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a little girl. It's about the Promised Land-I can't say it in good EnglishI'
"Unless I've forgotten my Hebrew," the Reverend Chairman said, stepping forward, "Miss Rayefsky has been repeating God's words to Moses, the Lawgiver, as recorded in the third chapter of Exodus. I think it's the seventh verse: 'And the Lord said, I have surely seen the affliction of my people which are in Egypt, and
have heard their
cry by reason of their taskmasters; for I know their sorrows;
“‘And I am come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land unto a good land and a large, unto a land flowing with milk and honey.'"
I am part of the sea and stars
Blind Homer, the splendor of Greece,
HERE are two ways of being happy: We may either diminish our wants or augment our means—either will dothe result is the same; and it is for each man to decide for himself, and do that which happens to be the easiest.
If you are idle or sick or poor, however hard it may be to diminish your wants, it will be harder to augment your means. If you are active and prosperous or health, it may be young or in good easier for you to augment your means than to diminish your wants ❤❤ But if you are wise, you will do both at the same time, young or old, rich or poor, sick or well; and if you are very wise you will do both in such a way as to augment the general happiness of society.-Franklin.
I was hanged at dawn for a crime—
I piped to great Shakespeare's chime
Who have struggled and failed and died,
And a spear-mark in my side.
"Yes. That's it," Yetta said. Well that 's what strikes mean. We 're fighting, fighting, for the old promises." -"Comrade Yetta," by Albert Edwards.
I am part of the sea and stars
And the winds of the South and North, judge human Of mountains and moon and Mars, And the ages sent me forth! "Kinship," by Edward H. S. Terry
a man may sometimes have a very small experience, provided he has a very large heart.-Bulwer-Lytton.
LL higher motives, ideals, conceptions, sentiments in a man are of no account if they do not come forward to strengthen him for the better discharge of the duties which devolve upon him in the ordinary affairs of life. -Henry Ward Beecher.
HE soul is a fire that darts its rays through all the senses; it is in this fire that existence consists; all the observations and all the efforts of philosophers ought to turn towards this me, the center and moving power of our sentiments and our ideas.-Madame De Stael.
GREAT deal of the joy of life consists in doing perfectly, or at least to the best of one's ability, everything which he attempts to do. There is a sense of satisfaction, a pride in surveying such a work-a work which is rounded, full, exact, complete in all its parts-which the superficial man, who leaves his work in a slovenly, slipshod, half-finished condition, can never know. It is this conscientious completeness which turns work into art. The smallest thing, well done, becomes artistic. -William Mathews.
OH, if they would only let you work.
Would n't it be fine just to be able to work? Do you know the real thing that puts people in their little hospital cots with nervous prostration is not working, but trying to work and not being allowed to. Work never hurt anybody. But this thing of being in the middle of a letter and then rising to shake hands with a man who knew you when you were a boy, and then sitting down and
There is something in the Autumn that
E are taught, many of us,
We know that a
The scarlet of the maples can shake me
Of bugles going by.
And my lonely spirit thrills
To see the frosty asters like smoke
CAN no more understand that any serious injury can come to my moral nature from disbelief in Samson than from disbelief in Jack the Giant-Killer I care as little for Goliath as for the giant Blunderbore. I am glad that children should amuse themselves with nursery stories, but it is shocking that they should be ordered to believe in them as solid facts, and then be told that such superstition is essential to morality. -Sir Leslie Stephen.
O civilization is complete which does
There is something in October sets the
“An Autumn Song,” by Bliss Carman
Your sole contribution to the sum of things is yourself.-Frank Crane.
less of God's creatures within the sphere of charity and mercy.-Queen Victoria.
S good almost kill a man as kill a good book; who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image, but he who destroys a good book kills reason itself.-John Milton.
Success or failure in business is caused more by mental attitude even than by mental capacities.-Walter Dill Scott.
Tis undeniable that the great quest of humanity is happiness. But was the world created to be happy? How many are truly happy? I 've studied people in all classes and conditions, and everywhere I have found, when you get below the surface, that it is mostly the insincere individual who says, “I am happy." Nearly everybody wants something he has n't got, and as things are constructed, what he wants is moneymore money than he has in his pockets) But after all, money can buy only a few things Why should any one envy the captains of industry? Their lives are made up of those vast, incessant worries from which the average individual is happily spared. Worry, worry, that is the evil of life
For each and every joyful thing,
For fountains cool that laugh and leap,
HE great voice of America does not come from the seats of learning. It comes in a murmur from the hills and woods and farms and factories and the mills, rolling and gaining volume until it comes to us from the homes of common men. Do these murmurs echo in the corridors of the universities? I have not heard them. The universities would make men forget their common origins, forget their universal sympathies, and join a class-and no class can ever serve America. I have dedicated every power there is in me to bring the colleges that I have anything to do with to an absolutely democratic regeneration in spirit, and I shall not be satisfied until America shall know that the men in the colleges are saturated with the same thought, the same sympathy, that whole great body
pulses through the
For stars that pierce the sombre dark,
For sunshine and the blessed rain, For budding grove and blossomy lane, For the sweet silence of the plain,
For bounty springing from the sod,
UR world is pervaded and deeply moved by the power of ideals. There is no perfect statesman, or poet, or artist, but the virtues of many persons in each one of these great pursuits become detached, and like stardust, they form a new and perfect star in the expanse of thought. The orator that stands before us in our moments of reflection and dream is not Cicero, or Burke, or Webster, but always some nameless one with a wisdom, a language and a presence better than were found in those actual incarnations.
