William C. Bryant
William C. Bryant quotes
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple tree.
Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd and under roofs That our frail hands have raised?
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that ... (more William C. Bryant quotes)
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