Written by
Emily Dickinson |
I learned -- at least -- what Home could be --
How ignorant I had been
Of pretty ways of Covenant --
How awkward at the Hymn
Round our new Fireside -- but for this --
This pattern -- of the Way --
Whose Memory drowns me, like the Dip
Of a Celestial Sea --
What Mornings in our Garden -- guessed --
What Bees -- for us -- to hum --
With only Birds to interrupt
The Ripple of our Theme --
And Task for Both --
When Play be done --
Your Problem -- of the Brain --
And mine -- some foolisher effect --
A Ruffle -- or a Tune --
The Afternoons -- Together spent --
And Twilight -- in the Lanes --
Some ministry to poorer lives --
Seen poorest -- thro' our gains --
And then Return -- and Night -- and Home --
And then away to You to pass --
A new -- diviner -- care --
Till Sunrise take us back to Scene --
Transmuted -- Vivider --
This seems a Home --
And Home is not --
But what that Place could be --
Afflicts me -- as a Setting Sun --
Where Dawn -- knows how to be --
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Written by
Isaac Watts |
God loves the righteous and hates the wicked.
My refuge is the God of love;
Why do my foes insult and cry,
"Fly like a tim'rous, trembling dove,
To distant woods or mountains fly?"
If government be all destroyed,
(That firm foundation of our peace,)
And violence make justice void,
Where shall the righteous seek redress?
The Lord in heav'n has fixed his throne,
His eye surveys the world below:
To him all mortal things are known,
His eyelids search our spirits through.
If he afflicts his saints so far,
To prove their love and try their grace,
What may the bold transgressors fear?
His very soul abhors their ways.
On impious wretches he shall rain
Tempests of brimstone, fire, and death;
Such as he kindled on the plain
Of Sodom, with his angry breath.
The righteous Lord loves righteous souls,
Whose thoughts and actions are sincere;
And with a gracious eye beholds
The men that his own image bear.
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Written by
Francesco Petrarch |
SONNET XVI.
Sì breve è 'l tempo e 'l pensier sì veloce.
THE REMEMBRANCE OF HER CHASES SADNESS FROM HIS HEART.
So brief the time, so fugitive the thought
Which Laura yields to me, though dead, again,
Small medicine give they to my giant pain;
Still, as I look on her, afflicts me nought.
Love, on the rack who holds me as he brought,
Fears when he sees her thus my soul retain,
Where still the seraph face and sweet voice reign,
Which first his tyranny and triumph wrought.
[Pg 248]As rules a mistress in her home of right,
From my dark heavy heart her placid brow
Dispels each anxious thought and omen drear.
My soul, which bears but ill such dazzling light,
Says with a sigh: "O blessed day! when thou
Didst ope with those dear eyes thy passage here!"
Macgregor.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Except the Heaven had come so near --
So seemed to choose My Door --
The Distance would not haunt me so --
I had not hoped -- before --
But just to hear the Grace depart --
I never thought to see --
Afflicts me with a Double loss --
'Tis lost -- and lost to me --
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