Our statesman is not Alfred, nor Napoleon, nor even Washington, but he is some yet mightier being with an infinite power and unknown name, his features not yet fully visible, as though he had not yet emerged from the shadows of old forums and the lonely columns of ruined states. All around our hearts stand these final shapes of the powerful, the perfect and the sublime-the aggregations of long ages of thought and admiration.
Our earth is great not only because of what it has, but also because of what lies within its reach.
The quest after ideals is the central reason of life. This pursuit abandoned, life need not run along any longer. The pitcher is broken at the fountain. The idealists are creating a human world after the pattern shown them in the Mount. Each art stands as a monument to a host of idealists who in their own day perhaps toiled hopelessly and amid the sneers of those who were only the children of dust. Music, now so infinite in extent and sweetness, is such a monument. The first rude harps are broken and lost; dead the hands that smote them; but the art is here with no enchantment lost. We do not know the names of those singers. Like us they were pilgrims.
They had to pass into the beyond, but they left an art which the world loves. It was so of liberty, temperance, justice and all the higher forms of human life. . . . Some speak of ideals as being only girls' dreams. On the opposite, high ideals are lifelike portraits seen in advance. Only
the greatest minds living in an age of tyranny could see in prophecy the portrait of a free people. Instead of being a romantic dream an ideal is often a long mathematical calculation by an intellect as logical as that of Euclid. Idealism is not the ravings of a maniac, but it is the calm geometry of life. Ideals try our faith, as though to show us that nothing is too good to be true. In noble ideals there is something aggressive. They are not aggressive like an army with gun and spear, but aggressive like the sun which coaxes a June out of a winter. All great truths are persistent. Each form of right is a growing form. All high ideals will be realized. This one perceives who takes a long view-the triumph of ideality over apathy, indolence and dust. There is nothing in history, dark as much of it is, to check the belief that man will at last be overcome by his highest ideals ›› -David Swing.
AM aware that many object to the severity of my language; but is there not cause for severity? I will be as harsh as Truth, and as uncompromising as Justice. On this subject I do not wish to think, or speak, or write, with moderation. No! No! Tell a man whose house is on fire to give a moderate alarm; tell him to moderately rescue his wife from the hands of the ravisher; tell the mother to gradually extricate her babe from the fire into which it has fallen-but urge me not to use moderation in a cause like the present. I am in earnest-I will not equivocate-I will not excuse-I will not retreat a single inch-and I will be heard. The apathy of the people is enough to make every statue leap from its pedestal and hasten the resurrection of the dead.
-William Lloyd Garrison.
Elive in deeds, not years; in thoughts,
In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.-Philip James Bailey.
MAN'S Thanksgiving: God of commonsense, I give Thee thanks for the heavy blows of pain that drive me back
from perilous ways into harmony with the laws of my being; for stinging whips of hunger and cold that urge to bitter strivings and glorious achievement; for steepness and roughness of the way and staunch virtues gained by climbing over jagged rocks of hardship and stumbling through dark and pathless sloughs of discouragement; for the acid blight of failure that has burned out of me all thought of easy victory and toughened my sinews for fiercer battles and greater triumphs; for mistakes I have made, and the priceless lessons I have learned from them; for disillusion and disappointment that have cleared my vision and spurred my desire; for strong appetites and passions and the power they give when under pressure and control; for my imperfections that give me the keen delight of striving toward perfection.
LTHOUGH imitation is one of the great instruments used by Providence in bringing our nature toward its perfection, yet if men gave themselves up to imitation entirely, and each followed the other, and so on in an eternal circle, it is easy to see that there could never be any improvement among them. Men must remain as brutes do, the same at the end that they are at this day, and that they were at the beginning of the world. To prevent this, God has implanted in man, a sense of ambition, and a satisfaction arising from the contemplation of his excelling his fellows in something deemed valuable among them. It is this passion that drives men to all the ways we see in use of signalizing themselves, and that tends to make whatever excites in a man the idea of this distinction so very pleasant. It
has been so strong as to make very miserable men take comfort that they were supreme in misery; where we can not distinguish ourselves by something excellent, we take complacency in some singular infirmity, folly or defect.
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven,
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires-'t is to be forgiven
That in our aspirations to be great
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star. "Stars," by Lord Byron
God of common good and human brotherhood, I give Thee thanks for siren songs of temptation that lure and entangle and the understanding of other men they reveal; for the weaknesses and failings of my neighbors and the joy of lending a helping hand; for my own shortcomings, sorrows and loneliness, that give me a deeper sympathy for others; for ingratitude and misunderstanding and the gladness of service without other reward than self-expression.-Arthur W. Newcomb.
HE first and best victory is to conquer self; to be conquered by self is, of all things, the most shameful and vile.-Plato.
HE only way in which one human
being can properly attempt to influence another is the encouraging him to think for himself, instead of endeavoring to instil ready-made opinions into his head. Sir Leslie Stephen.