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It has always been my belief that children inherit the suppressed tendencies of their parents. A clergyman's son frequently shows abnormal tastes for the pleasures that his father denied himself.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Age: 68 †
Born: 1850
Born: November 5
Died: 1919
Died: October 30
Author
Poet
Writer
Janesville
Wisconsin
Shows
Son
Inherit
Children
Taste
Abnormal
Always
Generations
Tastes
Parents
Frequently
Parent
Pleasures
Pleasure
Denied
Clergyman
Belief
Denial
Clergymen
Father
Tendencies
Suppressed

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Just a little every day That's the way Children learn to read and write Bit by bit and mite by mite.
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You are your own devil, you are your own God, You fashioned the paths that your footsteps have trod, And no one can save you from error or sin, Until you shall hark to the Spirit within.
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No question is ever settled until it is settled right.
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I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain, And troubles swarm like bees about a hive I shall believe the heights for which I strive Are only reached by anguish and by pain And though I groan and tremble with my crosses, I yet shall see, through my severest losses, The greater gain.
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O skies, be calm! O winds, blow free - Blow all my ships safe home to me! But if thou sendest some a-wrack, To never more come sailing back, Send any - all that skim the sea, But bring my love-ship home to me.
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Change is the watchword of progression.
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Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek And sought the mourner's side again. Once more, dear lady, I must speak: Your last remaining son was slain Just at the closing of the fight Twas he who sent me here to-night. God knows, the man said afterward, The fight itself was not so hard.
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Sweep up the debris of decaying faith Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out out beliefs, And throw your soul wide open to the light of reason and of knowledge. Be not afraid To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole.
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The splendid discontent of God With chaos made the world. And from the discontent of man The worlds best progress springs.
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It is never too late to begin rebuilding, Though all into ruins your life seems hurled For see! how the light of the New Year is gilding The wan, worn face of the bruised old world.
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Love is the only thing that pays for birth, Or makes death welcome. Oh, dear God above This beautiful but sad, perplexing earth, Pity the hearts that know--or know not--Love!
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There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.
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Dear friend, I pray thee, if thou wouldst be proving Thy strong regard for me, Make me no vows. Lip-service is not loving Let thy faith speak for thee.
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Talk health. The dreary, never-changing tale Of mortal maladies is worn and stale. You cannot charm, or interest, or please By harping in that minor chord, disease. Say you are well, or all is well with you, And God shall hear your words and make them true.
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This world is a vaporous jest at best, Tossed off by the gods in laughter, And a cruel attempt at wit were it, If nothing better came after.
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Let there be many windows to your soul, that all the glory of the world may beautify it.
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For every hour of pain I have had a day of pleasure. For every moment of worry, an hour of content.
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Affirm the body, beautiful and whole, The earth-expression of immortal soul. Affirm the mind, the messenger of the hour, To speed between thee and the source of power. Affirm the spirit, the Eternal I - Of this great trinity no part deny.
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I was as pure as the morning When I first looked on your face I knew I never could reach you In your high, exalted place.
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There is no sudden entrance into Heaven. Slow is the ascent by the path of Love.
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