Quote

Iron till it be thoroughly heated is incapable to be wrought so God sees good to cast some men into the furnace of affliction, and then beats them on His anvil into what frame He desires.

Anne Bradstreet

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Anne Bradstreet
Age: 60 †
Born: 1612
Born: March 20
Died: 1672
Died: September 16
Poet
Writer
Ann Dudley
Ann Dudley Bradstreet
Anne Dudley Bradstreet
Anne Dudley
Good
Cast
Heated
Men
Casts
Furnaces
Desires
Wrought
Till
Thoroughly
Sees
Affliction
Beats
Frame
Anvil
Grace
Incapable
Anvils
Desire
Iron
Furnace

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The world no longer lets me love, My hope and treasure are above.
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I wish my Sun may never set, but burn.
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My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence. Thy love is such I can no way repay, The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
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The stones and trees, insensible to time, / Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen / If Winter come, and greenness then do fade / A Spring returns, and they more youthful made / But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue who says my hand a needle better fits.
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Fire hath its force abated by water, not by wind and anger must be allayed by cold words, and not by blustering threats.
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What to my Saviour shall I giveWho freely hath done this for me?I'll serve him here whilst I shall liveAnd Loue him to Eternity
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If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.
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My hope and treasure lies above
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Satan, that great angler, hath his sundry baits for sundry tempers of men, which they all catch greedily at, but few perceive the hook till it be too late.
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Wisdom with an inheritance is good, but wisdom without an inheritance is better than an inheritance without wisdom.
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I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold or all the riches that the East doth hold.
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I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits/ If what I do prove well, it won't advance,/ They'll say it's stolen, or else, it was by chance.
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Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, I here, though there, yet both but one.
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My age I will not once lament, / But sing, my time so near is spent.
Anne Bradstreet
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If what I do prove well, it won't advance. They'll say it's stolen, or else it was by chance.
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I happy am, if well with you.
Anne Bradstreet
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When I behold the heavens as in their prime, And then the earth (though old) still clad in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen
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To sing of Wars, of Captains, and of Kings/Of Cities founded, Common-wealths begun/For my mean Pen are too superior things.
Anne Bradstreet
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The spring is a lively emblem of the Resurrection.
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