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America, thou half-brother of the world with something good and bad of every land.

Philip James Bailey

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Philip James Bailey
Age: 86 †
Born: 1816
Born: April 22
Died: 1902
Died: September 6
Author
Poet
Writer
P. J. Bailey
Every
Something
Good
World
Thou
Brother
Land
Half
America

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Hell is more bearable than nothingness.
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I cannot be content with less than heaven.
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The dew, 'Tis of the tears which stars weep, sweet with joy.
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Music tells no truths.
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Youth might be wise we suffer less from pains than pleasures.
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When I forget that the stars shine in air-- When I forget that beauty is in stars-- When I forget that love with beauty is-- Will I forget thee: till then all things else.
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Look on the bee upon the wing 'mong flowers How brave, how bright his life! then mark, him hiv'd, Cramp'd, cringing in his self-built, social cell, Thus it is in the world-hive most where men Lie deep in cities as in drifts.
Philip James Bailey
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True faith nor biddeth nor abideth form, The bended knee, the eye uplift is all Which men need render all which God can bear. What to the faith are forms? A passing speck, A crow upon the sky.
Philip James Bailey
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What are ye orbs? The words of God? the Scriptures of the skies?
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Every believer is God's miracle.
Philip James Bailey
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Dear Lord, our God and Saviour! for Thy gifts The world were poor in thanks, though every soul Were to do nought but breathe them, every blade Of grass, and every atomie of earth To utter it like dew.
Philip James Bailey
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Death, thou art infinite it is life is little.
Philip James Bailey
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I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.
Philip James Bailey
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Words are the motes of thought, and nothing more.
Philip James Bailey
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Night comes, world-jewelled, . . . The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage War with the lines of Darkness and the moon, Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth After the sun's red sea-death--quietless.
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The sole equality on earth is death.
Philip James Bailey
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Blessings star forth forever but a curse is like a cloud, it passes.
Philip James Bailey
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Write to the mind and heart, and let the ear Glean after what it can.
Philip James Bailey
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The poet's pen is the true divining rod Which trembles towards the inner founts of feeling Bringing to light and use, else hid from all, The many sweet clear sources which we have of good and beauty in our own deep bosoms And marks the variations of all mind As does the needle.
Philip James Bailey
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Imagination is the air of mind.
Philip James Bailey