Quote

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.

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
Past
Lovely
Pastures
Change
Yesterday
Daisies
Look
Clouds
Wears
Looks
Finished
Cloud
Made
Spring
Reached
World
Sweet
Hills
Feet
Fresh
Lord
Golden
Hem

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When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.
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Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.
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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 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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Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
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I am athirst for God, the living God.
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O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.
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What is thy thought? There is no miracle? There is a great one, which thou hast not read, And never shalt escape. Thyself, O man, Thou art the miracle. Ay, thou thyself, Being in the world and of the world, thyself, Hast breathed in breath from Him that made the world. Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,-- Thou art thy Father's miracle.
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A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.
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Reign, and keep life in this our deep desireOur only greatness is that we aspire.
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we wish for more in life rather than more of it.
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People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.
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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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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 fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!
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Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.
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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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Quoth the Ocean, Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.
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Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.
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It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.
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