Monday, July 28, 2014

I Wonder What the Clover Thinks

I wonder what the clover thinks,
Intimate friend of bobolinks,
Lover of daisies slim and white,
Waltzer with buttercups at night;
Keeper of inn for travelling-bees,
Serving to them wine-dregs and lees
Left by the royal humming-birds,
Who sip, and pay with fine-spun words;
Fellow with all the loveliest,
Peer of the gayest and the best;
Comrade of wind, beloved of sun,
Kissed by the dew-drops one by one;
Prophet of good-luck mystery
By sign of four, which few may see;
Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills,
Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills,
Sweet in white, sweet in its red,
Oh! half its sweet cannot be said.

— Saxe Holm, a.k.a. Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

Monday, July 28, 2014

The Religion of Nature

Though I myself am an atheist, I openly profess religion in the sense just mentioned, that is, a nature religion. I hate the idealism that wrenches humanity out of nature; I am not ashamed of my dependency on nature; I openly confess that the workings of nature affect not only my surface, my skin, my body, but also my core, my innermost being, that the air I breathe in bright weather has a salutary effect not only on my lungs but also on my mind, that the light of the sun illumines not only my eyes but also my spirit and my heart. And I do not, like a Christian, believe that such dependency is contrary to my true being or hope to be delivered from it. I know further that I am a finite moral being, that I shall one day cease to be. But I find this very natural and am therefore perfectly reconciled to the thought.

— Ludwig von Feuerbach (born July 28, 1804)

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

From The Building of the Ship

Like unto ships far off at sea,

Outward or homeward bound, are we.

Before, behind, and all around,

Floats and swings the horizon's bound,

Seems at its distant rim to rise

And climb the crystal wall of the skies,

And then again to turn and sink,

As if we could slide from its outer brink.

Ah! it is not the sea,

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,

But ourselves

That rock and rise

With endless and uneasy motion,

Now touching the very skies,

Now sinking into the depths of ocean.

Ah! if our souls but poise and swing
Like the compass in its brazen ring,
Ever level and ever true
To the toil and the task we have to do,
We shall sail securely, and safely reach
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach
The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,

Will be those of joy and not of fear!

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Thursday, July 10, 2014

We Are So Hurried

God has provided for our journey a thousand beautiful things in Nature which will cheer and exalt our spirits if we would love their beauty but a little. God has made everyday humanity, the common duties, the common affections, so fair, so full of tenderness, so full of claims on our love and admiration, that, were we to watch for them, and take their joy, the path would be filled with music and our souls with grace. It would be lightened as a dusty road is lightened by the murmur and the song of a streamlet in the valley. But we are so hurried that we neither see nor hear, and the beauty of life is lost, and its charm unknown.

— Stopford A. Brooke (1832-1916)

Monday, July 7, 2014

The Edict of Torda

His majesty, our Lord, in what manner he – together with his realm – legislated in the matter of religion at the previous Diets, in the same matter now, in this Diet, reaffirms that in every place the preachers shall preach and explain the Gospel each according to his understanding of it, and if the congregation like it, well. If not, no one shall compel them for their souls would not be satisfied, but they shall be permitted to keep a preacher whose teaching they approve. Therefore none of the superintendents or others shall abuse the preachers, no one shall be reviled for his religion by anyone, according to the previous statutes, and it is not permitted that anyone should threaten anyone else by imprisonment or by removal from his post for his teaching. For faith is the gift of God and this comes from hearing, which hearing is by the word of God.

— The Edict of Torda, which was proclaimed in 1568 by

King John Sigismund of Hungary (born July 7, 1540)

King John Sigismund of Hungary (1540-1571)
Zápolya János Zsigmond

Sunday, June 1, 2014

From The Vision of Sir Launfal

And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then if ever come perfect days;

Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,

And over it softly her warm ear lays. 

Whether we look, or whether we listen

We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.

Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,

And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.

The flush of life may well be seen

Thrilling back over hills and valleys;

The cowslip startles in meadows green,

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,

And there s never a leaf nor a blade too mean

To be some happy creature's palace.

