free, friendly highway of the world. Hinton White Riches What to a man who loves the air Are trinkets, gauds, and jewels rare?

And what is wealth or fame to one Who is a brother to the sun; Who drinks the wine that morning spills Upon the heaven-kissing hills, And sees a ray of hope afar In every glimmer of a star? What to a man whose god is truth Are spoils and stratagems, forsooth Who looks beyond the doors of death For loftier life, sublimer breath; Who can forswear the state of kings In knowledge of diviner things, The dreams immortal that unroll And burst to blossoms in his soul? There is no plan Transcending even a rose's timid glory, A cricket's summer song. The ways of man Are stupors of the flesh, and transitory.

Only the dream will last. Some distant day The wheels will falter, and the silent sun Will see the last beam leveled to decay, And all man's futile clangor spent and done. Yet after brick and steel and stone are gone, And flesh and blood are dust, the dream lives on. Anderson M. Scruggs Expect! Expect the best! It lies not in the past. God ever keeps the good wine till the last.

Beyond are nobler work and sweeter rest. The straight path Wearies us with the never-varying lines, And we grow melancholy. I would make Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit Patiently by the wayside, while I traced The mazes of the pleasant wilderness Around me. She should be my counsellor, But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs Impulses from a deeper source than hers; And there are notions, in the mind of man, That she must look upon with awe. Mine was the boat, And mine the air, And mine the sea, Not mine a care. My boat became my place of nightly toil, I sailed at sunset to the fishing ground; At morn the boat was freighted with the spoil That my all-conquering work and skill had found.

Mine was the boat, And mine the net, And mine the skill And power to get. One day there passed along the silent shore, While I my net was casting in the sea, A Man, who spoke as never man before; I followed Him new life began in me. Ah, 'twas a fearful night out on the lake, And all my skill availed not at the helm, Till Him asleep I waken, crying, " Take, Take Thou command, lest waters overwhelm! Once from His boat He taught the curious throng, Then bade me let down nets out in the sea; I murmured, but obeyed, nor was it long Before the catch amazed and humbled me.

Joseph Addison Richards Slaves They are slaves who fear to speak, For the fallen and the weak; They are slaves who will not choose, Hatred, scoffing and abuse, Rather than in silence shrink, From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves who dare not be, In the right with two or three. And all the men each drags a golden chain, As though he walked in freedom. And yet, perhaps, in this assemblage vast, In some poor heart sounds the enraptured chord, And staggering homeward from a hopeless quest The God-anointed touched me, meanly dressed, And, like a second Peter, I have passed Without salute the vessel of the Lord.

Do you fear the force of the wind, The slash of the rain? Go face them and fight them, Be savage again. Go hungry and cold like the wolf, Go wade like the crane: The palms of your hands will thicken, The skin of your cheek will tan, You'll grow ragged and weary and swarthy, But you'll walk like a man! Hamlin Garland What Is Good? Between the seed time and the golden sheaf, For hate and spite. We have no time for malice and for greed; Therefore, with love make beautiful the deed; Fast speeds the night. Life is too swift Between the blossom and the white snow's drift, Between the silence and the lark's uplift, For bitter words.

In kindness and in gentleness our speech Must carry messages of hope, and reach The sweetest chords. Vories Chiaroscuro Beauty growing on a thorn, Love victorious on a tree Conquer every cynic's scorn, Prove life's immortality! Thompson Life Shall Live For Evermore My own dim life should teach me this, That life shall live for evermore: Else earth is darkness at the core, And dust and ashes all that is This round of green, this orb of flame, Fantastic beauty; such as lurks In some wild poet, when he works Without a conscience or an aim.

What then were God to such as I? Alfred Tennyson From " In Memoriam " Miracle Yesterday the twig was brown and bare; Today the glint of green is there Tomorrow will be leaflets spare; I know no thing so wondrous fair No miracle so strangely rare. I wonder what will next be there!

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Bailey Humanity There is a soul above the soul of each, A mightier soul, which yet to each belongs There is a sound made of all human speech, And numerous as the concourse of all songs: And in that soul lives each, in each that soul, Though all the ages are its lifetime vast; Each soul that dies, in its most sacred whole Receiveth life that shall for ever last. As mighty trains on shining rails Haste onward through the night and day: Send me on work that never fails Because of indolent delay.

