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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.

Thomas Campbell

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Thomas Campbell
Age: 66 †
Born: 1777
Born: July 27
Died: 1844
Died: June 15
Journalist
Musicologist
Poet
Writer
Glasgow
Scotland
Angel
Though
Hours
Like
Winged
Visits
Angelic
Bliss

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Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.
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Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
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The only thing that is fundamental (real) is consciousness itself all else is virtual- i.e., a result of an exchange of information within consciousness.
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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.
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The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
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The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!
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What millions died that Caesar might be great!
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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.
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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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