Quotes
Quotes about Right
The victories of Right
Are born of strife.
There were no Day were there no Night,
Nor, without dying, Life.
The passionate love of Right, the burning hate of Wrong.
The sun has a right to "set" where it wants to, and so, I may add, has a hen.
Is life worth living? Yes, so long
As there is wrong to right.
Wide open and unguarded stand our gates,
Named of the four winds, North, South, East and West;
Portals that lead to an enchanted land...
Here, it is written, Toil shall have its wage
And Honor honor, and the humblest man
Stand level with the highest in the law.
Of such a land have men in dungeons dreamed
And with the vision brightening in their eyes
Gone smiling to the fagot and the sword.
O Liberty, white Goddess! is it well
To leave the gates unguarded? On thy breast
Fold Sorrow's children, soothe the hurts of Fate,
Lift the down-trodden, but with hand of steel
Stay those who to thy sacred portals come
To waste the gifts of Freedom.
Though all the bards of earth were dead,
And all their music passed away,
What Nature wishes should be said
She'll find the rightful voice to say.
Fierce for the right, he bore his part
In strife with many a valiant foe;
But Laughter winged his polished dart,
And kindness tempered every blow.
Though our works
Find righteous or unrighteous judgment, this
At least is ours, to make them righteous.
I see not a step before me as I tread on another year;
But I 've left the Past in God's keeping,--the Future
His mercy shall clear;
And what looks dark in the distance may brighten as I draw near.
It is not enough to do good; one must do it the right way.
The most frightful idea that has ever corroded human nature--the idea of eternal punishment.
Duluth! The word fell upon my ear with a peculiar and indescribable charm, like the gentle murmur of a low fountain stealing forth in the midst of roses, or the soft sweet accent of an angel's whisper in the bright, joyous dream of sleeping innocence. 'T was the name for which my soul had panted for years, as the hart panteth for the water-brooks.
The pure, the beautiful, the bright,
That stirred our hearts in youth,
The impulse to a wordless prayer,
The dreams of love and truth,
The longings after something lost,
The spirit's yearning cry,
The strivings after better hopes,--
These things can never die.
Here's a pot with a cot in a park
In a park where the peach-blossoms blew,
Where the lovers eloped in the dark,
Lived, died and were changed into two
Bright birds that eternally flew
Through the boughs of the may, as they sang;
'T is a tale was undoubtedly true
In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.
? John Bartlett, compThe Night has a thousand eyes,
And the Day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
? John Bartlett, compLife is a voyage. The winds of life come strong
From every point; yet each will speed thy course along,
If thou with steady hand when tempests blow
Canst keep thy course aright and never once let go.
No question is ever settled
Until it is settled right.
The humblest citizen of all the land, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause is stronger than all the hosts of Error.
Nor love they least
Who strike with right good will
To vanquish ill
And fight God's battle upward from the beast.
Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville--mighty Casey has "struck out."
O star on the breast of the river!
O marvel of bloom and grace!
Did you fall right down from heaven,
Out of the sweetest place?
You are white as the thoughts of an angel,
Your heart is steeped in the sun;
Did you grow in the Golden City,
My pure and radiant one?"
"Nay, nay, I fell not out of heaven;
None gave me my saintly white;
It slowly grew from the darkness,
Down in the dreary night.
From the ooze of the silent river,
I win my glory and grace,
White souls fall not, O my poet,
They rise to the sweetest place."
Of right and wrong he taught
Truths as refined as ever Athens heard;
And (strange to tell!) he practised what he preached.
Oh, it's a snug little island!
A right little, tight little island.
They [the blacks] had no rights which the white man was bound to respect.
Our country! In her intercourse with foreign nations may she always be in the right; but our country, right or wrong.
