Henry Ward Beecher Quotes About Mountain

• Rain! whose soft architectural hands have power to cut stones, and chisel to shapes of grandeur the very mountains.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Nature, Rain, Adventure

  Henry Ward Beecher (1862). “Eyes and ears”, p.49

• Mountains of gold would not seduce some men, yet flattery would break them down.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Men, Gold, Mountain

  Henry Ward Beecher, William Drysdale (1887). “Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit”

• All things in the natural world symbolize God, yet none of them speak of him but in broken and imperfect words. High above all he sits, sublimer than mountains, grander than storms, sweeter than blossoms and tender fruits, nobler than lords, truer than parents, more loving than lovers. His feet tread the lowest places of the earth; but his head is above all glory, and everywhere he is supreme.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Feet, Broken, Parent

  "Life Thoughts, Gathered from the Extemporaneous Discourses of Henry Ward Beecher, by One of His Congregation". Book edited by Edna Dean Proctor, 1859.

• Ordinarily rivers run small at the beginning, grow broader and broader as they proceed, and become widest and deepest at the point, where they enter the sea. It is such rivers that the Christian's life is like. But the life of the mere worldly man is like those rivers in Southern Africa, which, proceeding from mountain freshets, are broad and deep at the beginning, and grow narrower and more shallow as they advance. They waster themselves by soaking into the sands, and at last they die out entirely. The farther they run the less there is of them.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Christian, Running, Men

• As warmth makes even glaciers trickle, and opens streams in the ribs of frozen mountains, so the heart knows the full flow and life of its grief only when it begins to melt and pass away.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  Grief, Heart, Mountain

  Henry Ward Beecher (1866). “Royal truths”, p.64

• The sun does not shine for a few trees, and flowers, but for the wide world's joy. The lonely pine on the mountain-top waves its sombre boughs and cries, 'Thou art my sun.' And the little meadow violet lifts its cup of blue, and whispers with its perfumed breath, 'Thou art my sun.' And the grain in a thousand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, 'Thou art my sun.' So God sits effulgent in heaven, not for a favored few, but for the universe of life; and there is no creature so poor or so low that he may not look up with childish confidence and say, 'My Father, Thou art mine.

  Henry Ward Beecher

  God, Lonely, Art

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