I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
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The customs and fashions of men change like leaves on the bough, some of which go and others come
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We are not to make the ideas of contentment and aspiration quarrel, for God made them fast friends. A man may aspire, and yet be quite content until it is time to raise; and both flying and resting are but parts of one contentment. The very fruit of the gospel is aspiration. It is to the heart what spring is to the earth, making every root, and bud, and bough desire to be more. -
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What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round.
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Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
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Just as a prism of glass miters light and casts a colored braid, a garden sings sweet incantations the human heart strains to hear. Hiding in every flower, in every leaf, in every twig and bough, are reflections of the God who once walked with us in Eden.
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A Book of Verses undeneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness- Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow
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I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself; A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
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If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come.
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Merrily, merrily shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
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