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Page 186 - Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not ; for I am not yet ascended to my Father : but go to my brethren and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father and your Father; and to my God and your God.
Page xiii - He drew a circle that shut me out — Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But Love and I had the wit to win: We drew a circle that took him in!
Page 182 - Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden ; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid. There laid they Jesus therefore because of the Jews' preparation day ; for the sepulchre was nigh at hand.
Page 97 - Defeat may serve as well as victory To shake the soul and let the glory out.
Page 113 - We men of earth have here the stuff Of Paradise — -we have enough! We need no other stones to build The stairs into the Unfulfilled — No other ivory for the doors — No other marble for the floors — No other cedar for the beam And dome of man's immortal dream. Here on the paths of every day — Here on the common human way, Is all the stuff the gods would take To build a Heaven ; to mould and make New Edens. Ours the stuff sublime To build Eternity in time!
Page 125 - And the right of a man to labor and his right to labor in joy — Not all your laws can strangle that right, nor the gates of hell destroy. For it came with the making of man and was kneaded into his bones, And It will stand at the last of things on the dust of crumbled thrones.
Page 57 - A bundle of fagots bowed her back, And she was spent with the wrench and rack. He gave her his loaf and steadied her load As she took her way on the weary road. Then to his door came a little child, Lost and afraid in the world so wild, In the big, dark world. Catching it up, He gave it...
Page 71 - I will go back to the great world-sorrow, To the millions bearing the double load— The fate of to-day and the fear of to-morrow: I will taste the dust of the road. "I will go back to the pains and the pities That break the heart of the world with moan; I will forget in the grief of the cities The burden of my own. "There in the world-grief my own grief humbles, My wild hour melts in the days to be, As the wild white foam of a river crumbles, Forgotten in the sea.