Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The saints will aid if men will call:
For the blue sky bends over all.

The saints will aid if men will call:
For the blue sky bends over all.

'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
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'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music!

I dislike the frequent use of the word virtue, instead of righteousness, in the pulpit; in prayer or preaching before read more

I dislike the frequent use of the word virtue, instead of righteousness, in the pulpit; in prayer or preaching before a Christian community, it sounds too much like pagan philosophy.

Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned read more

Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.

Acquaintance many, and conquaintance few, But for inquaintance I know only two - The friend I've wept and the maid read more

Acquaintance many, and conquaintance few, But for inquaintance I know only two - The friend I've wept and the maid I woo