As planes that plunge into the sky To find themselves upborne on air: Teach me the life of trust to try, And find the soul upheld through prayer. From distant places voices speak They fill the mind with mystery: Then may I now Thy message seek, O, let me keep in tune with Thee. Amid the motion of machine, The whirl of wheel, the rush of wings: Help me to live the life serene, Because victorious over things. May something of the vast designs That motivate and move our days, Be but inevitable signs Which call life into lordlier ways.

But now the shadows on me lie, Deep-cut the channel of the years; And prayer is but a sobbing cry Through whitened lips and falling tears. John T. McFarland The Undiscovered Country Lord, for the erring thought Not unto evil wrought: Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still: For the heart from itself kept, Our thanksgiving accept.

For ignorant hopes that were Broken to our blind prayer: For pain, death, sorrow sent Unto our chastisement: For all loss of seeming good, Quicken our gratitude. Let me have light to see, Light to be sure and know; When the road is clear to me Willingly I go. Let me have power to do, Power of the brain and nerve, Though the task is heavy and new Willingly I will serve. My prayers are lesser than three, Nothing I pray but two Let me have light to see, Let me have power to do. These, in the name of Jesus, Against the dark gods stand, They gird the earth with valor, They heed their King's command.

No bloodshed in the wrestling, But souls new-born arise The nations growing kinder, The child-hearts growing wise. What is the final ending? The issue, can we know? Will Christ outlive Mohammed? Will Kali's altar go? This is our faith tremendous, Our wild hope, who shall scorn, That in the name of Jesus The world shall be reborn! Vachel Lindsay Ships That Pass in the Night Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and silence.

I m b e c i l i t y

God must have deeply loved the silences, For is there one of us who has not heard Promptings to silence that he speaks not of? What of an old remorse; a hope that is Too deeply hoped; what of a grief outgrown; And silent, old, unconquerable love? Mavis C. All those who pledge themselves, And to its terms agree Must chance an unexclusive cross, A common Calvary!

Each separate star Means nothing, but a myriad scattered stars Break up the night and make it beautiful. Said a friend from afar. This is a wretched little place Where people talk about tawdry things And plant cabbages in the moonlight. But I do not live in Goshen, I answered.

I live in Greece Where Plato taught and Phidias carved. Do not think my world is small Because you find me in a little village. I have my books, my pictures, my dreams, Enchantments that transcend Time and Space. I do not live in Goshen at all, I live in an unbounded universe With the great souls of all the ages For my companions. So clear I see that things I thought Were right or harmless were a sin; So clear I see that I have sought, Unconscious, selfish aims to win. In outskirts of Thy kingdom vast, Father, the humblest spot give me; Set me the lowliest task Thou hast; Let me, repentant, work for Thee!

No more Thy miracle withhold; To us in tents give palaces of gold. And while we stumble among things that are Give us the solace of a guiding-star! The heart has no hands, But, knowing Love's touch, All the hands of the world Cannot do as much. He plants a friend of sun and sky; He plants the flag of breezes free; The shaft of beauty, towering high; He plants a home to heaven anigh For song and mother-croon of bird In hushed and happy twilight heard The treble of heaven's harmony These things he plants who plants a tree. What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants cool shade and tender rain, And seed and bud of days to be, And years that fade and flush again; He plants the glory of the plain; He plants the forest's heritage; The harvest of a coining age ; The joy that unborn eyes shall see These things he plants who plants a tree.

Henry C.

God Makes No Mistakes by Rachel Battles

A little warmth, a little light Of love's bestowing and so, good-night! A little fun, to match the sorrow Of each day's growing and so, good-morrow! A little trust that when we die We reap our sowing! And so good-bye! Help me, Lord, to stand approved In faithfulness to every task. Thus, in Thy sight I will be great. Battle B. McCracken Builders When we build, let us think that we build forever. Let it not be for present delight nor for present use alone.

Let it be such work as our descendants will thank us for, and let us think, as we lay stone on stone, that a time is to come when those stones will be held sacred because our hands have touched them, and that men will say as they look upon the labor and wrought substance of them, " See! This our Fathers did for us. More than two crosses stand on either side The Cross today on more than one dark hill; More than three hours a myriad men have cried, And they are crying still.

