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The inward sighs of humble penitence Rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal'd hymns Are scatter'd with the sounds of common air.

Joanna Baillie

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Joanna Baillie
Age: 88 †
Born: 1762
Born: September 11
Died: 1851
Died: February 23
Playwright
Poet
Tragedy Writer
Writer
Joanna Baillie
Rise
Peal
Humble
Penitence
Ears
Scatter
Air
Sighs
Heaven
Hymns
Common
Sigh
Sound
Inward
Sounds

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Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.
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She who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert, Which not ennobles but degrades her state.
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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
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My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.
Joanna Baillie
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It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
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Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.
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Stand there, damn'd meddling villain, and be silent For if thou utt'rest but a single word, A cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I'll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, To bellow with the damn'd!
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A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to her is in immediate danger.
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The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
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Busy work brings after ease Ease brings sport and sport brings rest For young and old, of all degrees, The mingled lot is best.
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Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod, And sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting the soul.
Joanna Baillie
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Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.
Joanna Baillie
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I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
Joanna Baillie
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O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?
Joanna Baillie
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Good-morrow to thy sable beak, And glossy plumage, dark and sleek, Thy crimson moon and azure eye
Joanna Baillie
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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
Joanna Baillie
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Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.
Joanna Baillie