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And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

Jean Ingelow

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Jean Ingelow
Age: 77 †
Born: 1820
Born: March 17
Died: 1897
Died: July 20
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Boston
England
Orris
Heart
Years
Affront
Stir
Pain

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From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love To long for, pureness to desire, a mount Of consecration it were good to scale.
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There's no dew left on the daisies and clover there's no rain left in heaven.
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I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.
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There is but halting for the wearied foot The better way is hidden. Faith hath failed One stronger far than reason mastered her. It is not reason makes faith hard, but life.
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I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.
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A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.
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When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad, Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout It makes me sigh to think on it,--but yet My days will not be better days, should I forget.
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Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.
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Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.
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we wish for more in life rather than more of it.
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Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.
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O sleep! O sleep! Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep, Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand Over the lids that crave thy visits bland, Thou kind, thou comforting one. For I have seen his face, as I desired, And all my story is done. O, I am tired.
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I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.
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People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
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I am athirst for God, the living God.
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I have lived to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered.
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What change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet, And cloud that wears a golden hem? This lovely world, the hills, the sward-- They all look fresh, as if our Lord But yesterday had finished them.
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Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.
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You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?
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O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.
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