Jean Ingelow Quotes

The moon looks upon many night flowers; the night flowers see but one moon.

— Jean Ingelow

“When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.”

— Jean Ingelow

“Against her ankles as she trod The lucky buttercups did nod.”

— Jean Ingelow

How gently rock yon poplars high Against the reach of primrose sky With heaven's pale candles stored.

— Jean Ingelow

I have lived to thank God that all my prayers have not been answered.

— Jean Ingelow

“It is not reason which makes faith hard, but life.”

— Jean Ingelow

A healthful hunger for a great idea is the beauty and blessedness of life.

— Jean Ingelow

“Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.”

— Jean Ingelow

“And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.”

— Jean Ingelow

“Man is the miracle in nature. God Is the One Miracle to man.”

— Jean Ingelow

“And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.”

— Jean Ingelow

“I am glad to think I am not bound to make the world go right, but only to discover and to do, with cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.”

— Jean Ingelow

“What is thy thought? There is no miracle?
There is a great one, which thou hast not read,
And never shalt escape. Thyself, O man,
Thou art the miracle. Ay, thou thyself,
Being in the world and of the world, thyself,
Hast breathed in breath from Him that made the world.
Thou art thy Father's copy of Himself,
Thou art thy Father's miracle.”

— Jean Ingelow

“I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster,
Nor long summer bide so late;
And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster,
For some things are ill to wait.”

— Jean Ingelow

“People newly emerged from obscurity generally launch out into indiscriminate display.”

— Jean Ingelow

“There's no dew left on the daisies and clover; there's no rain left in heaven.”

— Jean Ingelow

“When I remember something which I had,
But which is gone, and I must do without,
I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,
Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout;
It makes me sigh to think on it,
but yet
My days will not be better days, should I forget.”

— Jean Ingelow

“I am athirst for God, the living God.”

— Jean Ingelow

“And the guelder rose
In a great stillness dropped, and ever dropped,
Her wealth about her feet.”

— Jean Ingelow

“O sleep! O sleep!
Do not forget me. Sometimes come and sweep,
Now I have nothing left, thy healing hand
Over the lids that crave thy visits bland,
Thou kind, thou comforting one.
For I have seen his face, as I desired,
And all my story is done.
O, I am tired.”

— Jean Ingelow

“O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep;
Thou bearest angels to us in the night,
Saints out of heaven with palms.
Seen by thy light
Sorrow is some old tale that goeth not deep;
Love is a pouting child.”

— Jean Ingelow

Crowds of bees are giddy with clover
Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,
Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.

— Jean Ingelow

We wish for more in life rather than more of it.

— Jean Ingelow

“Yet there are some resting-places, / Life's untroubled interludes; / Times when neither past nor future / On the soul's deep calm intrudes.”

— Jean Ingelow

Tears are the showers that fertilize this world ...

— Jean Ingelow

“Reign, and keep life in this our deep desireOur only greatness is that we aspire.”

— Jean Ingelow

“Quoth the Ocean, Dawn! O fairest, clearest, Touch me with thy golden fingers bland; For I have no smile till thou appearest For the lovely land.”

— Jean Ingelow

Such a slender moon, going up and up, Waxing so fast from night to night, And swelling like an orange flower-bud, bright, Fated, methought, to round as to a golden cup, And hold to my two lips life's best of wine.

— Jean Ingelow

“I opened the doors of my heart.
And behold,
There was music within and a song,
And echoes did feed on the sweetness, repeating it long.
I opened the doors of my heart. And behold,
There was music that played itself out in aeolian notes:
Then was heard, as a far-away bell at long intervals tolled.”

— Jean Ingelow

“How short our happy days appear!
How long the sorrowful!”

— Jean Ingelow

“It is a comely fashion to be glad; Joy is the grace we say to God.”

— Jean Ingelow

There is but halting for the wearied foot;
The better way is hidden. Faith hath failed;
One stronger far than reason mastered her.
It is not reason makes faith hard, but life.

— Jean Ingelow

“From henceforth thou shalt learn that there is love
To long for, pureness to desire, a mount
Of consecration it were good to scale.”

— Jean Ingelow

Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes! they turn, like marigolds, toward the sunny side.

— Jean Ingelow

“A birthday:-and now a day that rose
With much of hope, with meaning rife-
A thoughtful day from dawn to close:
The middle day of human life.”

— Jean Ingelow

O fateful flower beside the rill- The Daffodil, the daffodil!

— Jean Ingelow

“Children bring their own love with them when they come.”

— Jean Ingelow

“You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven / That God has hidden your face?”

— Jean Ingelow

“I don't want to die. But I want to be dead.”

— Jean Ingelow

“The red Sahara in an angry glow, / With amber fogs, across its hollows trailed / Long strings of camels, gloomy-eyed and slow ...”

— Jean Ingelow

“Work is its own best earthly meed,
Else have we none more than the sea-born throng
Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.”

— Jean Ingelow

“For hearts where wakened love doth lurk,
How fine, how blest a thing is work!
For work does good when reasons fail.”

— Jean Ingelow

“The moon is bleached as white as wool,
And just dropping under;
Every star is gone but three,
And they hang far asunder,
There's a sea-ghost all in gray,
A tall shape of wonder!”

— Jean Ingelow

“When our thoughts are born,
Though they be good and humble, one should mind
How they are reared, or some will go astray
And shame their mother.”

— Jean Ingelow

“What change has made the pastures sweet
And reached the daisies at my feet,
And cloud that wears a golden hem?
This lovely world, the hills, the sward
They all look fresh, as if our Lord
But yesterday had finished them.”

— Jean Ingelow

O woman! thou wert fashioned to beguile:
So have all sages said, all poets sung.

— Jean Ingelow