304 Total Quotes

Prayer Quotes Page 8

Soren Kierkegaard
Father in Heaven! When the thought of thee wakes in our hearts let it not awaken like a frightened bird that flies about in dismay, but like a child waking from its sleep with a heavenly smile.
Soren Kierkegaard
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Michel Eyquem de Montaigne
There are few men who dare to publish to the world the prayers they make to Almighty God.
Michel Eyquem de Montaigne
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Pray to God but continue to row to the shore.
Russian Proverbs
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Lucius Annaeus Seneca
Do not ask for what you will wish you had not got.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca
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Lucius Annaeus Seneca
We often want one thing and pray for another, not telling the truth even to the gods.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca
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George Bernard Shaw
Common people do not pray; they only beg.
George Bernard Shaw
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Lily Tomlin
Why is it when we talk to God, we're praying, but when God talks to us, we're schizophrenic?
Lily Tomlin
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Do not make prayer a monologue -- make it a conversation.
Author Unknown
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Our thanks to God should always precede our requests.
Author Unknown
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Pray for what you want, but work for what you need.
Author Unknown
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Prayer is a passport to heaven. Your communication with God.
Author Unknown
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Prayer moves the hand that moves the universe.
Author Unknown
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Carl Sandburg
For the gladness here where the sun is shining at evening on the weeds at the river, Our prayer of thanks. For the laughter of children who tumble barefooted and bareheaded in the summer grass, Our prayer of thanks. For the sunset and the stars, the women and the white arms that hold us, Our prayer of thanks. God, If you are deaf and blind, if this is all lost to you, God, if the dead in their coffins amid the silver handles on the edge of town, or the reckless dead of war days thrown unknown in pits, if these dead are forever deaf and blind and lost, Our prayer of thanks. God, The game is all your way, the secrets and the signals and the system; and so for the break of the game and the first play and the last. Our prayer of thanks.
Carl Sandburg
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There are four ways God answers prayer: No, not yet; No, I love you too much; Yes, I thought you'd never ask; Yes, and here's more.
Anne Lewis
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Alexander Pope
Father of all! In every age, In ev'ry clime ador'd, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confin'd To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind: Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And, binding Nature fast in Fate, Left free the human Will. What Conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do; This teach me more than Hell to shun, That more than Heav'n pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives; T' enjoy is to obey. Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round. Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And teach damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe. If I am right, thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, O teach my heart To find that better way. Save me alike from foolish Pride Or impious Discontent, At aught thy wisdom has denied, Or aught that goodness lent. Teach me to feel another's woe, To right the fault I see: That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Mean tho' I am, not wholly so, Since quicken'd by thy breath; O lead me whereso'er I go, Thro' this day's life or death! This day be bread and peace my lot: All else beneath the sun Though know'st if best bestow'd or not, And let Thy will be done. To Thee, whose temple is of Space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies, One chorus let all Beings raise! All Nature's incense rise!
Alexander Pope
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Robert Frost
OH, give us pleasure in the flowers today; And give us not to think so far away As the uncertain harvest; keep us here All simply in the springing of the year. Oh, give us pleasure in the orcahrd white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night; And make us happy in the happy bees, The swarm dilating round the perfect trees. And make us happy in the darting bird That suddenly above the bees is heard, The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill, And off a blossom in mid air stands still. For this is love and nothing else is love, To which it is reserved for God above To sanctify to what far ends he will, But which it only needs that we fulfill.
Robert Frost
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Carl Sandburg
LAY me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar. Let me pry loose old walls. Let me lift and loosen old foundations. Lay me on an anvil, O God. Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike. Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper together. Take red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders. Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through blue nights into white stars.
Carl Sandburg
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Claude McKay
'Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; I stumble as I fare along Earth's way; keep me from falling. Mine eyes are open but they cannot see for gloom of night: I can no more than lift my heart to thee for inward light. The wild and fiery passion of my youth consumes my soul; In agony I turn to thee for truth and self-control. For Passion and all the pleasures it can give will die the death; But this of me eternally must live, thy borrowed breath. 'Mid the discordant noises of the day I hear thee calling; I stumble as I fare along Earth's way; keep me from falling.
