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Let Us Not Depreciate Earth. There Is No Atom In It But Is Alive And Astir In The All-penetrating Splendor Of God. From The Infinitesimal To The Infinite, Everything Is Striving To Express The Thought Of His Presence With Which It Overflows.

-Lucy Larcom

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Let Us Not Depreciate

Lucy Larcom

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Let Us Not Depreciate Earth. There Is No Atom In It But Is Alive And Astir In The All-penetrating Splendor Of God. From The Infinitesimal To The Infinite, Everything Is Striving To Express The Thought Of His Presence With Which It Overflows.

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June Falls Asleep Upon Her Bier Of Flowers; In Vain Are Dewdrops Sprinkled O'er Her, In Vain Would Fond Winds Fan Her Back To Life, Her Hours Are Numbered On The Floral Dial.

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If An Apple Blossom Or A Ripe Apple Could Tell Its Own Story, It Would Be, Still More Than Its Own, The Story Of The Sunshine That Smiled Upon It, Of The Winds That Whispered To It, Of The Birds That Sang Around It, Of The Storms That Visited It, And Of The Motherly Tree That Held It And Fed It Until Its Petals Were Unfolded And Its Form Developed.

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These Blossoms, Gathered In Familiar Paths, With Dear Companions Now Passed Out Of Sight, Shall Not Be Laid Upon Their Graves. They Live, Since Love Is Deathless. Pleasure Now Nor Pride Is Theirs In Mortal Wise, But Hallowing Thoughts Will Meet The Offering, Of So Little Worth, Wanting The Benison Death Has Made Divine.

A Complete Autobiography Would Indeed Be A Picture Of The Outer And Inner Universe Photographed Upon One Little Life's Consciousness. For Does Not The Whole World, Seen And Unseen, Go To The Making Up Of Every Human Being?

There Is Something In The Place Where We Were Born That Holds Us Always By The Heart-strings.

Because Its Myriad Glimmering Plumes Like A Great Army's Stir And Wave; Because Its Golden Billows Blooms, The Poor Man's Barren Walks To Lave: Because Its Sun-shaped Blossoms Show How Souls Receive The Light Of God, And Unto Earth Give Back That Glow I Thank Him For The Goldenrod.

Life Hangs As Nothing In The Scale Against Dear Liberty!

The Religion Of Our Fathers Overhung Us Children Like The Shadow Of A Mighty Tree Against The Trunk Of Which We Rested, While We Looked Up In Wonder Through The Great Boughs That Half Hid And Half Revealed The Sky. Some Of The Boughs Were Already Decaying, So That Perhaps We Began To See A Little More Of The Sky Than Our Elders; But The Tree Was Sound At Its Heart.

I Don't Own An Inch Of Land, But All I See Is Mine.

Some Of Us Must Wait For The Best Human Gifts Until We Come To Heavenly Places. Our Natural Desire For Musical Utterance Is Perhaps A Prophecy That In A Perfect World We Shall All Know How To Sing.

I Remember How Beautiful The Merrimac Looked To Me In Childhood, The First True River I Ever Knew; It Opened Upon My Sight And Wound Its Way Through My Heart Like A Dream Realized; Its Harebells, Its Rocks, And Its Rapids, Are Far More Fixed In My Memory Than Anything About The Sea.

Whether Rich Or Poor, A Home Is Not A Home Unless The Roots Of Love Are Ever Striking Deeper Through The Crust Of The Earthly And The Conventional, Into The Very Realities Of Being, Not Consciously Always; Seldom, Perhaps; The Simplicity Of Loving Grows By Living Simply Near Nature And God.

Tailor's Work--the Finishing Of Men's Outside Garments--was The "trade" Learned Most Frequently By Women In [the 1820s And 1830s],and One Or More Of My Older Sisters Worked At It; I Think It Must Have Been At Home, For I Somehow Or Somewhere Got The Idea, While I Was A Small Child, That The Chief End Of Woman Was To Make Clothing For Mankind.

Few Parents Are Aware Of The Difficulties That Beset The Minds Of The Little Philosophers And Theologians Who Sit Upon Their Knees Or Play At Their Feet; And Many A Parent Could Not Comprehend The Disturbance, If He Were Aware Of It.

Many Kinds Of Fruit Grow Upon The Tree Of Life, But None So Sweet As Friendship; As With The Orange Tree Its Blossoms And Fruit Appear At The Same Time, Full Of Refreshment For Sense And For Soul.

The True Idea Of A Church Has Not Yet Been Shown The World, A Visible Church, I Mean, Unless It Was In The Very Earliest Times; Yes, The Twelve Disciples Bound To Their Lord In Love, To Do His Work Forever, That Was A Church, A Christian Family.

I Never Thought That The Possession Of Money Would Make Me Feel Rich: It Often Does Seem To Have An Opposite Effect. But Then, I Have Never Had The Opportunity Of Knowing, By Experience, How It Does Make One Feel. It Is Something To Have Been Spared The Responsibility Of Taking Charge Of The Lord's Silver And Gold.

My 'must-have' Was Poetry. From The First, Life Meant That To Me. And, Fortunately, Poetry Is Not Purchasable Material, But An Atmosphere In Which Every Life May Expand. I Found It Everywhere About Me.

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The First Real Unhappiness I Remember To Have Felt Was When Some One Told Me, One Day, That I Did Not Love God. I Insisted, Almost Tearfully, That I Did; But I Was Told That If I Did Truly Love Him I Should Always Be Good. I Knew I Was Not That, And The Feeling Of Sudden Orphanage Came Over Me Like A Bewildering Cloud.

The Soul, Cramped Among The Petty Vexations Of Earth, Needs To Keep Its Windows Constantly Open To The Invigorating Air Of Large And Free Ideas: And What Thought Is So Grand As That Of An Ever-present God, In Whom All That Is Vital In Humanity Breathes And Grows?

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Let Us Not Depreciate Earth. There Is No Atom In It But Is Alive And Astir In The All-penetrating Splendor Of God. From The Infinitesimal To The Infinite, Everything Is Striving To Express The Thought Of His Presence With Which It Overflows.

Religion Is Life Inspired By Heavenly Love; And Life Is Something Fresh And Cheerful And Vigorous.

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Every True Friend Is A Glimpse Of God.

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That Larger Vision Is Certain To Make Clear The Value In Our Own Lives Of Service To Others.

Service To Others

When I Heard That There Were Artists, I Wished I Could Some Time Be One. If I Could Only Make A Rose Bloom On Paper, I Thought I Should Be Happy! Or If I Could At Last Succeed In Drawing The Outline Of Winter-stripped Boughs As I Saw Them Against The Sky, It Seemed To Me That I Should Be Willing To Spend Years In Trying.

Those Who Plant Trees Plant Hope.

I Regard A Love For Poetry As One Of The Most Needful And Helpful Elements In The Life-outfit Of A Human Being. It Was The Greatest Of Blessings To Me, In The Long Days Of Toil To Which I Was Shut In Much Earlier Than Most Young Girls Are, That The Poetry I Held In My Memory Breathed Its Enchanted Atmosphere Through Me And Around Me, And Touched Even Dull Drudgery With Its Sunshine.

Sometimes It Seems To Me That God 's Way Of Dealing With Me Is Not To Let Me See Much Of My Friends, Those Who Are Most To Me In The Spiritual Life, Lest I Should Forget That The Invisible Bond Is The Only Reality. That Is The Only Way I Can Reconcile Myself To The Inevitable Separations Of Life And Death.

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