And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn! — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
And never since harvests were ripened, / Or laborers born, / Have men gathered figs of the thistle, / Or grapes of the thorn! — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
Father, perfect my trust;Let my spirit feel in death,That her feet are firmly setOn the rock of a living faith! — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
But whenever she thanks the givers for favors great and small, she thinks of the good little sister who gave her more than they… — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
O that one unguarded moment! / Were it mine to live again, / All the strength of its temptation / Would appeal to me in vain. — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
Books were put out, and 'had a run,' / Like coinage from the mint; / But which could fill the place of one, /… — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
Give plenty of what is given to you, And listen to pity's call. Don't think the little you give is great, And the much… — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
I know not which I love the most, Nor which the comeliest shows, The timid, bashful violet Or the royal-hearted rose: The pansy in… — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
Ah, there are moments for us here, when, seeing Life's inequalities, and woe, and care, The burdens laid upon our mortal being Seem heavier… — Phoebe Cary Copy Share Image
