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Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.

Adelaide Anne Procter

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Adelaide Anne Procter
Activist
Poet
Writer
London
England
Seemed
Noisy
Keys
Harmonious
Adelaide
Life
Echoes
Discordant
Organs
Idly
Weary
Wandered
Ill
Seated
Ease
Echo
Fingers
Organ

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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
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One by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall Some are coming, some are going Do not strive to grasp them all.
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Do no cheat thy Heart and tell her, 'Grief will pass away.'
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Each man has some part to play.
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The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women and well they may be, for when the horse and ass begin to think and argue, adieu to riding and driving.
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No star is lost once we have seen, We always may be what we might have been.
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Do not look at life's long sorrow see how small each moment's pain.
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Dreams grow holy put in action.
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Half my life is full of sorrow, Half of joy, still fresh and new One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.
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Be strong to hope, O Heart! Though day is bright, The stars can only shine In the dark night. Be strong, O Heart of mine, Look towards the light!
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I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be a pleasant road.
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Joy is like restless day but peace divine like quiet night Lead me, O Lord, till perfect Day shall shine through Peace to Light.
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Kinds hearts are here yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy God has none.
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Have we not all, amid life's petty strife, / Some pure idea of a noble life / That once seemed possible?
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Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us,With heaven's light upon their wings:Every word has its own spirit,True or false, that never diesEvery word man's lips have utteredEchoes in God's skies.
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See how time makes all grief decay.
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One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below Take them readily when given, Ready, too, to let them go.
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Dreams grow holy put in action work grows fair through starry dreaming, But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.
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Hours are golden links, God's token Reaching heaven but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.
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Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies To listen to Earth’s weary voices Louder every day Bidding her no longer linger On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.
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