Quotes
Quotes about Rest
Come, wander with me, for the moonbeams are bright
On river and forest, o'er mountain and lea.
This is the forest primeval.
Neither locks had they to their doors nor bars to their windows;
But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the owners;
There the richest was poor and the poorest lived in abundance.
The surest pledge of a deathless name
Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems
And all the rest are dead.
And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness,
Round our restlessness His rest.
Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.
A man's best things are nearest him,
Lie close about his feet.
Oh glory, that we wrestle
So valiantly with Time!
Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet!
Nothing comes to thee new or strange.
Sleep full of rest from head to feet;
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom;
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past!
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
The brightest blades grow dim with rust,
The fairest meadow white with snow.
National injustice is the surest road to national downfall.
Who can wrestle against Sleep?--Yet is that giant very gentleness.
There's a woman like a dewdrop, she's so purer than the purest.
We shall march prospering,--not thro' his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,--not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,--while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire.
God's justice, tardy though it prove perchance,
Rests never on the track until it reach
Delinquency.
When the night-wind bewaileth the fall of the year,
And sweeps from the forest the leaves that are sere;
I wake from my slumber and list to the roar
And it saith to my spirit, "No more, never more!"
Rest is not quitting
The busy career,
Rest is the fitting
Of self to one's sphere.
'T is loving and serving
The Highest and Best!
'T is onwards! unswerving,
And that is true rest.
O Paradise! O Paradise!
Who doth not crave for rest?
Who would not seek the happy land
Where they that love are blest?
The world is growing old;
Who would not be at rest and free
Where love is never cold?
Would that we two were lying
Beneath the churchyard sod,
With our limbs at rest in the green earth's breast,
And our souls at home with God.
This child is not mine as the first was;
I can not sing it to rest;
I can not lift it up fatherly,
And bless it upon my breast.
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle,
And sits in my little one's chair,
And the light of the heaven she's gone to
Transfigures its golden hair.