— James Russell Lowell (1819-1891)

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Religion in Social Conversation

It is unfortunate that religion has come to be tabooed in ordinary social conversation. We can talk about politics, business, literature, music, art, our homes, our friends, the weather, but we seem to regard the religious life as too sacred to be brought into common conversation. This may be partly because of reserve, partly because we fear the suspicion of ostentation, partly because we have reacted against the Phariseeism which delights in exhibitory piety. But, whatever the cause, the result is unfortunate. There is no more reason why religious convictions should be excluded from common conversation than political convictions; no more reason why we should tacitly forbid all reference to our religious life than why we should put a similar prohibition on our art, literature, or domestic life.

— Lyman Abbott (1835-1922)

Saturday, March 8, 2014

Earth

Sad is my lot; among the shining spheres 

Wheeling, I weave incessant day and night, 

And ever, in my never-ending flight, 

Add woes to woes, and count up tears on tears. 

Young wives’ and new-born infants’ hapless biers 

Lie on my breast, a melancholy sight; 

Fresh griefs abhor my fresh returning light; 

Pain and remorse and want fill up my years. 

My happier children’s farther-piercing eyes 

Into the blessed solvent future climb, 

And knit the threads of joy and hope and warning; 

But I, the ancient mother, am not wise, 

And, shut within the blind obscure of time, 

Roll on from morn to night, and on from night to morning.

— William Roscoe (born March 8, 1753)

Prayer From Correspondences

O thou Spirit of Truth; visit our minds once more!

Give us to read, in letters of light, the language celestial,

Written all over the earth — written all over the sky:

Thus may we bring our hearts at length to know our Creator,

Seeing in all things around types of the Infinite Mind.

— Christopher Pearse Cranch (born March 8, 1813)

Friday, March 7, 2014

Obsolescent Souls

The universe is not big enough to contain perpetually all the human souls and the other living beings that have been here for their short spans. A theory of personal resurrection or reincarnation of the individual is untenable when we but pause to consider the magnitude of the idea. On the contrary, I must believe that rather than the survival of all, we must look for survival only in the spirit of the good we have done in passing through. This is as feasible and credible as Henry Ford's own practice of discarding the old models of his automobile. When obsolete, an automobile is thrown in the scrap heap. Once here and gone, the human life has likewise served Its purpose. If it has been a good life, it has been sufficient. There is no need for another.

— Luther Burbank (born March 7, 1849)

Luther Burbank (1849-1926)

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Moderation

Almost all error is some truth carried to excess: almost all sin is some good or useful principle suffered to be immoderate and ungovernable, or suppressed and denied its proper influence and action. Let, then, moderation be a leading trait of our virtue and piety. Nothing is more wise and more admirable in action than to be resolute, and yet calm; earnest, and yet self-possessed; decided, and yet modest; to contend for truth and right with meekness and charity; to give without pride, and to withhold without meanness; to rejoice with moderation, and to suffer with patience.

— Orville Dewey (1794-1882)

Saturday, March 1, 2014

March

Beneath the sheltering walls the thin snow clings, —
Dead winter's skeleton, left bleaching, white,
Disjointed, crumbling, on unfriendly fields.
The inky pools surrender tardily 
At noon, to patient herds, a frosty drink
From jagged rims of ice; a subtle red
Of life is kindling every twig and stalk
Of lowly meadow growths; the willows wrap 
Their stems in furry white; the pines grow gray
A little in the biting wind; mid-day
Brings tiny burrowed creatures, peeping out
Alert for sun.
Ah, March! we know thou art
Kind-hearted, spite of ugly looks and threats,
And, out of sight, art nursing April's violets!

— Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

Thursday, February 20, 2014

Cheerfulness Taught By Reason

I think we are too ready with complaint

In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope

Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope

Of yon gray bank of sky, we might be faint

To muse upon eternity's constraint

Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope

Must widen early, is it well to droop

For a few days consumed in loss and taint?

O pusillanimous heart, be comforted, —

And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road,

Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread

Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod

To meet the flints? At least it may be said,

"Because the way is short, I thank thee, — God!"

— Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Saturday, February 1, 2014

The February Hush

Snow o'er the darkening moorlands, —

Flakes fill the quiet air;

Drifts in the forest hollows,

And a soft mash everywhere.

The nearest twig on the pine-tree

Looks blue through the whitening sky,

And the clinging beech-leaves rustle

Though never a wind goes by.

But there's red on the wild-rose berries,

And red in the lovely glow

On the cheeks of the child beside me,

That once were pale, like snow.

