Happy is the gentle man, for he alone possesses himself; He reigns over his heart, and over the hearts of all; In his forehead, in his gesture, in his sweet voice; It is the ills of others the charm and the remedy.
Happy the sorry man who with holy sadness, Knows how to weep his sins, and drowns them in his tears; God fills him with joy at the height of his pain; Her tears are regrets, not weakness.
Man, be happy and joyful in the midst of your troubles: God counts your fears, your tears and your sighs; He will welcome you to paradise among all martyrs, Your reward is ready, and the insults are in vain. ~
François Malaval (1821-1893)
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Thee, Queen of Shadows! — shall I still invoke,Still love the scenes thy sportive pencil drew,When on mine eyes the early radiance brokeWhich shew’d the beauteous rather than the true!Alas! long since those glowing tints are dead,And now ’tis thine in darkest hues to dressThe spot where pale Experience hangs her headO’er the sad grave […]