Felicia Hemans Quotes
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I had a hat. It was not all a hat,-Part of the brim was gone:Yet still I wore it on.
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There’s beauty all around our paths, If but our watchful eyes Can trace it ’midst familiar things, And through their lowly guise.
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Though the past haunt me as a spirit, I do not ask to forget.
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Gird your hearts with silent fortitude, Suffering, yet hoping all things.
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Oh, call my brother back to me!I cannot play alone:The summer comes with flower and bee,-Where is my brother gone?
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Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
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life's best balm - Forgetfulness!
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Come, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountain with light and song: Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves, opening as I pass.
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Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod, They have left unstained, what there they found,- Freedom to worship God.
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Passing away" is written on the world and all the world contains.
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Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs?
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The opening and the folding flowers, that laugh to the summer's day.
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Alas! for love, if thou art all, And nought beyond, O earth.
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There is strength deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck but little till the shafts of heaven have pierced its fragile dwelling. Must not earth be rent before her gems are found?
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What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine.
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Christ hath arisen! O mountain peaks, attest- Witness, resounding glen and torrent wave! The immortal courage in the human breast Sprung from that victory-tell how oft the brave To camp midst rock and cave, Nerved by those words, their struggling faith have borne, Planting the cross on high above the clouds of morn!
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The stately Homes of England,How beautiful they stand!Amidst their tall ancestral trees,O'er all the pleasant land.
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There is in all this cold and hollow world, No fount of deep, strong,deathless love ;save that within a mother's heart
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We pine for kindred natures To mingle with our own.
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Oh! lovely voices of the sky Which hymned the Saviour's birth, Are ye not singing still on high, Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?
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A passion for flowers, is, I think, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence.
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