— Thomas Wentworth Higginson (1823-1911)

I Look to Thee in Every Need

I look to thee in every need,

And never look in vain;

I feel thy strong and tender love,

And all is well again.

The thought of thee is mightier far

Than sin and pain and sorrow are.

Discouraged in the work of life,

Disheartened by its load.

Shamed by its failures or its fears,

I sink beside the road, —

But let me only think of thee,

And then new heart springs up in me.

Thy calmness bends serene above,

My restlessness to still;

Around me flows thy quickening life.

To nerve my faltering will;

Thy presence fills my solitude.

Thy providence turns all to good.

Embosomed deep in thy dear love.

Held in thy law, I stand;

Thy hand in all things I behold.

And all things in thy hand;

Thou leadest me by unsought ways,

And turn'st my mourning into praise.

— Samuel Longfellow (1819-1892)

Friday, January 31, 2014

From In Memoriam

In vain shalt thou, or any, call

The spirits from their golden day,

Except, like them, thou too canst say

My spirit is at peace with all.

They haunt the silence of the breast,

Imaginations calm and fair,

The memory like a cloudless air,

The conscience as a sea at rest:

But when the heart is full of din,

And doubt beside the portal waits,

They can but listen at the gates,

And hear the household jar within.

— Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

Thursday, January 30, 2014

The Four Freedoms

In the future days which we seek to make secure, we look forward to a world founded upon four essential human freedoms.

The first is freedom of speech and expression — everywhere in the world.

The second is freedom of every person to worship God in his own way — everywhere in the world.

The third is freedom from want, which, translated into world terms, means economic understandings which will secure to every nation a healthy peacetime life for its inhabitants — everywhere in the world.

The fourth is freedom from fear, which, translated into world terms, means a world-wide reduction of armaments to such a point and in such a thorough fashion that no nation will be in a position to commit an act of physical aggression against any neighbor — anywhere in the world."

That is no vision of a distant millennium. It is a definite basis for a kind of world attainable in our own time and generation.

— Franklin D. Roosevelt (born January 30, 1882)

Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882-1945)

Friday, January 10, 2014

Praise and the Pure Mind

The love of popularity, a desire for approbation, when made a principle of action, is perhaps the most corrupting and the most disappointing of all the affections of our nature.  It is corrupting, because it turns the regards of the mind in a selfish direction, defiles the motives by substituting the love of praise for the love of praiseworthiness, — and destroys truth and simplicity of soul by introducing among the inward sources of life temptations of a foreign and worldly character, that either interfere with the pure and natural movements of the mind, or dishonour and deform them by bringing to their aid the alien supports of selfish ends.  A man desiring, on any question, to see where right and principle would lead him, can no more bring his own accommodation and indulgence into the foreground of his thoughts without corrupting his moral sight, than a man can introduce the love of commendation into the consultations of his soul, without at once insulting and silencing the divine oracle of his spirit.  The praise of God is the only praise the love of which can influence a pure mind; for there only the two motives, the love of approbation, and a supreme regard for the highest truth of the conscience, cannot interfere.  We do not say that it is the only praise, which when it comes as a reward is pure or sweet, — but that when regarded as a motive, as one of the determining influences of the character, it is, for adults, the only praise that is safe and holy.

— John Hamilton Thom (born January 10, 1808)

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

Ceaseless Aspiration

High hearts are never long without hearing some new call, some distant clarion of God, even in their dreams; and soon they are observed to break up the camp of ease, and start on some fresh march of faithful service. And, looking higher still, we find those who never wait till their moral work accumulates, and who reward resolution with no rest with whom, therefore, the alternation is instantaneous and constant; who do the good only to| see the better, and see the better only to achieve it; who are too meek for transport, too faithful for remorse, too earnest for repose; whose worship is action, and whose action ceaseless aspiration.

— James Martineau (1805-1900)

New Year's Morning

Always a night from old to new

Night and the healing balm of sleep!

Each morn is New Year's morn come true,

Morn of a festival to keep.

All nights are sacred nights to make

Confession and resolve and prayer;

All days are sacred days to wake

New gladness in the sunny air.

Only a night from old to new;

Only a sleep from night to morn.

The new is but the old come true;

Each sunrise sees a new year born.

— Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)