Moral and Religious Quotations from the Poets: Topically Arranged ...

KNOWLEDGE-LABOR-LIBERTY-LIFE.

Not to know at large of things remote

From use, obscure and subtle, but to know
That which before us lies in daily life,
Is the prime wisdom; what is more is fume,
Or emptiness, or fond impertinence,
And renders us in things that most concorn
Unpracticed, unprepared, still to seek.

MILTON.

Knowledge is not happiness; and science But an exchange of ignorance for that Which is another kind of ignorance.

BYRON.

Sorrow is knowledge; they who know the most

Must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, The tree of knowledge is not that of life.

BYRON.

The wish to know, the endless thirst, Which even by quenching is awaked, And which becomes or blessed or cursed, As is the fount whereat 'tis slaked.

Voracious learning, often overfed, Digests not into sense her motley meal.

183

Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are;
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood;
Even such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight called in and paid to-night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies,
The spring entombed in autumn lies,
The dew dries up, the star is shot,
The flight is past-and man forgot.
HENRY KING.

And what is life? a weary pilgrimage Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age. QUARLES.

Our life's a clock, and every gasp of death Breathes forth a warning grief, 'till Time shall strike a death. QUARLES.

We are such stuff

As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

AKENSIDE.

SHAKSPEARE.

A heavenly argosy!

PROCTOR.

O how this spring of life resembleth

The uncertain glory of an April day, Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away! SHAKSPEARE.

When I beheld this fickle, trustless state

Of vain world's glory, flitting to and fro,
And mortal men tossèd by troublous fate
In restless seas of wretchedness and woe,
I wish I might this weary life forego,
And shortly turn unto my happy rest,
Where my free spirit might not any more
Be vexed with sights that do her peace molest.
SPENSER.

Circles are praised, not that abound
In largeness, but th' exactly round:
So life we praise that doth excel
Not in much time, but acting well.
WALLER.

Men should strive to live well, not to live long;
And I would spend this momentary breath

Your life is what you make it; to your hands To live by fame forever after death.
That sacred trust is given;

And you too oft with treason break the bands
That would unite you blissfully to heaven.
ANONYMOUS.

Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art,
Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart
Thy two-edged weapon, patience thy shield,
Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.

QUARLES.

The time of life is short;

EARL OF STIRLING.

Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou
livest

Live well, how long or short permit to
Heaven.

MILTON.

A flower that does with opening morn arise,
And, flourishing the day, at evening dies;
A winged eastern blast, just skimming o'er
The ocean's brow, and sinking on the shore;

To spend that shortness basely 'twere too A fire, whose flames through crackling stubble

long,

Though life did ride upon a dial's point,
Still ending at the arrival of an hour.

SHAKSPEARE.

fly;

A meteor shooting from the summer sky;
A bowl adown the bending mountain rolled;
A bubble breaking, and a fable told;

A noontide shadow, and a midnight dream;

That man lives twice that lives the first life Are emblems which, with semblance apt, well.

proclaim

Our earthly course; but O my soul! so fast
Must life run off, and death forever last?
PRIOR.

By passionately loving life, we make
Loved life unlovely, hugging her to death.
YOUNG.

That life is long which answers life's great Ask what is human life?-the sage replies,

end,

The time that bears no fruit deserves no name;

The man of wisdom is the man of years.

YOUNG.

Ah! what is human life? How, like the dial's tardy moving shade, Day after day slides from us unperceived! The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth; Too subtle is the movement to be seen, Yet soon the hour is up and we are gone. YOUNG.

Life's little stage is a small eminence
Inch-high the grave above, that home of man
Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around;
We read their monuments; we sigh, and
while

We sigh we sink, and are what we deplored;
Lamenting, or lamented, all our lot.

YOUNG.

He sins against this life who slights the

next.

YOUNG.

With disappointment low'ring in his eyes,
"A painful passage o'er a restless flood,
A vain pursuit of fugitive false good,
A sense of fancied bliss and heartfelt care,
Closing at last in darkness and despair."

COWPER.

And what is life? An hour-glass on the run,
A mist retreating from the morning sun;
A busy, bustling, still repeated dream,
Its length? a minute's pause, a moment's
thought.
CLARE.

We do live, and breathe, and we are gone. H. K. WHITE.

My life is like the summer rose

That opens to the morning sky,
But, ere the shades of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground-to die!
My life is like the autumn leaf

That trembles in the moon's pale ray:
Its hold is frail, its date is brief,
Restless, and soon to pass away!

R. H. WILDE.

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