Claude McKay
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I ASK good things that I detest, With speeches fair; Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, But hear my prayer. I say ill things I would not say - Things unaware: Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, And not my prayer. My heart is evil in Thy sight: My good thoughts flee: O Lord, I cannot wish aright - Wish Thou for me. O bend my words and acts to Thee, However ill, That I, whate'er I say or be, May serve Thee still. O let my thoughts abide in Thee Lest I should fall: Show me Thyself in all I see, Thou Lord of all.
Robert Stevenson
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Arise my body, my small body, we have striven Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven. Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go, White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow, Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light, And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night, -A meadow whipt flat with the rain, a cup Emptied and clean, a garment washed and folded up, Faded in colour, thinned almost to raggedness By dirt and by the washing of that dirtiness. Be not too quickly warm again. Lie cold; consent To weariness' and pardon's watery element. Drink up the bitter water, breathe the chilly death; Soon enough comes the riot of our blood and breath.
C. S. Lewis
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Khalil Gibran
Then a priestess said, "Speak to us of Prayer." And he answered, saying: You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance. For what is prayer but the expansion of yourself into the living ether? And if it is for your comfort to pour your darkness into space, it is also for your delight to pour forth the dawning of your heart. And if you cannot but weep when your soul summons you to prayer, she should spur you again and yet again, though weeping, until you shall come laughing. When you pray you rise to meet in the air those who are praying at that very hour, and whom save in prayer you may not meet. Therefore let your visit to that temple invisible be for naught but ecstasy and sweet communion. For if you should enter the temple for no other purpose than asking you shall not receive. And if you should enter into it to humble yourself you shall not be lifted: Or even if you should enter into it to beg for the good of others you shall not be heard. It is enough that you enter the temple invisible. I cannot teach you how to pray in words. God listens not to your words save when He Himself utters them through your lips. And I cannot teach you the prayer of the seas and the forests and the mountains. But you who are born of the mountains and the forests and the seas can find their prayer in your heart, And if you but listen in the stillness of the night you shall hear them saying in silence, "Our God, who art our winged self, it is thy will in us that willeth. It is thy desire in us that desireth. It is thy urge in us that would turn our nights, which are thine, into days which are thine also. We cannot ask thee for aught, for thou knowest our needs before they are born in us: Thou art our need; and in giving us more of thyself thou givest us all."
Khalil Gibran
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James Joyce
Again! Come, give, yield all your strength to me! From far a low word breathes on the breaking brain Its cruel calm, submission's misery, Gentling her awe as to a soul predestined. Cease, silent love! My doom! Blind me with your dark nearness, O have mercy, beloved enemy of my will! I dare not withstand the cold touch that I dread. Draw from me still My slow life! Bend deeper on me, threatening head, Proud by my downfall, remembering, pitying Him who is, him who was! Again! Together, folded by the night, they lay on earth. I hear From far her low word breathe on my breaking brain. Come! I yield. Bend deeper upon me! I am here. Subduer, do not leave me! Only joy, only anguish, Take me, save me, soothe me, O spare me!
James Joyce
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Lord Jesus, Thou hast known A mother's love and tender care: And Thou wilt hear, while for my own Mother most dear I make this birthday prayer. Protect her life, I pray, Who gave the gift of life to me; And may she know, from day to day, The deepening glow of Life that comes from Thee. As once upon her breast Fearless and well content I lay, So let her heart, on Thee at rest, Feel fears depart and troubles fade away. Her every wish fulfill; And even if Thou must refuse In anything, let Thy wise will A comfort bring such as kind mothers use. Ah, hold her by the hand, As once her hand held mine; And though she may not understand Life's winding way, lead her in peace divine. I cannot pay my debt For all the love that she has given; But Thou, love's Lord, wilt not forget Her due reward,--bless her in earth and heaven.
