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William C. Bryant Quotes about Lying

All William C. Bryant Quotes Art Autumn Death Difficulty Earth Gold Greatness Grief Heart Heaven Lying quotes Morning Mountain Nature Office Spring Summer Sunshine Truth
The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.

The gentle race of flowers Are lying in their lowly beds.

William C. Bryant
Lying, Flower, Race
William Cullen Bryant, “The Death Of The Flowers”

Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes; The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies; And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow; Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake.

William C. Bryant
Lying, Eye, Dark

Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

William C. Bryant
Death, Dream, Lying
William Cullen Bryant, “Thanatopsis”

Christ taught an astonishing thing about physical death: not merely that it is an experience robbed of its terror but that as an experience it does not exist at all. To "sleep in Christ," like one that wraps the drapery of his couch about him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

William C. Bryant
Dream, Lying, Sleep

So live, that when thy summons comes to join, The innumerable caravan which moves, To that mysterious realm where each shall take, His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged by his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed, By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch, About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

William C. Bryant
Dream, Lying, Moving
"Thanatopsis". Poem by William C. Bryant, first published in "North American Review", September 1817.

I gazed upon the glorious sky And the green mountains round, And thought that when I came to lie At rest within the ground, 'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June When brooks send up a cheerful tune, And groves a joyous sound, The sexton's hand, my grave to make, The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

William C. Bryant
Spring, Lying, June
William Cullen Bryant, “June”

Lo! while we are gazing, in swifter haste Stream down the snows, till the air is white, As, myriads by myriads madly chased, They fling themselves from their shadowy height. The fair, frail creatures of middle sky, What speed they make, with their grave so nigh; Flake after flake, To lie in the dark and silent lake!

William C. Bryant
Lying, Dark, Lakes

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