Hallowing Quotes

The past alone is truly real: the present is but a painful, struggling birth into the immutable being of what is no longer. Only the dead exist fully. The lives of the living are fragmentary, doubtful, and subject to change; but the lives of the dead are complete, free from the sway of Time, the all but omnipotent lord of the world. Their failures and successes, their hopes and fears, their joys and pains, have become eternal-our efforts cannot now abate one jot of them. Sorrows long buried in the grave, tragedies of which only a fading memory remains, loves immortalized by Death's hallowing touch these have a power, a magic, an untroubled calm, to which no present can attain. ...On the banks of the river of Time, the sad procession of human generations is marching slowly to the grave; in the quiet country of the Past, the march is ended, the tired wanderers rest, and the weeping is hushed. (Bertrand Russell)

The old man ... received the Sabbath with sweet song and chanted the hallowing tunefully over raisin wine; while it was still day he hallowed and the sun came to gaze at his glass. ... The table was well spread with all manner of fruit, beans, greenstuffs and good pies, plum water tasting like wine, but of flesh and of fish there was never a sign. ... in truth it is in no way obligatory to eat flesh and fish ... He and she, meaning the old man and the old woman, had never tasted flesh since growing to maturity.

Shmuel Yosef Agnon

I have tried to devote my life - with all my husband failures, father failures, pastor failures, friend failures, any other possible failures I'm sure I've done them - to the God-centeredness of God and my aspiring, yearning to join Him in that activity. God is passionate about hallowing the name of God.

John Piper

The shadow of the church falls o'er the ground, Hallowing its place of rest; and here the dead Slumber, where all religious impulses, And sad and holy feelings, angel like, Make the spot sacred with themselves, and wake Those sorrowful emotions in the heart Which purify it, like a temple meet For an unearthly presence. Life, vain Life, The bitter and the worthless, wherefore here Do thy remembrances intrude?

Letitia Elizabeth Landon

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.

Lucy Larcom