Quotes
Quotes about End
He who died at Azan sends
This to comfort all his friends:--
Faithful friends! It lies I know
Pale and white and cold as snow;
And ye say, ‘Abdallah's dead!'
Weeping at the feet and head.
I can see your falling tears,
I can hear your sighs and prayers;
Yet I smile and whisper this:
I am not the thing you kiss.
Cease your tears and let it lie;
It was mine--it is not I.
These heroes are dead. They died for liberty--they died for us. They are at rest. They sleep in the land they made free, under the flag they rendered stainless, under the solemn pines, the sad hemlocks, the tearful willows, the embracing vines. They sleep beneath the shadows of the clouds, careless alike of sunshine or storm, each in the windowless palace of rest. Earth may run red with other wars--they are at peace. In the midst of battles, in the roar of conflict, they found the serenity of death.
Is there beyond the silent night
An endless day?
Is death a door that leads to light?
We cannot say.
Crops failed; wealth took a flight; house, treasure, land,
Slipped from my hold--thus plenty comes and goes.
One friend I had, but he too loosed his hand
(Or was it I?) the year I met with Rose.
Masters, I have to tell a tale of woe,
A tale of folly and of wasted life,
Hope against hope, the bitter dregs of strife,
Ending, where all things end, in death at last.
Forgetfulness of grief I yet may gain;
In some wise may come ending to my pain;
It may be yet the Gods will have me glad!
Yet, Love, I would that thee and pain I had!
Friends I have had both old and young,
And ale we drank and songs we sung:
Enough you know when this is said,
That, one and all, they died in bed.
In bed they died and I'll not go
Where all my friends have perished so.
I send thee a shell from the ocean-beach;
But listen thou well, for my shell hath speech.
Hold to thine ear
And plain thou'lt hear
Tales of ships.
So, lest I be inclined
To render ill for ill,--
Henceforth in me instil,
O God, a sweet good-will
To all mankind.
Bend low, O dusky Night,
And give my spirit rest,
Hold me to your deep breast,
And put old cares to flight.
Give back the lost delight
That once my soul possest,
When Love was loveliest.
There is a sumptuous variety about the New England weather that compels the stranger's admiration--and regret. The weather is always doing something there; always attending strictly to business; always getting up new designs and trying them on people to see how they will go. But it gets through more business in Spring than in any other season. In the Spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of twenty-four hours.
Ah, happy world, where all things live
Creatures of one great law, indeed;
Bound by strong roots, the splendid flower,--
Swept by great seas, the drifting seed!
You have a daughter, Captain Reese,
Ten female cousins and a niece,
A ma, if what I'm told is true,
Six sisters and an aunt or two.
Now, somehow, Sir, it seems to me,
More friendly-like we all should be
If you united of them to
Unmarried members of the crew.
As some day it may happen that a victim must be found
I 've got a little list--I 've got a little list.
Of social offenders who might well be under ground
And who never would be missed--who never would be missed.
His love was like the liberal air,--
Embracing all, to cheer and bless;
And every grief that mortals share
Found pity in his tenderness.
Before the beginning of years
There came to the making of man
Time with a gift of tears,
Grief with a glass that ran,
Pleasure with pain for leaven,
Summer with flowers that fell,
Remembrance fallen from heaven,
And Madness risen from hell,
Strength without hands to smite,
Love that endures for a breath;
Night, the shadow of light,
And Life, the shadow of death.
Stately, kindly, lordly friend
Condescend
Here to sit by me.
She throws a kiss, and bids me run
In whispers sweet as roses' breath;
I know I can not win the race,
And at the end, I know, is death.
Not a log in this buildin' but its memories has got
And not a nail in this old floor but touches a tender spot.
Fare you well, old house! you're naught that can feel or see,
But you seem like a human bein'--a dear old friend to me;
And we never will have a better home, if my opinion stands,
Until we commence a-keepin' house in the house not made with hands.
When the first just and friendly man appeared on the earth, from that day a fatal Waterloo was visible for all the men of pride and fraud and blood.
A brave endeavor
To do thy duty, whate'er its worth,
Is better than life with love forever
And love is the sweetest thing on earth.
Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
Nor a friend to know me;
All I ask: the heaven above
And the road below me.
? John Bartlett, compThe splendor of Silence,--of snow-jeweled hills and of ice.
Marry Ann and at the end of a week you 'll find no more inspiration in her than in a plate of muffins.
