Frances Sargent Osgood Quotes

An exile, ill in heart and frame,-- A wanderer, weary of the way;-- A stranger, without love's sweet claim On any heart, go where I may!

No grief so soft, no pain so sweet, as love's delicious melancholy.

And wheresoever, in his rich creation, Sweet music breathes--in wave, or bird, or soul-- 'Tis but the faint and far reverberation Of that great tune to which the planets roll!

Better confide and be deceiv'd, A thousand times, by treacherous foes, Than once accuse the innocent, Or let suspicion mar repose.

Labor is life! 'Tis the still water faileth; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth.

To hallow'd duty Here with a loyal and heroic heart, Bind we our lives.

He whom nature thus bereaves, Is ever fancy's favourite child; For thee enchanted dreams she weaves Of changeful beauty, bright and wild.

And yet we check and chide The airy angels as they float about us, With rules of so-called wisdom, till they grow The same tame slaves to custom and the world.

With strength to meet sorrow, and faith to endure

Love is the greatest of educators.

Within the oyster's shell uncouth The purest pearl may hide, Trust me you'll find a heart of truth Within that rough outside.

Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow; work with a stout heart and resolute will.

Labor! all labor is noble and holy! Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God.

Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet us; from all the petty vexations that meet us; from the sin-promptings that assail us; from the world-sirens that lure us to ill