O my love my dear lady The world is not very big There is only room for our wonder And the light leaning winds of heaven Are not more sweet or pure Than your mouth on my throat O my love there are larks in our morning And the finding flame of your hands And the moss on the bank of the river And the butterflies And the whirling-mad Butterflies!
Kenneth PatchenRelated topics
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Abba Macarius was asked, How should one pray? The old man said, There is no need at all to make long discourses; it is enough to stretch out ones hands and say, "Lord, as you will, and as you know, have mercy." And if the conflict grows fiercer say, "Lord, help!" He knows very well what we need and he shews us his mercy.
Macarius of Egypt
Everything in this life passes away - only God remains, only He is worth struggling towards. We have a choice: to follow the way of this world, of the society that surrounds us, and thereby find ourselves outside of God; or to choose the way of life, to choose God Who calls us and for Whom our heart is searching.
Seraphim Rose
Come sit by my side, Lydia, on the bank of the river.
Calmly let us watch it flow, and learn
That life passes, and we are not holding hands.
(Let us hold hands)
.....
Let us hold hands no more: why should we tire ourselves?
For our pleasure, for our pain, we pass on like the river.
'Tis better to know how to pass on silently,
With no great disquiet.
Fernando Pessoa
You may rejoice to think yourselves secure,
You may be grateful for the gift divine,
That grace unsought which made your black hearts pure
And fits your earthborn souls in Heaven to shine.
But is it sweet to look around and view
Thousands excluded from that happiness,
Which they deserve at least as much as you,
Their faults not greater nor their virtues less?
Anne Brontë
And since my malady
Will not be
Cured at all
Without you, sweet enemy.
Who are glad
At my torment.
With folded hands I pray
To your heart, since it forgets me.
That it should kill me quickly.
For I languish too long.
Sweet pretty lady.
For God's sake do not think
That any one has authority
Over me but you alone.
Guillaume de Machaut