Henry Dyke
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O Lord, we come this morning Knee-bowed and body-bent Before Thy throne of grace. O Lord--this morning-- Bow our hearts beneath our knees, And our knees in some lonesome valley. We come this morning-- Like empty pitchers to a full fountain, With no merits of our own. O Lord--open up a window of heaven, And lean out far over the battlements of glory, And listen this morning. Lord, have mercy on proud and dying sinners-- Sinners hanging over the mouth of hell, Who seem to love their distance well. Lord--ride by this morning-- Mount Your milk-white horse, And ride-a this morning-- And in Your ride, ride by old hell, Ride by the dingy gates of hell, And stop poor sinners in their headlong plunge. And now, O Lord, this man of God, Who breaks the bread of life this morning-- Shadow him in the hollow of Thy hand, And keep him out of the gunshot of the devil. Take him, Lord--this morning-- Wash him with hyssop inside and out, Hang him up and drain him dry of sin. Pin his ear to the wisdom-post, And make his words sledge hammers of truth-- Beating on the iron heart of sin. Lord God, this morning-- Put his eye to the telescope of eternity, And let him look upon the paper walls of time. Lord, turpentine his imagination, Put perpetual motion in his arms, Fill him full of the dynamite of Thy power, Anoint him all over with the oil of Thy salvation, And set his tongue on fire. And now, O Lord-- When I've done drunk my last cup of sorrow-- When I've been called everything but a child of God-- When I'm done traveling up the rough side of the mountain-- O--Mary's Baby-- When I start down the steep and slippery steps of death-- When this old world begins to rock beneath my feet-- Lower me to my dusty grave in peace To wait for that great gittin'-up morning--Amen.
James Johnson
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Katherine Mansfield
Grant me the moment, the lovely moment That I may lean forth to see The other buds, the other blooms, The other leaves on the tree: That I may take into my bosom The breeze that is like his brother, But stiller, lighter, whose faint laughter Exhoes the joy of the other. Above on the blue and white cloud-spaces There are small clouds at play. I watch their remote, mysterious play-time In the other far-away. Grant I may hear the small birds singing the song that the silence knows... (The Light and the Shadow whisper together, The lovely moment grows, Ripples into the air like water Away and away without sound, And the little girl gets up from her praying On the cold ground)
Katherine Mansfield
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Carl Sandburg
WANDERING oversea dreamer, Hunting and hoarse, Oh daughter and mother, Oh daughter of ashes and mother of blood, Child of the hair let down, and tears, Child of the cross in the south And the star in the north, Keeper of Egypt and Russia and France, Keeper of England and Poland and Spain, Make us a song for to-morrow. Make us one new dream, us who forget, Out of the storm let us have one star. Struggle, Oh anvils, and help her. Weave with your wool. Oh winds and skies. Let your iron and copper help, Oh dirt of the old dark earth. Wandering oversea singer, Singing of ashes and blood, Child of the scars of fire, Make us one new dream, us who forget. Out of the storm let us have one star.
Carl Sandburg
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or, The First Steamboat up the Alabama. You, Dinah! Come and set me whar de ribber-roads does meet. De Lord, HE made dese black-jack roots to twis' into a seat. Umph, dar! De Lord have mussy on dis blin' ole nigger's feet. It 'pear to me dis mornin' I kin smell de fust o' June. I 'clar', I b'lieve dat mockin'-bird could play de fiddle soon! Dem yonder town-bells sounds like dey was ringin' in de moon. Well, ef dis nigger IS been blind for fo'ty year or mo', Dese ears, DEY sees the world, like, th'u' de cracks dat's in de do'. For de Lord has built dis body wid de windows 'hind and 'fo'. I know my front ones IS stopped up, and things is sort o' dim, But den, th'u' DEM, temptation's rain won't leak in on ole Jim! De back ones show me earth enough, aldo' dey's mons'ous slim. And as for Hebben, -- bless de Lord, and praise His holy name -- DAT shines in all de co'ners of dis cabin jes' de same As ef dat cabin hadn't nar' a plank upon de frame! Who CALL me? Listen down de ribber, Dinah! Don't you hyar Somebody holl'in' "Hoo, Jim, hoo?" My Sarah died las' y'ar; IS dat black angel done come back to call ole Jim f'om hyar? My stars, dat cain't be Sarah, shuh! Jes' listen, Dinah, NOW! What KIN be comin' up dat bend, a-makin' sich a row? Fus' bellerin' like a pawin' bull, den squealin' like a sow? De Lord 'a' mussy sakes alive, jes' hear, -- ker-woof, ker-woof -- De Debble's comin' round dat bend, he's comin' shuh enuff, A-splashin' up de water wid his tail and wid his hoof! I'se pow'ful skeered; but neversomeless I ain't gwine run away: I'm gwine to stand stiff-legged for de Lord dis blessed day. YOU screech, and swish de water, Satan! I'se a gwine to pray. O hebbenly Marster, what thou willest, dat mus' be jes' so, And ef Thou hast bespoke de word, some nigger's bound to go. Den, Lord, please take ole Jim, and lef young Dinah hyar below! 