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The irrevocable Hand That opes the year's fair gate, doth ope and shut The portals of our earthly destinies We walk through blindfold, and the noiseless doors Close after us, for ever.

Dinah Maria Murlock Craik

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Dinah Maria Murlock Craik
Walk
Doth
Blindfold
Walks
Gates
Noiseless
Hand
Shut
Portals
Forever
Fairs
Irrevocable
Year
Fair
Destinies
Hands
Destiny
Portal
Ever
Close
Gate
Years
Doors
Earthly
Blindfolds

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It is not work that kills, but worry.
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according to the old joke, married people are often like little boys bathing, who cry with chattering teeth to the boys on the shore, 'Do come in, it's so warm' - it is not always warm.
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God rest you merry, gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born upon this day, To save us all from Satan's power When we were gone astray. O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Christmas Day.
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O blest one hour like this! to rise And see grief's shadows backward roll While bursts on unaccustomed eyes The glad Aurora of the soul.
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We are all of us very perfect creatures so long as we are not tried.
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It is astonishing what a lot of odd minutes one can catch during the day, if one really sets about it.
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Society, in the aggregate, is no fool. It is astonishing what an amount of eccentricity it will stand from anybody who takes the bull by the horns, too fearless or too indifferent to think of consequences.
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Autumn to winter, winter into spring, Spring into summer, summer into fall,-- So rolls the changing year, and so we change Motion so swift, we know not that we move.
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Wedlock's a lane where there is no turning.
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Happiness! Can any human being undertake to define it for another?
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... it does not do to tell great people anything unpleasant.
Dinah Maria Murlock Craik
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O the green things growing, the green things growing, The faint sweet smell of the green things growing! I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve, Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
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What small account The All-living seems to take of this thin flame Which we call life. He sends a moment's blast Out of war's nostrils, and a myriad Of these our puny tapers are blown out Forever.
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We never know through what Divine mysteries of compensation the great Father of the universe may be carrying out His sublime plan but those three words, God is love ought to contain, to every doubting soul, the solution of all things.
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A secret at home is like rocks under tide.
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Why cannot one always do, not only the right thing, but at the right time?
Dinah Maria Murlock Craik
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It is not the smallest use to try to make people good, unless you try at the same time - and they feel that you are trying - to make them happy. And you rarely can make another happy, unless you are happy yourself.
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It is the Christmas time: And up and down 'twixt heaven and earth, In glorious grief and solemn mirth, The shining angels climb.
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O how beautiful is morning! How the sunbeams strike the daisies And the kingcups fill the meadow Like a golden-shielded army Marching to the uplands fair.
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Now, I have nothing to say against uncles in general. They are usually very excellent people, and very convenient to little boys and girls.
Dinah Maria Murlock Craik