Before Him now no mocking faces pass; Heavy on all who built the cross, it lies; Pilate is hanging there, and Caiaphas, Judas without his price. My God! Enlarged is Golgotha. All are needed by each one Nothing is fair or good alone. I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home, in his nest, at even; He sings the song, but it cheers not now; For I did not bring home the river and sky; He sang to my ear they sang to my eye. I wiped away the weeds and foam I fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid, As 'mid the virgin train she strayed, Nor knew her beauty's best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; The gay enchantment was undone A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, " I covet truth; Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth.

The other gifts Thou gavest me I long have spilled. And some I broke upon these stones, And some are bled Until they died, because my thoughts To strangeness wed. Dear God, I would have other gifts Within my hands. Seal them upon me in Thy wrath With golden bands; That I may never lose again A love, but free My heart, in deepening loneliness, To ecstasy. Mary Edgar Comstock For Transient Things Let us thank God for unfulfilled desire, For beauty that escapes our clutch and flies; Let us thank God for loveliness that dies, For violet leapings of a dying fire, For ebbing lives and seas, the fading choir Of quiet stars, the momentary guise That love assumes within a lover's eyes Before it fades with other things that tire.

James A. McPeek Simon and Judas How dare we look askance at these two men, Toy with unspoken thoughts, " Were I there then " Venture to pity, blame, or mildly scoff? We, who have struck not once with any sword, Who have so many times betrayed our Lord, Nor followed even at a great way off! Kenneth W. I was hanged at dawn for a crime Flesh dies, but the soul knows no death; I piped to great Shakespeare's chime The witches' song in Macbeth. I am part of the sea and stars And the winds of the South and North, Of mountain and moon and Mars, And the ages sent me forth!

Edward H. John Richard Moreland Faith I will not doubt, though all my ships at sea Come drifting home with broken masts and sails; I shall believe the Hand which never fails From seeking evil worketh good for me; And though I weep because those sails are battered, Still will I cry, while my best hopes lie shattered, " I trust in Thee. I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain, And troubles swarm like bees about a hive; I shall believe the heights for which 1 strive Are only reached by anguish and by pain; And though I groan and tremble with my crosses, I yet shall see, through my severest losses, The greater gain.

I will not doubt; well anchored in the faith, Like some stanch ship, my soul braves every gale, So strong its courage that it will not fail To breast the mighty unknown sea of Death. Ella Wheeler Wilcox Fortune There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat; And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.

And India's mystics sang aright Of the One Life pervading all One Being's tidal rise and fall In soul and form, in sound and sight - Eternal outflow and recall. God is: and man in guilt and fear This central fact of Nature owns; Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones, And darkly dreams the ghastly smear Of blood appeases and atones. Guilt shapes by Terror: deep within The human heart the secret lies Of all the hideous deities; And, painted on a ground of sin, The fabled gods of torment rise!

And what is He? The ripe grain nods, The sweet dews fall, the flowers blow; But darker signs His presence show: The earthquake and the storm are God's And good and evil interflow. O souls that turn Like sunflowers to the pure and best! To you the truth is manifest: For they the mind of Christ discern Who lean like John upon his breast! They are so old, I think they have forgotten What bitter words were spoken, long ago. I hate the cold, stern faces of new Sorrows Who stand and watch, and catch me all alone.

I should be braver if I could remember How different the older ones have grown. Karle Wilson Baker Wages Glory of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song, Paid with a voice flying by to be lost on an endless sea! Glory of virtue: to fight, to struggle, to right the wrong.

Nay, but she aimed not at glory, no lover of glory she: Give her the glory of going on, and still to be. The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust, Would she have heart to endure for the life of the worm and the fly? She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a summer sky: Give her the wages of going on, and not to die.


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There I heard No voice of love low calling to its own, And found nor joy nor beauty; but alone I lived, till through the silence, like a bird Full-throated, came the music of a friend. Louis 7. Ledoux Peace and Joy Peace does not mean the end of all our striving, Joy does not mean the drying of our tears; Peace is the power that comes to souls arriving Up to the light where God Himself appears. Joy is the wine that God is ever pouring Into the hearts of those who strive with Him, Lightening their eyes to vision and adoring, Strength'ning their arms to warfare glad and grim.

