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Why one day in the country Is worth a month in town Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere.

Christina Rossetti

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Christina Rossetti
Age: 64 †
Born: 1830
Born: December 5
Died: 1894
Died: December 29
Hymnwriter
Poet
Writer
London
England
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Christina G. Rossetti
Last
Town
Country
Towns
Musty
Years
Months
Lag
Worth
Drone
Fashion
Dusty
Days
Drones
Year
Elsewhere
Lasts
Month

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Christmas hath a darkness Brighter than the blazing noon Christmas hath a chillness Warmer than the heat of June, Christmas hath a beauty Lovelier than the world can show: For Christmas bringeth Jesus, Brought for us so low
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To me it seems our duty towards the Bible is to obey its teaching in faith. I do not think we are bound to understand or account for all its utterances.
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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather.
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Why does the sea moan evermore? Shut out from heaven it makes its moan, It frets against the boundary shore All earth's full rivers cannot fill The sea, that drinking thirsteth still.
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Can anything be sadder than work left unfinished? Yes, work never begun.
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Faith is like a lily, lifted high and white.
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I wish I could remember the first day, First hour, first moment of your meeting me If bright or dim the season it might be Summer or winter for aught I can say. So, unrecorded did it slip away, So blind was i to see and to forsee, So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom, yet, for many a May.
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Because the birthday of my life Is come, my love is come to me.
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For there is no friend like a sister in calm or stormy weather To cheer one on the tedious way, to fetch one if one goes astray, to lift one if one totters down, to strengthen whilst one stands.
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My heart is breaking for a little love
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A pin has a head, but has no hair
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Let bygones be bygones.
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All earth's full rivers can not fillThe sea that drinking thirsteth still.
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Rest, rest at the heart's core . . . till joy shall overtake.
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O Lord, who art our guide even unto death, grant us, I pray Thee, grace to follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest. In little daily duties to which Thou callest us, bow down our wills to simple obedience.
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Love shall be our token love be yours and love be mine.
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Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago. (The Key-Note)
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The rose saith in the dewy morn, I am most fair Yet all my loveliness is born Upon a thorn.
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Ah me, but where are now the songs I sang When life was sweet because you call’d them sweet?
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The loves that meet in Paradise shall cast out fear, And Paradise hath room for you and me and all.
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