James Gates Percival Quotes
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There are moments of life that we never forget, which brighten and brighten as time steals away.
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Happy the life, that in a peaceful stream, Obscure, unnoticed through the vale has flow'd; The heart that ne'er was charm'd by fortune's gleam Is ever sweet contentment's blest abode.
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Night steals on; and the day takes its farewell, like the words of a departing friend, or the last tone of hallowed music in a minister's aisles, heard when it floats along the shade of elms, in the still place of graves.
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There is nothing but death Our affections can sever, And till life's latest breath Love shall bind us for ever.
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Thought can wing its way Swifter than lightning-flashes or the beam That hastens on the pinions of the morn.
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Sweet flower, thou tellest how hearts as pure and tender as thy leaf, as low and humble as thy stem, will surely know the joy that peace imparts.
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The thundering voice that wrings, in one dark, damning moment, crimes of years!
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How awful is that hour when con, science stings.
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I am one who finds within me a nobility that spurns the idle pratings of the great, and their mean boasts of what their fathers were, while they themselves are fools effeminate.
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Roses bloom, and then they wither; Cheeks are bright, then fade and die; Shapes of light are wafted hither, Then, like visions, hurry by.
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In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears.
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The recollection of one upward hour Hath more in it to tranquilize and cheer The darkness of despondency, than years Of gayety and pleasure.
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Our thoughts are boundless, though our frames are frail, Our souls immortal, though our limbs decay; Though darken'd in this poor life by a veil Of suffering, dying matter, we shall play In truth's eternal sunbeams; on the way To heaven's high capitol our cars shall roll; The temple of the Power whom all obey, That is the mark we tend to, for the soul Can take no lower flight, and seek no meaner goal.
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Green sods are all their monument; and yet it tells A nobler history than pillared piles, Or the eternal pyramids.
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O rose! the sweetest blossom, Of spring the fairest flower, O rose! the joy of heaven. The god of love, with roses His yellow locks adorning, Dances with the hours and graces.
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The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.
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