“Thee, Son Beloved! of plural Unity Essential part, made flesh that mad’st all worlds.”

True love is humble, thereby is it known; Girded for service, seeking not its own; Vaunts not itself, but speaks in self-dispraise.

With dazzling pomp descending angels sung Good will and peace to men, to God due praise, Who on the errand of salvation sent

Fling out, fling out, with cheer and shout, To all the winds of Our Country’s Banner!

The power, which in a sense belongs to none, Thus understood belongs to every one.

Death separates, but it also unites. It reunites whom it separates.

Where our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight

Words are freeborn, and not the vassals of the gruff tyrants of prose to do their bidding only. They have the same right to dance and sing as the dewdrops have to sparkle and the stars to shine.

Let us not doubt that God has a father’s pity towards us, and that in the removal of that which is dearest to us He is still loving and kind.

Poetry is unfallen speech. Paradise knew no other, for no other would suffice to answer the need of those ecstatic days of innocence.

O most illustrious of the days of time! Day full of joy and benison to earth When Thou wast born, sweet Babe of Bethlehem!

He dares confront the time, And speak the truth, and give the world no rest No kingly threat can cowardize his breath, He with majestic step goes forth to meet his death.

No counter proof can equal the force of that drawn from His attributes. It is an indecency and a calumny to impute to Christ conduct which requires apology.

Eternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?

The grave, where sets the orb of being, sets To rise, ascend, and culminate above Eternity’s horizon evermore.

O loving woman, man’s fulfillment, sweet, Completing him not otherwise complete! How void and useless the sad remnant left Were he of her, his nobler part, bereft.

When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed, And the heart’s secret was at once confessed?

Let Thy glances fall.Thy cross of agony,My Beloved, look on me;Turn me wholly unto Thee;”Be thou whole,” say openly:”I forgive thee all.

Where is the greatest peace? In truth and righteousness. Who is the hero? The man who subdues his senses. Who is the best beloved? The faithful wife. What is wealth? Knowledge. What is the most perfect happiness? Staying at home.

Laramie’ often brings to mind ‘Our Town,’ the beloved Thornton Wilder study of life, love and death in parochial New Hampshire.

Jealousy is that pain which a man feels from the apprehension that he is not equally beloved by the person whom he entirely loves.

Your lips, beloved, are like a honeycomb: honey and milk are under the tongue. And the smell of your clothes is like the smell of my home.

To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.

The curt truth is that, in a deep secret way, the state of being beloved is intolerable to many.

There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.