'Scuse Dinah, 'scuse her, Marster; for she's sich a little chile, She hardly jes' begin to scramble up de homeyard stile, But dis ole traveller's feet been tired dis many a many a mile. I'se wufless as de rotten pole of las' year's fodder-stack. De rheumatiz done bit my bones; you hear 'em crack and crack? I cain'st sit down 'dout gruntin' like 'twas breakin' o' my back. What use de wheel, when hub and spokes is warped and split, and rotten? What use dis dried-up cotton-stalk, when Life done picked my cotton? I'se like a word dat somebody said, and den done been forgotten. But, Dinah! Shuh dat gal jes' like dis little hick'ry tree, De sap's jes' risin in her; she do grow owdaciouslee -- Lord, ef you's clarin' de underbrush, don't cut her down, cut me! I would not proud persume -- but I'll boldly make reques'; Sence Jacob had dat wrastlin'-match, I, too, gwine do my bes'; When Jacob got all underholt, de Lord he answered Yes! And what for waste de vittles, now, and th'ow away de bread, Jes' for to strength dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head? T'ink of de 'conomy, Marster, ef dis ole Jim was dead! Stop; -- ef I don't believe de Debble's gone on up de stream! Jes' now he squealed down dar; -- hush; dat's a mighty weakly scream! Yas, sir, he's gone, he's gone; -- he snort way off, like in a dream! O glory hallelujah to de Lord dat reigns on high! De Debble's fai'ly skeered to def, he done gone flyin' by; I know'd he couldn' stand dat pra'r, I felt my Marster nigh! You, Dinah; ain't you 'shamed, now, dat you didn' trust to grace? I heerd you thrashin' th'u' de bushes when he showed his face! You fool, you think de Debble couldn't beat YOU in a race? I tell you, Dinah, jes' as shuh as you is standin' dar, When folks starts prayin', answer-angels drops down th'u' de a'r. YAS, DINAH, WHAR 'OULD YOU BE NOW, JES' 'CEPTIN' FUR DAT PRA'R?
Sidney Lanier
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Beloved, this the heart I offer thee Is purified from old idolatry, From outworn hopes, and from the lingering stain Of passion's dregs, by penitential pain. Take thou it, then, and fill it up for me With thine unstinted love, and it shall be An earthy chalice that is made divine By its red draught of sacramental wine.
Lucy Montgomery
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My God (oh, let me call Thee mine, Weak, wretched sinner though I be), My trembling soul would fain be Thine; My feeble faith still clings to Thee. Not only for the Past I grieve, The Future fills me with dismay; Unless Thou hasten to relieve, Thy suppliant is a castaway. I cannot say my faith is strong, I dare not hope my love is great; But strength and love to Thee belong; Oh, do not leave me desolate! I know I owe my all to Thee; Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give! Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be, And MAKE me to Thy glory live.
Anne Bronte
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Eternal Power, of earth and air! Unseen, yet seen in all around, Remote, but dwelling everywhere, Though silent, heard in every sound. If e'er thine ear in mercy bent, When wretched mortals cried to Thee, And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent, To save lost sinners such as me: Then hear me now, while, kneeling here, I lift to thee my heart and eye, And all my soul ascends in prayer, Oh, give me -­ give me Faith! I cry. Without some glimmering in my heart, I could not raise this fervent prayer; But, oh! a stronger light impart, And in Thy mercy fix it there. While Faith is with me, I am blest; It turns my darkest night to day; But while I clasp it to my breast, I often feel it slide away. Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, To see my light of life depart; And every fiend of Hell, methinks, Enjoys the anguish of my heart. What shall I do, if all my love, My hopes, my toil, are cast away, And if there be no God above, To hear and bless me when I pray? If this be vain delusion all, If death be an eternal sleep, And none can hear my secret call, Or see the silent tears I weep! Oh, help me, God! For thou alone Canst my distracted soul relieve; Forsake it not: it is thine own, Though weak, yet longing to believe. Oh, drive these cruel doubts away; And make me know, that Thou art God! A faith, that shines by night and day, Will lighten every earthly load. If I believe that Jesus died, And, waking, rose to reign above; Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride, Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love. And all the blessed words He said Will strength and holy joy impart: A shield of safety o'er my head, A spring of comfort in my heart.
Anne Bronte
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