Such as the strengthening angel marked There shall they rot, ambition's honored fools. appalled, Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay. Vain sophistry! in these behold the tools, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts-to what? a dream alone. BYRON. The foe, the fool, the jealous, and the vain, Alas for human greatness! and alas EVEREST. GLORY. Glory is like a circle in the water, SHAKSPEARE. Real glory Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves; And without that the conqueror is naught But the first slave. THOMSON. Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright; But looked too near, have neither heat nor light. WEBSTER And when upon his casque the lurid light And sighs from withering hearts. L. J. PIERSON. And false the light on Glory's plume And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, There's nothing bright but heaven! MOORE. And while "Lord, Lord!" the pious tyrants cried, Who in the poor their Master crucified, Goodness and greatness are not means, but His daily prayer, far better understood ends. Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? Three treasures, love, and light, And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath; And three fast friends, more sure than day or night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. COLERIDGE. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, A mind at peace with all below, BYRON. In acts than words, was simply doing good. WHITTIER. Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'Tis only noble to be good. TENNYSON. More sweet than odors caught by him who sails Near spicy shores of Araby the blest, WORDSWORTH. Help with Thy grace through life's short day, Is more than voice can tell; to Him she sings, Our upward and our downward way; And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest. WORDSWORTH. To Him who feeds, who clothes, and who adorns, Who made, and who preserves whatever dwells In air, in steadfast earth, or fickle sea. SMART. O, all ye that e'er had savor Of God's everlasting favor, Come! come and help me grateful praises sing, To the world's King And my life's Giver. For his anger never lasteth, And his favor never wasteth. Though sadness be thy guest in sullen night, The cheerful light DAVISON. When shall our grateful raptures rise ANONYMOUS. Through all its range of age, rank, place, and Can look within, and read what passes there, mood; Accept my thoughts for thanks: I have no words. But thou, since first in heaven her reign began, imbued, And sweeter swells the fount of woman's love. COLTON. HANNAH MORE. [See also PRAISE.] |