Quotes about god, page 8
Ninth Book
EVEN thus. I pause to write it out at length,
The letter of the Lady Waldemar.–
'I prayed your cousin Leigh to take you this,
He says he'll do it. After years of love,
Or what is called so,–when a woman frets
And fools upon one string of a man's name,
And fingers it for ever till it breaks,–
He may perhaps do for her such thing,
And she accept it without detriment
Although she should not love him any more
And I, who do not love him, nor love you,
Nor you, Aurora,–choose you shall repent
Your most ungracious letter, and confess,
Constrained by his convictions, (he's convinced)
You've wronged me foully. Are you made so ill,
You woman–to impute such ill to me?
We both had mothers,–lay in their bosom once.
Why, after all, I thank you, Aurora Leigh,
For proving to myself that there are things
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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Eighth Book
ONE eve it happened when I sate alone,
Alone upon the terrace of my tower,
A book upon my knees, to counterfeit
The reading that I never read at all,
While Marian, in the garden down below,
Knelt by the fountain (I could just hear thrill
The drowsy silence of the exhausted day)
And peeled a new fig from that purple heap
In the grass beside her,–turning out the red
To feed her eager child, who sucked at it
With vehement lips across a gap of air
As he stood opposite, face and curls a-flame
With that last sun-ray, crying, 'give me, give,'
And stamping with imperious baby-feet,
(We're all born princes)–something startled me,–
The laugh of sad and innocent souls, that breaks
Abruptly, as if frightened at itself;
'Twas Marian laughed. I saw her glance above
In sudden shame that I should hear her laugh,
And straightway dropped my eyes upon my book,
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poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Don't Need To Whisper
I don't need to whisper to my God
I don't need to whisper to my God
I don't need to whisper to my God
He is here besides me
And he is listening to what I have to say
Please let me win a little peace
Let me get out of this depression
Let me live again
Let me be myself again
It hurts me when I am not heard by others
I realize now that I can't always be the centre of attraction
Because
Others need to talk also
I shouldn't do all the talking
But I do
Even though
I bored them all with my talking
I am not perfect
You have to understand that God
There are things I need to change
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poem by Aldo Kraas
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God Gave Me Style
[Chorus]
God gave me style
God gave me grace
God gave me style
God gave me grace
God put a smile on my face
Haha, God put this smile on my face
God made me shine like the sun
God make me shine like the sun
Sometimes I feel like I'm the one
Sometimes I feel like I'm the one
It ain't my fault
[Bridge]
I just reach for style, I'm hot I breaks it down
It ain't my fault, you can't break it down the way I break it down
[Verse 1]
Listen you can call me what you want, black and ugly
But you can't convince me the Lord don't love me
When my cds drop, they sell the best
You call it luck, why can't it just be I'm blessed
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song performed by 50 Cent
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God Save My Style
[Chorus]
God gave me style
God gave me grace
God gave me style
God gave me grace
God put a smile on my face
Haha, God put this smile on my face
God made me shine like the sun
God make me shine like the sun
Sometimes I feel like I'm the one
Sometimes I feel like I'm the one
It ain't my fault
[Bridge]
I just reach for style, I'm hot I breaks it down
It ain't my fault, you can't break it down the way I break it down
[Verse 1- 50 Cent]
Listen you can call me what you want, black and ugly
But you can't convince me the Lord don't love me
When my cds drop, they sell the best
You call it luck, why can't it just be I'm blessed
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song performed by 50 Cent
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The Children Of The Lord's Supper. (From The Swedish Of Bishop Tegner)
Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village
Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the spire of the bell
Decked with a brazen cock, the friendly flames of the Spring-sun
Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by Apostles aforetime.
Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with roses,
Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and the wind and the brooklet
Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! with lips rosy-tinted
Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry on balancing branches
Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant hymn to the Highest.
Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned like a leaf-woven arbor
Stood its old-fashioned gate; and within upon each cross of iron
Hung was a fragrant garland, new twined by the hands of
affection.
Even the dial, that stood on a mound among the departed,
(There full a hundred years had it stood,) was embellished with blossoms
Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his kith and the hamlet,
Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children's children,
So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron
Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes,
While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet.
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Sir Peter Harpdon's End
In an English Castle in Poictou. Sir Peter Harpdon, a Gascon knight in the English service, and John Curzon, his lieutenant.
John Curzon
Of those three prisoners, that before you came
We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,
Two are good masons; we have tools enough,
And you have skill to set them working.
Sir Peter
So-
What are their names?
John Curzon
Why, Jacques Aquadent,
And Peter Plombiere, but-
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poem by William Morris
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Paradise Lost: Book 05
Now Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam waked, so customed; for his sleep
Was aery-light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song
Of birds on every bough; so much the more
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek,
As through unquiet rest: He, on his side
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus. Awake,
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,
Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight!
Awake: The morning shines, and the fresh field
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poem by John Milton
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The Cōforte of Louers
The prohemye.
The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
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poem by Stephen Hawes
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Three Women
My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.
Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.
Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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