Jean Ingelow quotes:

I have lived to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered.

A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.

Crowds of bees are giddy with clover Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.

The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow ...

Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.

Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.

Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late; And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait.

From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love To long for, pureness to desire, a mount Of consecration it were good to scale.

O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!

Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.

It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.

And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep; Thou bearest angels to us in the night, Saints out of heaven with palms. Seen by thy light Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep; Love is a pouting child.

When sparrows build and the leaves break forth My old sorrow wakes and cries.

The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under; Every star is gone but three, And they hang far asunder,-- There's a sea-ghost all in gray, A tall shape of wonder!

When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.

Against her ankles as she trod The lucky buttercups did nod.

I have lived life long enough to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered

Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man. Behold, "There is a God," thou sayest. Thou sayest well: In that thou sayest all. To Be is more Of wonderful, than being, to have wrought, Or reigned, or rested.

Quoth the Ocean, "Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland; For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

What change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet, And cloud that wears a golden hem? This lovely world, the hills, the sward-- They all look fresh, as if our Lord But yesterday had finished them.

There is but halting for the wearied foot; The better way is hidden. Faith hath failed; One stronger far than reason mastered her. It is not reason makes faith hard, but life.

I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.

I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.

Children bring their own love with them when they come.

How short our happy days appear! How long the sorrowful!

A birthday:-and now a day that rose With much of hope, with meaning rife- A thoughtful day from dawn to close: The middle day of human life.

For hearts where wakened love doth lurk, How fine, how blest a thing is work! For work does good when reasons fail.

Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.

O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile: So have all sages said, all poets sung.

People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.

You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?

Yet there are some resting-places, / Life's untroubled interludes; / Times when neither past nor future / On the soul's deep calm intrudes.

Tears are the showers that fertilize this world ...

When our thoughts are born, Though they be good and humble, one should mind How they are reared, or some will go astray And shame their mother.

It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.

Reign, and keep life in this our deep desireOur only greatness is that we aspire.

What is thy thought? There is no miracle? There is a great one, which thou hast not read, And never shalt escape. Thyself, O man, Thou art the miracle. Ay, thou thyself, Being in the world and of the world, thyself, Hast breathed in breath from Him that made the world. Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,-- Thou art thy Father's miracle.

When I remember something which I had, But which is gone, and I must do without, I sometimes wonder how I can be glad, Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout; It makes me sigh to think on it,--but yet My days will not be better days, should I forget.

I am athirst for God, the living God.

I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music within and a song, And echoes did feed on the sweetness, repeating it long. I opened the doors of my heart. And behold, There was music that played itself out in aeolian notes: Then was heard, as a far-away bell at long intervals tolled.

And the guelder rose In a great stillness dropped, and ever dropped, Her wealth about her feet.

O sleep! O sleep! Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep, Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand Over the lids that crave thy visits bland, Thou kind, thou comforting one. For I have seen his face, as I desired, And all my story is done. O, I am tired.

we wish for more in life rather than more of it.