It seemed proper indeed to crowd the pages with children, for in real life they run all over; the world is covered thickly with the prints of their l… - Jean Ingelow

It is a comely fashion to be glad,—
Joy is the grace we say to God.

The while He sits whose name is Love, And waits, as Noah did, for the dove, To wit if she would fly to him. He waits for us, while, houseless things, We beat about with bruised wings On the dark floods and water-springs, The ruined world, the desolate sea; With open windows from the prime All night, all day, He waits sublime,
Until the fulness of the time Decreed from His eternity.

A thing that is very unexpected and moderately strange, we meet with wide-opened eyes, with a start and perhaps exclamations; but a thing more than strange, utterly unaccounted for, quite unreasonable, and the last thing one could have supposed possible as coming from the person who demanded it, is met in far quieter fashion.