Felicia Hemans Quotations

Strength is born in the deep silence of long-suffering hearts; not amid joy.

Gird your hearts with silent fortitude, Suffering, yet hoping all things.

The stately homes of England! / How beautiful they stand, / Amidst their tall ancestral trees, / O'er all the pleasant land!

The stately homes of England, / How beautiful they stand!

The boy stood on the burning deck - / Whence all but he had fled.

They grew in beauty, side by side, / They filled one home with glee; - / Their graves are severed, far and wide, / By mount, and stream, and sea.

The cottage homes of England! / By thousands on her plains.

Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod, They have left unstained, what there they found,- Freedom to worship God.

Alas! for love, if thou art all, And nought beyond, O earth.

Oh! lovely voices of the sky Which hymned the Saviour's birth, Are ye not singing still on high, Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?

Come, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountain with light and song: Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet's birth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves, opening as I pass.

There is strength deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck but little till the shafts of heaven have pierced its fragile dwelling. Must not earth be rent before her gems are found?

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

We pine for kindred natures To mingle with our own.

The stately Homes of England,How beautiful they stand!Amidst their tall ancestral trees,O'er all the pleasant land.

Oh, call my brother back to me!I cannot play alone:The summer comes with flower and bee,-Where is my brother gone?

I had a hat. It was not all a hat,-Part of the brim was gone:Yet still I wore it on.

life's best balm - Forgetfulness!

A passion for flowers, is, I think, the only one which long sickness leaves untouched with its chilling influence.

Passing away" is written on the world and all the world contains.

There’s beauty all around our paths, If but our watchful eyes Can trace it ’midst familiar things, And through their lowly guise.

Is it where the flow'r of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance thro' the myrtle boughs?

Though the past haunt me as a spirit, I do not ask to forget.

There is in all this cold and hollow world, No fount of deep, strong,deathless love ;save that within a mother's heart