And " God keep watch 'tween thee and me," This is my prayer; He looks thy way, He looketh mine, And keeps us near. Yet " God keep watch 'tween thee and me. He holds thy hand, He daspeth mine, And keeps us near. Should wealth and fame perchance be thine, And my lot lowly be; Or you be sad and sorrowful And glory be for me, Yet " God keep watch 'tween thee and me. One arm round thee and one round me Will keep us near. I sigh sometimes to see thy face, But since this may not be, leave thee to the care of Him Who cares for thee and me. And though our paths be separate And thy way is not mine, Yet, coming to the mercy-seat, My soul will meet with thine.

And " God keep watch 'tween thee and me " I'll whisper here; He blesseth thee, He blesseth me, And we are near. Julia A. That it be well done, unrepented of, And not to loss. Elizabeth Barrett Browning The Song of the Unsuccessful We are the toilers whom God hath barred The gifts that are good to hold, We meant full well and we tried full hard, And our failures were manifold. And we are the clan of those whose kin Were a millstone dragging them down, Yea, we had to sweat for our brother's sin, And lose the victor's crown. The seeming-able, who all but scored, From their teeming tribe we come: What was there wrong with us, Lord, That our lives were dark and dumb?

The men, ten-talented, who still Strangely, missed the goal, Of them we are: it seems Thy will To harrow some in soul. We are the sinners, too, whose lust Conquered the higher claims, We sat us prone in the common dust, And played at the devil's games. We are the doubles of those whose way Was festal with fruits and flowers, Body and brain we were sound as they, But the prizes were not ours. A mighty army our full ranks make, We shake the graves as we go; The sudden stroke and the slow heart-break, They both have brought us low.

And while we are laying life's sword aside, Spent and dishonored and sad, Our Epitaph this, when once we have died: " The weak lie here, and the bad. Go softly, you who have no loss to weep, Who sink at night to deep, untroubled rest, And envy the defeated who must keep The ghost of beauty in an empty breast. Frances M. Frost Glory To Them Glory to them, the toilers of the earth, Who wrought with knotted hands, in wood and stone, Dreams their unlettered minds could not give birth And symmetries their souls had never known. Glory to them, the artisans, who spread Cathedrals like brown lace before the sun, Who could not build a rhyme, but reared instead The Doric grandeur of the Parthenon.

I never cross a marble portico, Or lift my eyes where stained glass windows steal From virgin sunlight moods of deeper glow, Or walk dream-peopled streets, except to feel A hush of reverence for that vast dead Who gave us beauty for a crust of bread. The days I labored at a task not mine? The days I yielded to a wild pursuit? The days I cast my pearls before the swine? The days I hoarded every golden hour? The days I laughed? The days I bore in pain? The days when all my honey had turned sour? The days I gathered in another's gain?

The days I studied and the days I wrought? The days I loafed and only trusted God? The days when whispered dreamings came unsought, And I drew wisdom as I turned the sod? How shall I know which ones of all the days Shall on the last day bring me blame or praise? What Hand flung out the light Of yonder stars? How could a God of right Ordain for earth an ebbless tide of woe?

But this I know: that from the star-strewn sky There comes to me a peace that puts to rout All brooding thoughts of dread, abiding death; And too I know, with every fragrant dawn, That Life is Lord; that, with the Winter gone, There cometh Spring, a great reviving Breath. It is enough that life means this to me; What death shall mean, some sunny Morn shall see. For silent sober-colored things I bless the Lord of dreams This Heron standing motionless, More shade than bird he seems For this grey, ghostly fisherman Of lonely pools and streams.

The Way of Sacrifice He who hath watched, not shared, the strife, Knows how the day hath gone. He only lives with the world's life Who hath renounced his own. High courage, of the keen enthusiast Who even in his dreams can hear the blast Of trumpet calls that urge him up the steep. Real strength endures. Dynamic power these give and self-release. With them, the world's great inner citadels Are mine. Gertrude B. Gunderson Whence Cometh War? Whence cometh war?

