The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and
billows.
[Ger., Der Sturm ist read more

The storm is master. Man, as a ball, is tossed twixt winds and
billows.
[Ger., Der Sturm ist Meister; Wind und Well spielen
Ball mit dem Menschen.]

But there is one thing which we are responsible for, and that is
for our sympathies, for the manner read more

But there is one thing which we are responsible for, and that is
for our sympathies, for the manner in which we regard it, and for
the tone in which we discuss it. What shall we say, then, with
regard to it? On which side shall we stand?

But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have
need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion read more

But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have
need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how
dwelleth the love of God in him?

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how read more

I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all.

Lo! darkness bends down like a mother of grief
On the limitless plain, and the fall of her hair
read more

Lo! darkness bends down like a mother of grief
On the limitless plain, and the fall of her hair
It has mantled a world.

When clouds are seen wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall then winter is at hand.

When clouds are seen wise men put on their cloaks;
When great leaves fall then winter is at hand.

Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
read more

Merciful heaven,
Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle; but man, proud man,
Dressed in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assured
His glassy essence--like an angry ape
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
would all themselves laugh mortal.

In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And read more

In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.

There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the read more

There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain. One should sympathise with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life. The less said about life's sores the better.