Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.
And step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.
Reason's voice and God's, Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds.
Autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter's snow.
the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you
Children have neither past nor future - they rejoice in the present.
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn
You don't always win your battles, but it's good to know you fought.
Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed.
As a small businessperson, you have no greater leverage than the truth.
Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying.
Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants at tree, is more than all.
The saddest thing of word or pen, To know the things that might have been.
We meet today To thank Thee for the era done, And Thee for the opening one.
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.
The Beauty which old Greece or RomeSung, painted, wrought, lies close at home.
His daily prayer, far better understood in acts than in words, was simply doing good.
The Fates are just: they give us but our own; Nemesis ripens what our hands have sown.
A charmed life old goodness hath; the tares may perish, but the grain is not for death.
From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.
The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
A faint blush melting through the light of thy transparent cheek like a rose-leaf bathed in dew.
Let the thick curtain fall;I better know than allHow little I have gained,How vast the unattained.
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie?
Nothing before, nothing behind; The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The Rock beneath.
Bathsheba! to whom none ever said scat- No worthier cat Ever sat on a mat, Or caught a rat. Requiescat!
What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?
Truth is one; And, in all lands beneath the sun, Whoso hath eyes to see may see The tokens of its unity.
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!
What is really momentous and all-important with us is the present, by which the future is shaped and colored.
What does the good ship bear so well? The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, And the milky sap of its inner cell.
All day the darkness and the cold Upon my heart have lain Like shadows on the winter sky Like frost upon the pane
I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be, The first low wash of waves where soon Shall roll a human sea.
No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.
I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
God is good and God is light In this faith I rest secure, Evil can but serve the right, Over all shall love endure.
It is no use trying to sum people up. One must follow hints, not exactly what is said, nor yet entirely what is done.
Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme and plan? The Lord is God! He needeth not The poor device of man.
With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!
And the more you spend in blessing The poor and lonely and sad, The more of your heart's possessing Returns to you glad.
But let the good old corn adorn The hills our fathers trod; Still let us, for his golden corn, Send up our thanks to God!
We faintly hear, we dimly see, In differing phrase we pray; But dim or clear, we own in Him The life, the truth, the way.
Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!
Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, Our burden is our boon; The curse of earth's gray morning is The blessing of its noon.
The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.
The dreariest spot in all the land to Death they set apart; with scanty grace from Nature's hand, and none from that of Art.
Thine to work as well as pray, Clearing thorny wrongs away; Plucking up the weeds of sin, Letting heaven's warm sunshine in.
The laws of changeless justice bind oppressor and oppressed; and, close as sin and suffering joined we march to fate abreast.