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O, when the heart is, full, when bitter thoughts come crowding thickly up for utterance, and the poor common words of courtesy are such a very mockery, how much the bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!

Nathaniel Parker Willis

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Nathaniel Parker Willis
Age: 61 †
Born: 1806
Born: January 20
Died: 1867
Died: January 20
Author
Journalist
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Portland
Maine
Nathanael Parker Willis
Prayer
Utterance
Poor
Bursting
Common
Mockery
Words
Pour
May
Courtesy
Come
Bitter
Heart
Thoughts
Thickly
Much
Full
Crowding

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Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should especially be viewed by moonlight.
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The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away.
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Maturity is most rapid in the low latitudes, where pineapples and women most do thrive.
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Nature's noblemen are everywhere,--in town and out of town, gloved and rough-handed, rich and poor. Prejudice against a lord, because he is a lord, is losing the chance of finding a good fellow, as much as prejudice against a ploughman because he is a ploughman.
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One gets, sensitive about losing mornings after getting a little used to them with living in a country. Each one of these endlessly varied daybreaks is an opera but once performed.
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Blessed are the joymakers.
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I love to go and mingle with the young In the gay festal room--when every heart Is beating faster than the merry tune, And their blue eyes are restless, and their lips Parted with eager joy, and their round cheeks Flush'd with the beautiful motion of the dance.
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I'm weary of my lonely but And of its blasted tree, The very lake is like my lot, So silent constantly-- I've liv'd amid the forest gloom Until I almost fear-- When will the thrilling voices come My spirit thirsts to hear?
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How like a mounting devil in the heart rules the unreined ambition.
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The dust is old upon my sandal-shoon, And still I am a pilgrim I have roved From wild America to Bosphor's waters, And worshipp'd at innumerable shrines Of beauty and the painter's art, to me, And sculpture, speak as with a living tongue, And of dead kingdoms, I recall the soul, Sitting amid their ruins.
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There is to me a daintiness about early flowers that touches me like poetry. They blow out with such a simple loveliness among the common herbs of pastures, and breathe their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts whose beatings are too gentle for the world.
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T is the work of many a dark hour, many a prayer, to bring the heart back from an infant gone.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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Ah me! the world is full of meetings such as this,--a thrill, a voiceless challenge and reply, and sudden partings after!
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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How beautiful it is for a man to die Upon the walls of Zion! to be called Like a watch-worn and weary sentinel, To put his armour off, and rest in heaven!
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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The Spring is here--the delicate footed May, With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers, And with it comes a thirst to be away. In lovelier scenes to pass these sweeter hours.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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One lamp — thy mother’s love — amid the stars Shall lift its pure flame changeless, and before The throne of God, burn through eternity - Holy — as it was lit and lent thee here.
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I knelt, and with the fervor of a lip unused to the cool breath of reason, told my love.
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Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness.
Nathaniel Parker Willis
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The soul of man createth its own destiny.
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There is no divining-rod whose dip shall tell us at twenty what we shall most relish at thirty.
Nathaniel Parker Willis