He is happiest who hath power to gather wisdom from a flower.— Mary Howitt
The most tempting Mary Howitt quotes that are glad to read
Buttercups and daisies, Oh, the pretty flowers;
Coming ere the spring time, To tell of sunny hours. When the trees are leafless; When the fields are bare; Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there.
Yes, in the poor man's garden grow Far more than herbs and flowers - Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And Joy for weary hours.
The wild sea roars and lashes the granite cliffs below,And round the misty islets the loud strong tempests blow.
God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race -- to enlarge our hearts, to make us unselfish, and full of kindly sympathies and affections.
When on the breath of Autumn's breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair, white thistle-down; O, then what joy to walk at will, Upon the golden harvest-hill!
Will you walk into my parlour? Said the spider to a fly: '"Tis the prettiest little parlour That ever you did spy.
Heart's ease! one could look for half a day Upon this flower, and shape in fancy out Full twenty different tales of love and sorrow, That gave this gentle name.
Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine. A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine.
Old England is our home, and Englishmen are we;
Our tongue is known in every clime, our flag in every sea.
True delicacy, that most beautiful heart-leaf of humanity, exhibits itself most significantly in little things.
I know he's coming by this sign, That baby's almost wild;
See how he laughs and crows and starts — Heaven, bless the merry child! He's father's self in face and limb, And father's heart is strong in him. Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands, For father on the threshold stands.
Roads are wet where'er one wendeth, And with rain the thistle bendeth, And the brook cries like a child! Not a rainbow shines to cheer us; Ah! the sun comes never near us, And the heavens look dark and wile.
For visions come not to polluted eyes.
To ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair Can ne'er come down again.