Bring the foul thing to bar. Out of the hatreds of the ages long; Out of the greed and blood-lust of the strong; Out of the strutting swagger of the proud; Out of the mad hysterias of the crowd; Out of the lying honor of the State; Out of the coward meanness of the great; Out of the toll that profit takes from toil, Of surplus spoil, piled up on surplus spoil, Choking to idleness the workman's wheel, Or raping all the earth with ruthless steel; Out of a devil's smoke-screen of defense, That turns to foolishness the things of sense, QUOTABLE POEMS Makes virtue's garden a vast swamp of vice, And sells the Son of Man at Judas 7 price, Nor has the grace to cast away the pelf But makes of God an infidel himself.

France, Russia, Britain, America The four republics are sworn brothers to kill the kaiser. Yes, this is the great man-hunt; And the sun has never seen till now Such a line of toothed and tusked man -killers. Eating to kill, Sleeping to kill, Asked by their mothers to kill, Wished by four-fifths of the world to kill To cut the kaiser's throat, To hack the kaiser's head, To hang the kaiser on a high-horizon gibbet.

And is it nothing else than this? Three times ten million men asking the blood Of a half-cracked one-armed child of the German kings? If this were all, God, I would go to the far timbers And look on the gray wolves Tearing the throats of moose: I would ask a wilder drunk of blood. It is four brothers in joined hands together.

Nevermore - The Politics of Ecstasy - Reviews - Encyclopaedia Metallum: The Metal Archives

The people of bleeding France, The people of bleeding Russia, The people of Britain, the people of America These are the four brothers, these are the four republics. This is your land, within your power. We break the rock; you pluck the flower. We build the roads on which you speed. And when we strike for what we need We learn at once how well you own The press, the courts and every stone Of every structure that we rear. Say, what invaders shall we fear? Why should we care out on the job If you or others drive and rob? We have no land for which to fight Though all the world is ours by right.

We workers grimed with soot and mud Have shed enough and more of blood. We have no quarrel across the foam But here within our jail, your home!

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We give our pledge we shall not kill. For ours the braver, kinder will. But if you force us till we do, It will be you, it will be you! I gave my life for freedom This I know; For those who bade me fight had told me so. There came a sudden word of wars declared, Of Belgium peaceful, helpless, unprepared, Asking our aid: I joined the ranks, and died.

Ewer War Did the rose-bush or the oak Thrill at Trenton's battle-smoke? Did the earthworm in the mould Shout when Gettysburg unrolled Its tawny thunders over him? Did corn-grains buried in the dim Terrible creative ground Cease growing at the shaken sound Of Grant's gaunt thousands marching by? Well, pondering their conduct, I Think their aloof indifference Was most amazing commonsense! Is there no greater good than health and ease? Is there no deadlier enemy than death? Is God a dream to deal with as we please And life only the drawing of our breath?

Duty a fever-phantom that misleads The sick confusion of a wandering brain? Let the King's Highroad choke with tangled weeds If they but barricade our paths from pain! Give us this day our daily bread that prayer We all remember! What comes next? The cry " Deliver us from sorrow and from loss, " Who were not made to suffer and to bear! Amelia J. Her hills and shores were shaped for lovely things, Yet all our years are spent in bickerings Beneath the astonished stars.

April by April laden with beauty comes, Autumn by Autumn turns our toil to gain, But hand at sword-hilt, still we start and strain To catch the beat of drums. Knowledge to knowledge adding, skill to skill, We strive for others' good as for our own And then, like cavemen snarling with a bone, We turn and rend and kill. Nay, love and trust, Not blood and thunder shall redeem our dust. Let us have peace! But still the thought: Somewhere upon the hills, Or where the vales ring with the whip-poor-wills, Sad wistful eyes and broken hearts that beat For the loved sound of unreturning feet, And, when the oaks their leafy banners wave, Dream of the battle and an unmarked grave!

Frank L. Alice Corbin Love Comes And who will lead the way? The good and wise must lead. He that loves most is the best and wisest, and he it is that leads already. Violence will not yield to violence. Tell the great secret to the people. Love comes! Clear the way, ye institutions, ye laws and customs of ages of hate! The glance of his eyes would wither you. The quiet thrill of his voice would palsy your deepest foun- dations. Ye do well to tremble at his name. For he is the Revolution at last the true, long-deferred Revolution. Love is the true Revolution, for Love alone strikes at the very root of ill.

