FELICIA HEMANS

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

life's best balm - Forgetfulness!

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

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

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.

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

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

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?

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

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

We pine for kindred natures To mingle with our own.

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

life's best balm - Forgetfulness!

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

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

The opening and the folding flowers, that laugh to the summer's day.

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!

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

What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine.