Posts Tagged ‘grace’

Except the Heaven had come so near –
So seemed to choose My Door –
The Distance would not haunt me so –
I had not hoped – before –

But just to hear the Grace depart –
I never thought to see –
Afflicts me with a Double loss –
‘Tis lost – And lost to me –


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Ah, what avails the sceptred race,
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.


This quote is in An Anthology of Famous English and American Poetry
about the poem: “It was inspired by news of the death in India of Rose,
the daughter of Henry, Baron Aylmer, who had been Landor’s devoted
friend during the poet’s early years in Wales.”

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“You’ll have to take me just the way I am”;
Says he won’t change and that he does not care.
Such causes God, in spite of grace, to damn,
And gives to others burdens they can’t bear.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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Within this ample volume lies
The mystery of mysteries.
Happiest they of human race
To whom their God has given grace
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way;
But better they had ne’er been born
That read to doubt or read to scorn.


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Dancing With The Stars 

The pair, debonair, with a flair
   make their case.
   The grace! and the pace! as they chase
      the sweet notes;
      Pair floats, two dreamboats – Ah! the quotes
         from the crowd.
         Chins proud as they wowed and then bowed
            at the end.
Compare, if we dare, such a rare blend.


photo by Moi Cody at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/meSMtfY/Tango+4+Silhouette


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

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