Let the people love, and they will lead, Let the people love and theirs is the power! Ernest Crosby Tear Down the Walls! Tear down the walls! God made of one All men who live upon the earth; He is our Father, we his sons, Whatever be our human birth. Edgar Cooper Mason The Final Armistice Christ of the glowing heart and golden speech, Drawn by the charm divine of Thy sweet soul, The nations tend unto that far-off goal Whereof the sages dream, the prophets preach. We shall not always fail; we yet shall reach Through toil and time that shining tableland To which Thou beckonest with wounded hand.

Forevermore Thy goodness doth beseech A warring world to lay its weapons down. So shall we rest and songs of plenty drown The wail of hunger, and our bitter tears, Streaming unstanched through all the dreadful years, And freely flowing still, shall yet be dried, When Thou art King who once wast crucified. Frank B. Cowgill The Torch " To you the torch we fling "; The challenge yet is heard, Bequest of fullest sacrifice, A life-demanding word.

Yet this thought with it comes, A question tinged with doubt: Shall we the torch to others pass Whose light we've let go out? Arthur B. Our youth has stormed the hosts of hell and won; Yet we who pay the price of their oblation Know that the greater war is just begun Which makes humanity the nations' Nation.

Willard Wattles Heart Heart, that beats with every human heart, Heart, that weeps with every human tear, O Heart, that sings with every human song, Fill our slow hearts with flood-tides of Thy love; That they may beat with every human heart, That they may weep with every human tear, That they may sing with every human song, And thus, through Thee, unite with all mankind.

Maurice Rowntree The White Peace It lies not on the sunlit hill Nor on the sunlit plain: Nor ever on any running stream Nor on the unclouded main But sometimes, through the Soul of Man, Slow moving o'er his pain, The moonlight of a perfect peace Floods heart and brain. And how mankind Thirsted and cried for joy it could not find, His heart made quick reply, " Men shall know happiness before I die!

His deeds are graven in a place apart, On the enduring tablet of the human heart. But for friendship's feast Compliments demean us; Rock for seat and sky for roof And the truth between us. Nora B. On the maps of the world you will find it not: It was fought by the Mothers of Men. Not with cannon or battle shot. With sword or nobler pen; Not with eloquent word or thought From the wonderful minds of men; But deep in a walled up woman's heart; A woman that would not yield; But bravely and patiently bore her part; Lo!

No marshalling troops, no bivouac song, No banner to gleam and wave; But Oh these battles they last so long From babyhood to the grave! But faithful still as a bridge of stars She fights in her walled up town; Fights on, and on, in the endless wars; Then silent, unseen goes down! Thank God for fools! The trails that ring the world Are dark with blood and sweat where they have passed. There are the flags of every crag unfurled; Theirs ashes and oblivion at last. We rear our temples on the stones they laid; Ours is the prize their tired souls might not wait; Theirs the requiem of the unafraid.

Its rafters come from the woods of Praise, Its walls from the quarry of Prayer, And not one echo, on stormy days, Can trouble the stillness there. The floor is bare, but the joists are strong With Faith from the heavenly hill; My lamp is Love, and the whole year long It burns unquenchable still. With sweet Content is my hearth well lit, And there, in the darkest weather, Hope and I by the fire can sit, And sing, and keep house together. Oh threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise! And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky, Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for It As impotently moves as you or I.

Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close! The Nightingale that in the branches sang, Ah whence, and whither flown again, who knows! Would but some winged Angel ere too late Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, And make the stern Recorder otherwise Enregister, or quite obliterate!

