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My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing: Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From every mountainside Let freedom ring. My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills. My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze And ring from all the trees Sweet freedoms song; Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our fathers' God, to thee, Author of liberty, To thee I sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King! Samuel Francis Smith		Monday Apr 21, 2025
		Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969

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The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love. Walter Savage Landor

Quote Author: Walter Savage Landor

	Walter Savage Landor
	Walter Savage Landor (January 30, 1775 - September 17, 1864) was an English writer and poet. His best known works were the prose Imaginary Conversations, and the poem Rose Aylmer, but the critical acclaim he received from contemporary poets and reviewers was not matched by public popularity. As remarkable as his work was his rumbustuous character and lively temperament. Read More

Other Walter Savage Landor Quotes

The writings of the wise are the only riches our posterity cannot squander.

If there were no falsehood in the world, there would be no doubt; if there were no doubt, there would be no inquiry; if no inquiry, no wisdom, no knowledge, no genius.

Fame, they tell you, is air; but without air there is no life for any; without fame there is none for the best.

Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art.

I strove with none; for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

George the First was always reckoned Vile, but viler George the Second; And what mortal ever heard Any good of George the Third? When from earth the Fourth descended God be praised, the Georges ended!

We are no longer happy as soon as we wish to be happier.

Kindness in ourselves is the honey that blunts the sting of unkindness in another.

The bird of wisdom flies low, and seeks her food under hedges; the eagle himself would be starved if he always soared aloft and against the sun.

Absence and death are the same only that in death there is no suffering.

The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.

Heat and animosity, contest and conflict may sharpen the wits, although they rarely do; they never strengthen the understanding, clear the perspicacity, guide the judgment, or improve the heart.

Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.

In the hours of distress and misery, the eyes of every mortal turn to friendship; in the hours of gladness and conviviality, what is our want? It is friendship. When the heart overflows with gratitude, or with any other sweet or sacred sentiment, what is the word to which it would give utterance? A friend.

Everything that looks to the future elevates human nature; for never is life so low or so little as when occupied with the present.

I sometimes think that the most plaintive ditty has brought a fuller joy and of longer duration to its composer that the conquest of Persia to the Macedonian.

Delay in justice is injustice.

Many love music but for music's sake, Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half-dead, And rise to follow where she loves to lead. What various feelings come from days gone by! What tears from far-off sources dim the eye! Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play, And melodies swell, pause, and melt away, Mind how at every touch, at every tone, A spark of life hath glistened and hath gone.

I see the rainbow in the sky, the dew upon the grass; I see them, and I ask not why they glimmer or they pass. With folded arms I linger not to call them back; twere vain: In this, or in some other spot, I know theyll shine again.

Clear writers, like fountains, do not seem so deep as they are; the turbid look the most profound.

People, like nails, lose their effectiveness when they lose direction and begin to bend.