His fine wit Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.
I wish I could take language And fold it like cool, moist rags. I would lay words on your forehead. I would wrap words on your wrists. 'There, there,' my words would say - Or something better. I would ask them to murmur, 'Hush' and 'Shh, shhh, it's all right.' I would ask them to hold you all night. I wish I could take language And daub and soothe and cool Where fever blisters and burns, Where fever turns yourself against you. I wish I could take language And heal the words that were the wounds You have no names for.
What? Was man made a wheel-work to wind up, And be discharged, and straight wound up anew? No! grown, his growth lasts; taught, he ne'er forgets: May learn a thousand things, not twice the same.
My hunger and desperation, being an actor, an out of work actor - my memory of that is as fresh as an open wound.
How sweet, the presence of Jesus to the longing, harassed soul! It is instant peace, and balm to every wound.
The wounds I carry, she carries them too. The unshed tears in my head flow through her heart too .
Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, The builder oak, sole king of forests all, The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral, The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the fir that weepest still, The yew obedient to the bender's will, The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill, The myrrh sweet-bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, The fruitful olive, and the platane round, The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound.
No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name. Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! where s'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can trickle when she wounds!
Take a portion of wit, And fashion it fit, Like a needle, with point and with eye: A point that can wound, An eye to look round, And at folly or vice let it fly
Brain tumor survivors: don't become hopelessly discouraged if you are experiencing deficits. You in a war and you are bound to have a few battle wounds.
People say that time heals all wounds, and maybe they're right. But whit if the wounds don't heal correctly, like when cuts leave behind nasty scars, or when broken bones mend together, but aren't as smooth anymore? Does it mean they're really healed? Or is it that the body did what it could to fix what broke.
His wet white face and miserable eyesBrought nurses to him more than groans and sighs:But hoarse and low and rapid rose and fellHis troubled voice: he did the business well.(First verse of Died of Wounds)
There is no end to the creativity, ingenuity, and tenacity of those who look for reasons to criticize. They cannot seem to release their grip on grudges. They gossip and find fault with others. They nurse wounds for decades, taking every opportunity to tear down and demean others. This is not pleasing to the Lord, 'for where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work' (James 3:16).
The wounds that cannot be seen are more painful than those that can be treated by a doctor.
Our scars are a witness to the world. They are apart of our story. Healed wounds that are symbols that God has restored us.
Wounds are the means through which we enter the hearts of other people. They are meant to teach us to become compassionate and wise.
I tend to the wound so often, it never heals.
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.
The thing the Church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful.
But the best argument of all [for evangelism] is to be found in the wounds of Jesus. You want to honor Him, you desire to put many crowns upon His head, and this you can best do by winning souls for Him. These are the spoils that He covets, these are the trophies for which He fights, these are the jewels that shall be His best adornment.
I said: what about my eyes? God said: Keep them on the road. I said: what about my passion? God said: Keep it burning. I said: what about my heart? God said: Tell me what you hold inside it? I said: pain and sorrow? He said: Stay with it. The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
There is a sad tendency in our world today for persons to cut one another down. Did you ever realize that it does not take very much in the way of brainpower to make remarks that may wound another? Try the opposite of that. Try handing out compliments.
Everyone gets wounded in this world and everyone has within them some golden qualities that can serve to heal the wounds of time and the traumatic effects of human tragedy.
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