Ah Love! In vain to sorrow! Only the key of yesterday Unlocks tomorrow. Priscilla Leonard The Knapsack Trail I like the wide and common road Where all may walk at will, The worn and rutted country road That runs from hill to hill; I like the road through pastures green Worn by home-coming feet Of lowing kine and barefoot boy Where twilight shadows meet. The lonely Trail through forests dim That leads to God-knows-where, That winds from tree to spotted tree Till sudden we are there! Jean Ingelow Thanks Thank you very much indeed, River, for your waving reed; Hollyhocks, for budding knobs; Foxgloves, for your velvet fobs; Pansies, for your silky cheeks; Chaffinches, for singing beaks; Spring, for wood anemones Near the mossy toes of trees; Summer, for the fruited pear, Yellowing crab, and cherry fare; Autumn, for the bearded load, Hazelnuts along the road; Winter, for the fairy-tale, Spitting log and bouncing hail.

But, blest Father, high above, All these joys are from Thy love; And Your children everywhere, Born in palace, lane, or square, Cry with voices all agreed, " Thank You very much indeed. Alfred Tennyson From " Sir Galahad " Forever Those we love truly never die Though year by year the sad memorial wreath, A ring and flowers, types of life and death, Are laid upon their graves. For death the pure life saves, And life all pure is love; and love can reach From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach Than those by mortals read.

Well blest is he who has a dear one dead; A friend he has whose face will never change A dear communion that will not grow strange; The anchor of a love is death. James Russell Lowell Orisons He placed a prayer wheel where the wild winds dance, And some complained his piety was lazy; But then his thoughts on prayer were rather hazy.

Yet God attended to his suppliance. He knelt on scarlet plush before his lord, And mumbled words of ancient litanies But felt uncomfortable on his knees; And God, lost in the gloomy nave, was bored. Silent, she raised her eyes that burned and glistened Like fresh lit tapers in a shadowy crypt; No raptured praise, no murmuring, tight lipped, But God stopped stars in flight an hour, and listened.

McNeill Poteat, Jr. The Silent Places I have come back from the mountains, And the beauty of forest ways, From the pine-trail winding at sunset To the crags in the purple haze. I have come back to the city, With its clang and its screech and its din; Its halls are filled with madness, And its eyes are blind with sin. I think of the peaks white-crested, And the sage on the sweeping plain, And the vastness, and the silence, And the whisper of God again. I will go back to my mountains, Back to the prairies I've trod; Some day I shall stand in that silence And speak once more with my God. Harold M.

Ralph Waldo Emerson Sonnet I am in love with high far-seeing places That look on plains half-sunlight and half-storm, In love with hours when from the circling faces Veils pass, and laughing fellowship glows warm. Life has no walls. Oh, take me to your breast! Take me be with me for a moment's span! I am in love with all unveiled faces.

I seek the wonder at the heart of man; I would go up to the far-seeing places. While youth is ours, turn toward me for a space The marvel of your rapture-lighted face! Arthur Damson Ficke The Vision You are the vision, you are the image of the dream, The voice among the stars, the silence in the stream; A breath of the infinite poise, where space and time are spun, And the circling orbits wheel their planets round the sun. Beyond the outer margin where nothing calls to God Leaps the fiery symbol to bloom where your feet have trod; Here is the earth resurgent with color and bloom of Spring, Glorying the dream and the vision in the song you bring.

#3 - WAKING UP: Chapter One

By Judas kissed. And grim frustration I have known Of cherished plans, Met Thomas-doubts instead of trust In many lands. But oh, I've reached the heights sublime At dawn of day, Known glorious triumph when the stone Was rolled away. But ah, the touch of lips and hands The human touch!

Warm, vital, close, life's symbols dear These need I most, and now, and here. Richard Burton Today Today, new-born from all my yesterdays, Lies in my cupped hand, a fragile, prophetic thing Just broken from its chrysalis with wings aflutter. What far flight shall it make with buoyant pinions? What fateful tomorrows shall it breed Before it folds its worn wings In the last twitchings of its dreamless sleep? I hold today in my hand and watch its unfolding. Then in faith I release it and wait the will of God. Ozora 5. But keep thou thine a holy solitude, For He who would walk there, would walk alone; He who would drink there, must be first endued With single right to call that stream his own; Keep thou thine heart, close fastened, unrevealed, A fenced garden, and a fountain sealed.

Richard Chenevix Trench God As the bee through the garden ranges, From world to world the godhead changes; As the sheep go feeding in the waste, From form to form He maketh haste; This vault which glows immense with light Is the inn where He lodges for a night. What recks such Traveller if the bowers Which bloom and fade like meadow flowers A bunch of fragrant lilies be, Or the stars of eternity?

