None of the prophets old, So lofty or so bold! No form of danger shakes his dauntless breast; In loneliness sublime
ABRAHAM COLESWords 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.
More Abraham Coles Quotes
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The power, which in a sense belongs to none, Thus understood belongs to every one.
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The power to bind and loose to Truth is given: The mouth that speaks it is the mouth of Heaven
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Where our fathers in fight, nobly strove for the Right, Struck down their fierce foemen or put them to flight
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Within a bony labrinthean cave, Reached by the pulse of the aerial wave, This sibyl, sweet, and Mystic Sense is found, Muse, that presides o’er all the Powers of Sound.
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Be every bar, and every star, Displayed in full and glorious manner! Blow, zephyrs, blow, keep the dear ensign flying! Blow, zephyrs, sweetly mournful, sighing, sighing, sighing!
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The rapturous touch of some divine surpriseFlash deep suffusion of celestial dyes
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We hail the return of the day of thy birth, Fair Columbia! washed by the waves of two oceans Where men from the farthest dominions of earth Rear altars to Freedom, and pay their devotions;
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Eternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?
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When hands clasped hands, and lips to lips were pressed, And the heart’s secret was at once confessed?
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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.
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True love is humble, thereby is it known; Girded for service, seeking not its own; Vaunts not itself, but speaks in self-dispraise.
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Much of our ignorance is of ourselves. Our eyes are full of dust. Prejudice blinds us.
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Through the long lapse of ages, that so there might be An asylum for all in the Land of the Free.
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O, beautiful and grand, My own, my native land! Of thee I boast: Great empire of the west, The dearest and the best, Made up of all the rest, I love thee most.
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Thee, Son Beloved! of plural Unity Essential part, made flesh that mad’st all worlds.
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