Send home my long strayed eyes to me, Which (Oh) too long have dwelt on thee.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple tree.
Do little things as if they were great, because of the majesty of the Lord Jesus Christ who dwells in thee.
God made thee good as thou art beautiful.
I loved thee beautiful and kind, And plighted an eternal vow; So altered are thy face and mind, t'were perjury to love thee now!
Be content with what thou hast received, and smooth thy frowning forehead, for the door of choice is not open either to thee or me.
And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.
Alas, O Lord, to what a state dost Thou bring those who love Thee!
When thou art quiet and silent, then art thou as God was before nature and creature; thou art that which God then wats; thou art that whereof he made thy nature and creature: Then thou hearest and seest even with that wherewith God himself saw and heard in thee, before every thine own willing or thine own seeing began.
When thou standest still from thinking and willing of self, the eternal hearing, seeing, and speaking will be revealed to thee, and so God heareth and seeth through thee. Thine own hearing, willing, and seeing hindereth thee, that thou dost not see nor hear God.
When we start at the center of ourselves, we discover something worthwhile extending toward the periphery of the circle. We find again some of the joy in the now, some of the peace in the here, some of the love in me and thee which go to make up the kingdom of heaven on earth.
A knowledge of thyself will preserve thee from vanity.
Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea.
Count each affliction, whether light or grave, God's messenger sent down to thee.
God I bring each wounded child to Thee.
Tradition, thou art for suckling children, Thou art the enlivening milk for babes, But no meat for men is in thee.
Give me good digestion, Lord, And also something to digest; but where and how that something comes I leave to Thee, who knoweth best.
For as well as I have loved thee heretofore, mine heart will not serve now to see thee; for through thee and me is the flower of kings and knights destroyed.
Thou shalt understand that it is a science most profitable, and passing all other sciences, for to learn to die. For a man to know that he shall die, that is common to all men; as much as there is no man that may ever live or he hath hope or trust thereof; but thou shalt find full few that hath this cunning to learn to die. I shall give thee the mystery of this doctrine; the which shall profit thee greatly to the beginning of ghostly health, and to a stable fundamental of all virtues.
Let the moon shine on the in thy solitary walk; and let the misty mountain-winds be free to blow against thee.
My country tis of thee, to take swings at each other on talk show TV.
I here present thee with a hive of bees, laden some with wax, and some with honey. Fear not to approach! there are no wasps, there are no hornets here. If some wanton bee chance to buzz about thine ears, stand thy ground and hold thy hands-there's none will sting thee, if thou strike not first. If any do, she hath honey in her bag will cure thee too.
Let me purify my thoughts and words and deeds that I may be a vehicle for thee.
I swear by this song and by all that I have done wrong, I will make it all up to thee.
Yes, great God, these torrents of tears which flow down from my eyes announce thy divine presence in my soul. This heart hitherto so dry, so arid, so hard; this rock which thou hast struck a second time, will not resist thee any longer, for out of it there now gushes healthful waters in abundance. The selfsame voice of God which overturns the mountains, thunders, lightens, and divides the heaven above, now commands the clouds to pour forth showers of blessings, changing the desert of his soul into a field producing a hundredfold; that voice I hear.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: