Adelaide Anne Procter Quotes

Adelaide Anne Procter (30 October 1825 – 2 February 1864) was an English poet and philanthropist. She worked prominently on behalf of unemployed women and the homeless, and was actively involved with feminist groups and journals. Procter never married. She became unhealthy, possibly due to her charity work, and died of tuberculosis at the age of 38

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Adelaide Anne Procter


Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies To listen to Earthâ??s weary voices Louder every day Bidding her no longer linger On her charmâ??d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Dreams grow holy put in action.

Adelaide Anne Procter


One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below; Take them readily when given, Ready, too, to let them go.

Adelaide Anne Procter


No star is ever lost we once have seen, we always may be what we might have been.

Adelaide Anne Procter


No star is lost once we have seen, We always may be what we might have been.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Do not look at life's long sorrow; see how small each moment's pain.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Each man has some part to play.

Adelaide Anne Procter


See how time makes all grief decay.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Half my life is full of sorrow, Half of joy, still fresh and new; One of these lives is a fancy, But the other one is true.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Hours are golden links, God's token Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Hours are golden links, God's token Reaching heaven; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.

Adelaide Anne Procter


Judge not; the workings of his brainAnd of his heart thou canst not see;What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,In God's pure light may only beA scar, brought from some well-won field,Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.

Adelaide Anne Procter


“The men are much alarmed by certain speculations about women; and well they may be, for when the horse and ass begin to think and argue, adieu to riding and driving.”

Adelaide Anne Procter