Take away love and our earth is a tomb.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round.
Earth is crammed with heavens.
Earth being so good, would heaven seem best?
Then welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
I say, the acknowledgment of God in ChristAccepted by thy reason, solves for theeAll questions in the earth and out of it,And has so far advanced thee to be wise.
Was there nought better than to enjoy? No feat which, done, would make time break, And let us pent-up creatures through Into eternity, our due? No forcing earth teach heaven's employ?
There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.
In the morning of the world, When earth was nigher heaven than now.
It 's wiser being good than bad; It 's safer being meek than fierce; It 's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That after Last returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched.
Why stay on the earth except to grow.
What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
What's come to perfection perishes. Things learned on earth we shall practice in heaven; Works done least rapidly Art most cherishes.
O woman-country! wooed not wed, Loved all the more by earth's male-lands, Laid to their hearts instead.
The heavens and earth stay as they were; my heart Beats as it beat: the truth remains the truth.
Fair or foul the lot apportioned life on earth, we bear alike.
Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet. From the ripple to run over in its mirth
Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity; On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools - that's vanity
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