Thou art my single day, God lends to leaven What were all earth else, with a feel of heaven.
We find great things are made of little things, And little things go lessening till at last Comes God behind them.
'Tis only when they spring to Heaven that angels reveal themselves to you.
I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists.
No work begun shall ever pause for death.
Twere too absurd to slight For the hereafter the todays delight!
Pippa's Song The year's at the spring The day's at the morn Morning's at seven, The Hill side's dew-pearled The lark's on the wing The snail's on the thorn God's in his heaven- All's right with the world
Sorrow, the heart must bear, Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there. Many a circumstance, at least, Touches the very breast. For those Whom any sent away,--he knows: And in the live man's stead, Armor and ashes reach The house of each.
The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.
Needs there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy?
Any nose may ravage with impunity a rose.
Imperfection means perfection hid.
A lion may die of an ass's kick.
All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!
Italy, my Italy! Queen Mary's saying serves for me (When fortune's malice Lost her Calais): "Open my heart, and you will see Graved inside of it 'Italy.'"
Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, the superstitious atheist.
Of power does Man possess no particle: Of knowledge-just so much as show that still It ends in ignorance on every side.
Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.
Are there not, dear Michael, Two points in the adventure of the diver,- One, when a beggar he prepares to plunge; One, when a prince he rises with his pearl? Festus, I plunge.
Let's contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep: All be as before Love, - Only sleep.
I think, am sure, a brother's love exceeds All the world's loves in its unworldliness.
Tis looking downward makes one dizzy.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her- Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her
All service ranks the same with God,- With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.
Our aspirations are our responsibilities.
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