Richard Watson Gilder Quotes

What babe new born is this that in a manger cries? Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies. Oh, see the air is shaken with white and heavenly wings
This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of Kings.

My name may have buoyancy enough to float upon the sea of time.

A man not perfect, but of heart so high, of such heroic rage, That even his hopes became a part of earth's eternal heritage.

What if thou be saint or sinner,
Crooked gray-beard, straight beginner,
Empty paunch, or jolly dinner,
When Death thee shall call.
All like are rich or richer,
King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher,
When the grave hides all.

Give me a theme," the little poet cried, "And I will do my part," "'Tis not a theme you need," the world replied; "You need a heart.

Ye living soldiers of the mighty war,
Once more from roaring cannon and the drums
And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes;
Forget the halting limb, each wound and scar:
Once more your Captain calls to you;
Come to his last review!

I count my time by times that I meet thee;
These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons,
And nights, these are my old moons and my new moons.
Slow fly the hours, fast the hours flee,
If thou art far from or art near to me:
If thou art far, the bird's tunes are no tunes;
If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes.

Knights of the spirit; warriors in the cause Of justice absolute 'twixt man and man.

In the embers shining bright
A garden grows for thy delight,
With roses yellow, red, and white.
But, O my child, beware, beware!
Touch not the roses growing there,
For every rose a thorn doth bear.

Against the darkness outer God's light his likeness takes, And he from the mighty doubter The great believer makes.

Since ancient Time began,
Ever on some great soul God laid an infinite burden
The weight of all this world, the hopes of man,
Conflict and pain, and fame immortal are his guerdon.

I am the spirit of the morning sea, I am the awakening and the glad surprise.

In Heaven's happy bowers
There blossom two flowers,
One with fiery glow
And one as white as snow;
While lo! before them stands,
With pale and trembling hands,
A spirit who must choose
One, and one refuse.

We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried, "Behold the butterfly, the see that's cast!" Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast! What man can look on Death unterrified?

I am the laughter of the new-born child On whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled.