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GEORGE CROLY
Irish divine, poet and author
(1780 - 1860)

At the foot of the cross, in all humility and in all adoration, we have learned at once the depth and the height of human nature; we have learned to think all wisdom but foolishness for the knowledge of Christ; all purity but sin, unwashed by His atonement; all hope in earth, of all hopes the most miserable, but in the faith of His most blessed resurrection; content to bear the struggles of life, at His command; and submitting to the grave, with a consciousness that it can sting no more.
      - [Cross]

Christianity has no ceremonial. It has forms, for forms are essential to order; but it disdains the folly of attempting to reinforce the religion of the heart by the antics of the mind.
      - [Christianity]

His words seem'd oracles
  That pierc'd their bosoms; and each man would turn
    And gaze in wonder on his neighbour's face,
      That with the like dumb wonder answer'd him.
        You could have heard
          The beating of your pulses while he spoke.
      - [Eloquence]

Oh! that fear
  When the heart longs to know, what it is death to hear.
      - [Fear]

There are few things more singular than the blindness which, in matters of the highest importance to ourselves, often hides the truth that is plain as noon to all other eyes.
      - [Obtuseness]

How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon
  From the slow opening curtains of the clouds
    Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!
      - Diana [Moon]

Come, evening gale! the crimson rose
  Is dropping for thy sighe of dewe;
    The hyacinthe wooes thy kisse to close
      In slumberre sweete its eye of blue.
      - Inscription for a Grotto [Hyacinths]

Nature's first great title--mind.
      - Pericles and Aspasia [Mind]

White bud! that in meek beauty dost lean
  Thy cloistered cheek as pale as moonlight snow,
    Thou seem'st, beneath thy huge, high leaf of green,
      An Eremite beneath his mountain's brow.
      - The Lily of the Valley
        [Lilies-of-the-valley]

When day is done, and clouds are low,
  And flowers are honey-dew,
    And Hesper's lamp begins to glow
      Along the western blue;
        And homeward wing the turtle-doves,
          Then comes the hour the poet loves.
      - The Poet's Hour [Evening]


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