Quotes
Quotes - Montgomery
There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.
If God hath made this world so fair, Where sin and death abound, How beautiful beyond compare Will paradise be found!.
The Dove, On silver pinions, winged her peaceful way.
Blue thou art, intensely blue; Flower, whence came thy dazzling hue?
When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.
A work of skill, surpassing sense, A labor of Omnipotence; Though frail as dust it meet thine eye, He form'd this gnat who built the sky.
Fairest and best adorned is she Whose clothing is humility.
Nearest the throne itself must be The footstool of humility.
Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.
The bird that soars on highest wing, Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing, Sings in the shade when all things rest: In lark and nightingale we see What honor hath humility.
The tall Oak, towering to the skies, The fury of the wind defies, From age to age, in virtue strong. Inured to stand, and suffer wrong.
Nimbly they seized and secreted their prey, Alive and wriggling in the elastic net, Which Nature hung beneath their grasping beaks; Till, swoln, with captures, the unwieldy burden Clogg'd their slow flight, as heavily to land, These mighty hunters of the deep return'd. There on the cragged cliffs they perch'd at ease, Gorging their hapless victims one by one; Then full and weary, side by side, they slept, Till evening roused them to the chase again.
Nature's prime favourites were the Pelicans; High-fed, long-lived, and sociable and free.
The nursery of brooding Pelicans, The dormitory of their dead, had vanish'd, And all the minor spots of rock and verdue, The abodes of happy millions, were no more.
Never a ship sails out of bay but carries my heart as a stowaway.
The violets were past their prime, Yet their departing breath Was sweeter, in the blast of death, Than all the lavish fragrance of the time.
It's so easy to be wicked without knowing it, isn't it?
