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The superfluous blossoms on a fruit tree are meant to symbolize the large way God loves to do pleasant things.

Henry Ward Beecher

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Henry Ward Beecher
Journalist
Minister
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Litchfield (town)
Connecticut
Pleasant
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Loves
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Superfluous

More quotes by Henry Ward Beecher

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The beginnings of moral enterprises in this world are never to be measured by any apparent growth. ... At length comes the sudden ripeness and the full success, and he who is called in at the final moment deems this success his own. He is but the reaper and not the labourer. Other men sowed and tilled and he but enters into their labours.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Remember God's bounty in the year. String the pearls of His favor. Hide the dark parts, except so far as they are breaking out in light! Give this one day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude!
Henry Ward Beecher
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God bless the good-natured, for they bless everybody else.
Henry Ward Beecher
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God made every man to have power to be mightier than the events round about him to hold by his firm will the reigns by which all things are guided.
Henry Ward Beecher
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As the cream abandons the milk from which it took its life, and rises to the top and rides there, so men, because they are richer than those around about them, separate themselves, and all mankind below them they regard as skim milk.
Henry Ward Beecher
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But there have been human hearts, constituted just like ours, for six thousand years. The same stars rise and set upon this globe that rose upon the plains of Shinar or along the Egyptian Nile and the same sorrows rise and set in every age.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Like the cellar-growing vine is the Christian who lives in the darkness and bondage of fear. But let him go forth, with the liberty of God, into the light of love, and he will be like the plant in the field, healthy, robust, and joyful.
Henry Ward Beecher
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You are not called to be a canary in a cage. You are called to be an eagle, and to fly sun to sun, over continents.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Conceited men often seem a harmless kind of men, who, by an overweening self-respect, relieve others from the duty of respecting them at all.
Henry Ward Beecher
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A man without mirth is like wagon without springs, in which one is caused disagreeably to jolt by every pebble over which it turns.
Henry Ward Beecher
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When a man says that he is perfect already, there is only one of two places for him, and that is heaven or the lunatic asylum.
Henry Ward Beecher
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The word of God tends to make large-minded noble-minded men.
Henry Ward Beecher
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What the heart has once owned and had, it shall never lose.
Henry Ward Beecher
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As flowers always wear their own colors and give forth their own fragrance every day alike, so should Christians maintain their character at all times and under all circumstances.
Henry Ward Beecher
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A man in the right, with God on his side, is in the majority, though he be alone, for God is multitudinous above all populations of the earth.
Henry Ward Beecher
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People of too much sentiment are like fountains, whose overflow keeps a disagreeable puddle about them.
Henry Ward Beecher
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There ought to be such an atmosphere in every Christian church that a man going there and sitting two hours should take the contagion of heaven, and carry home a fire to kindle the altar whence he came.
Henry Ward Beecher
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If any man is rich and powerful he comes under the law of God by which the higher branches must take the burnings of the sun, and shade those that are lower by which the tall trees must protect the weak plants beneath them.
Henry Ward Beecher
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What is the Bible in your house? It is not the Old Testament, it is not the New Testament, it is not the Gospel according to Matthew, or Mark, or Luke, or John it is the Gospel according to William it is the Gospel according to Mary it is the Gospel according to Henry and James it is the Gospel according to your name. You write your own Bible.
Henry Ward Beecher
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Our yearnings are homesicknesses for heaven our sighings are for God, just as children that cry themselves asleep away from home, and sob in their slumber, know not that they sob for their parents. The soul's inarticulate moanings are the affections yearning for the Infinite, and having no one to tell them what it is that ails them.
Henry Ward Beecher