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.
It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses.
- Nathaniel Parker Willis
It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought.
He who binds His soul to knowledge, steals the key of heaven. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
He who binds His soul to knowledge, steals the key of heaven.
Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness.
The highest triumph of art, is the truest presentation of nature. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
The highest triumph of art, is the truest presentation of nature.
The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away.
A lamp is lit in woman's eye; that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
A lamp is lit in woman's eye; that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.
If there is anything that keeps the mind open to angel visits, and repels the ministry of ill, it is human love. - Nathaniel Parker Willis
If there is anything that keeps the mind open to angel visits, and repels the ministry of ill, it is human love.
The night is made for tenderness,--so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music,--and so deeply pure that the fond thought is… - Nathaniel Parker Willis
The night is made for tenderness,--so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music,--and so deeply pure that the fond thought is…
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