Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.
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Anand Thakur
Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER
One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.
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Joy is like restless day; but peace divine like quiet night.
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
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Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies
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Be strong, O Heart of mine, Look towards the light!
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Seated one day at the organ
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And yet We lost it in this daily jar and fret, And now live idle in a vague regret
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Dreams grow holy put in action.
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No star is ever lost we once have seen, We always may be what we might have been.
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With heaven’s light upon their wings:Every word has its own spirit
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It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
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I know too well the poison and the sting of things too sweet.
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Words are mighty, words are living:Serpents with their venomous stings,Or bright angels, crowding round us
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On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.
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Lead me, O Lord, till perfect Day shall shine through Peace to Light.
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