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... And God, who studies each separate soul, out of commonplace lives makes his beautiful whole.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
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Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Age: 70 †
Born: 1835
Born: January 29
Died: 1905
Died: April 9
Author
Nurse
Poet
Writer
Cleveland
Ohio
Susan Coolidge
Beautiful
Soul
Commonplace
Whole
Studies
Separate
Study
Religion
Lives
Makes
More quotes by Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Now the last red ray is gone Now the twilight shadows hie.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
...this pause of rest, This morning hush before the sun.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Slow buds the pink dawn like a rose From out night's gray and cloudy sheath Softly and still it grows and grows, Petal by petal, leaf by leaf.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
True love is not selfish. In time it accustoms itself to anything which secures happiness for its object.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Every day is a fresh beginning Listen my soul, to the glad refrain, And in spite of old sorrow and possible pain, Take heart with the day and begin again.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Few things are more aggravating than to be forgiven when one has done no wrong.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Men die but sorrow never dies.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
The Autumn seems to cry for thee,Best lover of the Autumn-days!
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
All green and fair the summer lies, Just budded from the bud of spring, With tender blue of wistful skies, And winds that softly sing.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
The sobbing wind is fierce and strong its cry is like a human wail.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Earth's saddest day and gladdest day were just three days apart!
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
We ring the bells and we raise the strain We hang up garlands everywhere And bid the tapers twinkle fair, And feast and frolic - and then we go Back to the same old lives again.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
Every tear is answered by a blossom, Every sigh with songs and laughter blent, April-blooms upon the breezes toss them. April knows her own, and is content.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
In the deep shadow of the porch A slender bind-weed springs, And climbs, like airy acrobat, The trellises, and swings And dances in the golden sun In fairy loops and rings.
Sarah Chauncey Woolsey
