Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease; Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing the glory to God and of good-will to man!
A faint blush melting through the light of thy transparent cheek like a rose-leaf bathed in dew.
With silence only as their benediction, God’s angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!
Thine to work as well as pray, Clearing thorny wrongs away; Plucking up the weeds of sin, Letting heaven’s warm sunshine in.
Freedom’s soil hath only place For a free and fearless race!
And let these altars, wreathed with flowers And piled with fruits, awake again Thanksgivings for the golden hours, The early and the latter rain!
The Beauty which old Greece or RomeSung, painted, wrought, lies close at home.
Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways! Re-clothe us in our rightful mind, In purer lives thy service find, In deeper reverence praise.
Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing, under the sky’s gray arch. Smiling, I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing It is the wind of March.
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn.
What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?
Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!
Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, Our burden is our boon; The curse of earth’s gray morning is The blessing of its noon.
Nature eschews regular lines; she does not shape her lines by a common model. Not one of Eve’s numerous progeny in all respects resembles her who first culled the flowers of Eden. To the infinite variety and picturesque inequality of nature we owe the great charm of her uncloying beauty.
Man is more than constitutions.
A charmed life old goodness hath; the tares may perish, but the grain is not for death.
Quite the ugliest face I ever saw was that of a woman whom the world called beautiful. Through its silver veil the evil and ungentle passions looked out, hideous and hateful.
It is well for us if we have learned to listen to the sweet persuasion of the Beatitudes, but there are crises in all lives which require also the emphatic “Thou shalt not” of the decalogue which the founders wrote on the gateposts of their commonwealth.