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Commemoration of Richard Meux Benson, Founder of the Society of St John the Evangelist, 1915 Our critical day is not the very day of our death, but the whole course of our life I thank him, that prays for me when my bell tolls but I thank him much more, that catechizes me, or preaches to me, or instructs me how to live.

John Donne

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John Donne
Died: 1631
Died: March 31
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Very Rev. John Donne
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Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.
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Nature hath no goal though she hath law.
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Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow, And for our children we reserve tomorrow.
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Twice or thrice had I loved thee before I knew thy face or name, so in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, angels affect us oft, and worshiped be.
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I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.
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we give each other a smile with a future in it
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What gnashing is not a comfort, what gnawing of the worm is not a tickling, what torment is not a marriage bed to this damnation, to be secluded eternally, eternally, eternally from the sight of God?
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Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.
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Tis true, 'tis day what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise, because 'tis light? Did we lie down, because 'twas night? Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither Should in despite of light keep us together.
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There is no health physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.
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I have done one braver thing than all the Worthies did, and yet a braver thence doth spring, which is, to keep that hid.
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Religion is not a melancholy, the spirit of God is not a damper.
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Let me arrest thy thoughts, wonder with me, Why ploughing, building, ruling and the rest, Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blessed, By cursed Cain's race invented be, And blessed Seth vexed us with astronomy.
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That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
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I will not look upon the quickening sun, But straight her beauty to my sense shall run The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure Water suggest her clear, and the earth sure Time shall not lose our passages.
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There is nothing that God hath established in a constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a Miracle, and exercise our admiration, if it were done but once.
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Love's mysteries in souls do grow, But yet the body is his book.
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Death, thou shalt die.
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Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.
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Love is a growing, or full constant light And his first minute, after noon, is night.
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