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There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Teaches
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Power
Care
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Providence

More quotes by William C. Bryant

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Follow thou thy choice.
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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Difficulty is the nurse of greatness.
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It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.
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Your peaks are beautiful, ye Apennines! In the soft light of these serenest skies From the broad highland region, black with pines, Fair as the hills of Paradise they rise, Bathed in the tint Peruvian slaves behold In rosy flushes on the virgin gold.
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The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.
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Thou blossom bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue.
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There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
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Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake.
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The fiercest agonies have shortest reign And after dreams of horror, comes again The welcome morning with its rays of peace.
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The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
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Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
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Features, the great soul's apparent seat.
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Virtue cannot dwell with slaves, nor reign O'er those who cower to take a tyrant's yoke.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
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The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.
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And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
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The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
William C. Bryant
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Tender pauses speak The overflow of gladness, When words are all too weak.
William C. Bryant