Alike to Him the better, the worse The glowing angel, the outcast corse. Thou metest Him by centuries, And lo! He is the axis of the star; He is the sparkle of the spar; He is the heart of every creature; He is the meaning of each feature; And His mind is the sky, Than all it holds more deep, more high. Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

His was my body, born of me, Born of my bitter travail pain, And it lies broken on the field, Swept by the wind and the rain. I see the wrong that round me lies, I feel the guilt within; I hear, with groan and travail-cries, Hie world confess its sin. Enough: beyond this lies the infinite! Robert Browning From " Francis Turin! Thy soul must overflow, if thou Another's soul wouldst reach; It needs the overflow of heart To give the lips full speech.

Think truly, and thy thoughts Shall the world's famine feed; Speak truly, and each word of thine Shall be a fruitful seed; Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. Horatio Bonar Woman and Man The woman's cause is man's: they rise or sink Together, dwarf 'd or godlike, bond or free: If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, How shall men grow? The man be more of woman, she of man; He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world; She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind; Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words; And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, Sit side by side, full-summ'd in all their powers, Dispensing harvests, sowing the To-be, QUOTABLE POEMS Self-reverent each and reverencing each, Distinct in individualities, But like each other, ev'n as those who love.

Then comes the statelier Eden back to men; Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: Then springs the crowning race of human-kind. May these things be! So from dark waters of our doubt, More than we ever meant, On our dead selves, we may lift out A fertile continent. Gracious Lord! I pray Thou wilt look on all I love Tenderly today! Weed their hearts of weariness; Scatter every care Down a wake of angel-wings Winnowing the air.

James Whitcomb Riley True Love True love is but a humble low-born thing, And hath its food served up in earthen ware; It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand, Through the every-dayness of this work-day world. James Russell Lowell From "Love" At the Lincoln Memorial I think he would have hated this white shrine, This pomp of marble gleaming in the sun, He whom a cabin sheltered from the cold, Who knew a cabin's rest when day was done.

And men who dwelt in cabins were his friends, In cabins and in little prairie towns, He was of them and they of him, and each So trusted other that when peril came And threatened all their fathers' toil had wrought They gave to him the guiding of the State. And though he walked with princes still he knew He held his place securely in their hearts. What can the marble's splendor mean to him? QUOTABLE POEMS Strange how we litter all the earth with shrines, Dark shadowed chapels where no sunlight falls, For those who knew the sun, the touch of rain, The hope of sowing and the joy of reaping, And all the round of simple things in life The saints and seers and prophets of the race, Who called to farther goals and led the way.

We carve from dull dead stone their travesties, We cover them with incense and great praise In any way to keep them from our hearts; In any way to keep from following after On that stern path that leads at last to peace! I think he would have hated this white shrine! Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also Thou abidest. Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever Thou leadest me it is Thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar. When one knows Thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.

Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many. Used by permission of the Macmillan Company, publishers. Sun shine, moon shine, Stars, and winds a-blowing, All into this heart of mine Flowing, flowing, flowing! Girl's love, man's love Love of work and duty, Just a will of God's to prove Beauty, beauty, beauty!

And pausing here, I can but mark them sadly, crushed, forlorn, Mute emblems of the slowly dying year. Ride high and free, such little time ago And now they lie so low! Full well they lived Their God-appointed plan, died joyously, And left a golden memory! Pray who Could ask a fairer fate for them, or me? We have sighed betimes for our brothers' crimes And have bade them be of cheer, For the flesh is weak, and the soul grown meek May yet read its title clear.

But we draw away from the one astray As the truly righteous must, She is cursed indeed and we did not read What our Lord wrote in the dust. Trr , Trrr. Not in event, restriction, or release, In journeys near or far, But in the heart lies restlessness or peace, Rest where you are. The soul is dry that does not thirst For clear refreshment day by day. And eyes are dim that in the light, Have never seen the need to pray. Mary Brennan Clapp And the Greatness of These I have seen an old faith falter, Spent upon some ancient altar, Where fires have turned to ashes gray For one who lost the narrow way; But in spite of wind and rain I have seen old love remain.