#EnglishWriters
A Potter, playing with his lump o… Fashioned an image of supremest wo… "Never was nobler image made on ea… Than this that I have fashioned o… And I, of mine own skill, did fas…
With the thirty pieces of silver, They bought the Potter’s Field; For none would have the blood-mone… And the interest it might yield. The Place of Blood for the Price…
And hast Thou help for such as me… Sin-weary, stained, forlorn? “Yea then,—if not for such as thee To what end was I born?” But I have strayed so far away,
You that still have your sight, Remember me!— I risked my life, I lost my eyes, That you might see. Now in the dark I go,
Lord, give me faith!—to live from… With tranquil heart to do my simpl… And, with my hand in Thine, just… Lord, give me faith!—to trust, if… With quiet mind in all things The…
The spikenard was not wasted;— All down the tale of years, The fragrance of that broken alaba… Still clings to Mary’s memory, As clung its perfume sweet unto he…
Free men of God, the New Day bre… In golden gleams across the sky; The darkness of the night is past, This is the Day of Victory. For this our fathers strove,
Who are the Makers of Wars? The Kings of the earth. And who are these Kings of the ea… Only men—not always even men of wo… But claiming rule by right of birt…
Just see that we get full value Of that for which we have paid. The price has been a heavy one, But the goods are there—and we’ve… We’ve paid in our toil and our wou…
To lift the sombre fringes of the… To open lands long darkened to the… To heal grim wounds, to give the b… Right mightily wrought he. Forth to the fight he fared,
I;— Thou;— We;— They;— Small words, but mighty.
('Be christs!'- was one of W. T. Stead’s favourite sayings. Not ‘Be like Christ!’- but– ‘Be christs!’ And he used the word no doubt in its original meaning,- anointed, ordained, chosen....
The Golden Rose is blowing still, Is growing still, is glowing still… In lonely vale, on lordly hill, The Golden Rose is glowing still;… If only you can find it!
"Comfort ye, my people!" Saith your God,-- "And be ye comforted! And--be--ye--comforted!" Roughly my plough did plough you,
He writes in characters too grand For our short sight to understand; We catch but broken strokes, and t… To fathom all the mystery Of withered hopes, of death, of li…