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.
ABRAHAM COLESEternity! How know we but we stand On the precipitous and crumbling verge Of Time e’en now, Eternity below?
More Abraham Coles Quotes
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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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Much of our ignorance is of ourselves. Our eyes are full of dust. Prejudice blinds us.
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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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On eyes that watch as well as eyes that weep Descends the solemn mystery of sleep, Toiling and climbing to the very close
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The grave, where sets the orb of being, sets To rise, ascend, and culminate above Eternity’s horizon evermore.
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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.
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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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Poetry is unfallen speech. Paradise knew no other, for no other would suffice to answer the need of those ecstatic days of innocence.
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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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I value science–none can prize it more, It gives ten thousand motives to adore: Be it religious, as it ought to be, The heart it humbles, and it bows the knee.
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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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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.
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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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The weary Body, longing for repose, On the gained level of the day’s ascent, Halts for the night and pitches there its tent.
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Death separates, but it also unites. It reunites whom it separates.
ABRAHAM COLES