| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | Ebenezer Elliott |
| | | | Again the violet of our early days |
| Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun, |
| And kindles into fragrance at his blaze. |
| 1 |
| | And here the sunflower of the spring |
| Burns bright in morning’s beam. |
| 2 |
| | Burns o’er the plough sung sweet his woodnotes wild; |
| And richest Shakespeare was a poor man’s child. |
| 3 |
| | God said—“Let there be light!” |
| Grim darkness felt His might, |
| And fled away; |
| Then startled seas and mountains cold |
| Shone forth, all bright in blue and gold, |
| And cried—“’Tis day! ’tis day!” |
| “Hail, holy light!” exclaim’d |
| The thunderous cloud that flam’d |
| O’er daisies white; |
| And lo! the rose, in crimson dress’d, |
| Lean’d sweetly on the lily’s breast; |
| And blushing murmur’d—“Light!” |
| 4 |
| | If ’twere not for my cat and dog, |
| I think I could not live. |
| 5 |
| | If e’er she knew an evil thought |
| She spoke no evil word: |
| Peace to the gentle! She hath sought |
| The bosom of her Lord. |
| 6 |
| | Sleep! to the homeless, thou art home |
| The friendless find in thee a friend; |
| And well is, wheresoe’er he roams, |
| Who meets thee at his journey’s end. |
| 7 |
| | Things of to-day? |
| Deeds which are harvest for Eternity! |
| 8 |
| | ’Tis toil’s reward, that sweetens industry, |
| As love inspires with strength the enraptur’d thrush. |
| 9 |
| | What is a Communist? One who has yearnings |
| For equal division of unequal earnings. |
| 10 |
| | Within the sun-lit forest, |
| Our roof the bright blue sky, |
| Where fountains flow, and wild flowers blow, |
| We lift our hearts on high. |
| 11 |
| One who has yearnings for equal division of unequal earnings. Idler or bungler, he is willing to fork out his penny and pocket your shilling. | 12 |
| Prophets of fragrance, beauty, joy, and song. | 13 |
| Sleep, to the homeless thou art home; the friendless find in thee a friend. | 14 |
| Stem fate and time will have their victims; and the best die first, leaving the bad still strong, though past their prime. | 15 |
| The quivering flesh, though torture-torn, may live, but souls, once deeply wounded, heal no more. | 16 | | |
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