All angel now, and little less than all,
While still a pilgrim in this world of ours.
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell.
How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us that succour want!
Around our pillows golden ladders rise,
And up and down the skies,
With winged sandals shod,
The angels come, and go, the Messengers of God!
Nor, though they fade from us, do they depart—
It is the childly heart
We walk as heretofore,
Adown their shining ranks, but see them nevermore.
Sweet souls around us watch us still,
Press nearer to our side;
Into our thoughts, into our prayers,
With gentle helpings glide.
I have no angels left
Now, Sweet, to pray to:
Where you have made your shrine
They are away to.
They have struck Heaven's tent,
And gone to cover you:
Whereso you keep your state
Heaven is pitched over you.
For all we know
Of what the Blessed do above
Is, that they sing, and that they love.
What know we of the Blest above
But that they sing, and that they love?
ANGER
Anger makes dull men witty, but it keeps them poor.
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe;
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny, and youth is vain;
And to be wrothe with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
Beware the fury of a patient man.
A man deep-wounded may feel too much pain
To feel much anger.
Anger seeks its prey,—
Something to tear with sharp-edged tooth and claw,
Likes not to go off hungry, leaving Love
To feast on milk and honeycomb at will.
Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath.
Craignez la colère de la colombe.
Beware the anger of the dove.
Anger is one of the sinews of the soul.
Anger, which, far sweeter than trickling drops
of honey, rises in the bosom of a man like smoke.
Ira furor brevis est: animum rege: qui nisi paret imperat.
Anger is momentary madness, so control your passion or it will control you.
Fœnum habet in cornu.
He has hay on his horns.
Trahit ipse furoris
Impetus, et visum est Ienti qu»sisse nocentem.
They are borne along by the violence of their rage, and think it is a waste of time to ask who are guilty.
Nemo me impune lacessit.
No man provokes me with impunity.
Quamlibet infirmas adjuvat ira manus.
Anger assists hands however weak.
Ut fragilis glacies interit ira mora.
Like fragile ice anger passes away in time.
