Trod Quotes
More Trod Quotes
You may write me down in history With your bitter twisted lies You may trod me down in the very dirt And still like the dust I'll rise.
ben harper— I'll Rise, written by Ben Harper and Maya Angelou
The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out like shining from shook foil? Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wearsman'ssmudgeand sharesman'ssmell: thesoil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
gerard manley hopkins— 1877 'God's Grandeur'.
Booth died blind and still by faith he trod, Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God.
(Nicholas) Vachel Lindsay— 1913 General Booth Enters Into Heaven,'General Booth Enters Into Heaven'.
Waste of Blood, and waste of Tears, Waste of youth's most precious years, Waste of ways the saints have trod, Waste of Glory, waste of God, War!
'Woodbine Willie'— 1919 More Rough Rhymes of a Padre,'Waste'.
Asked if he had ever conducted any Stockhausen, he said, "No, but I once trod in some."
thomas beecham— [1][2]
Wild was the day; the wintry seaMoaned sadly on New England's strand,When first the thoughtful and the free,Our fathers, trod the desert land.
william cullen bryant— The Twenty-Second of December, st. 1.
Going as if he trod upon eggs.
robert burton— Section 2, member 3.
I won a noble fame;But with a sudden frown,The people snatched my crown,And, in the mire, trod downMy lofty name.
theodore tilton— Sir Marmaduke's Musings, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravelled; Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travelled; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said "my winsome marrow," "Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside, And see the braes of Yarrow."
william wordsworth— Yarrow Unvisited, st. 1.
’Twas on a sunny summer day I trod a mighty city’s street, And when I started on my way My heart was full of fancies sweet; But soon, as nothing could be seen, But countenances sharp and keen, Nought heard or seen around but told Of something bought or something sold, And none that seemed to think or care That any save himself was there.
arthur hugh clough— An Incident, st. 1 (1836).
You shall not pile, with servile toil, Your monuments upon my breast, Nor yet within the common soil Lay down the wreck of power to rest, Where man can boast that he has trod On him that was “the scourge of God.”
edward everett— "The Dirge of Alaric, the Visigoth" In The New Monthly Magazine and Literary Journal Vol. V, No. 25 (January-June 1823), p. 64.
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
gerard manley hopkins— God's Grandeur, lines 5-8
E'en as he trod that day to God, So walked he from his birth, In simpleness, and gentleness and honor And clean mirth.
rudyard kipling— Rudyard Kipling, Barrack Room Ballads, Dedication to Wolcott Balestier. (Adaptation of an earlier one).
But let the good old corn adorn The hills our fathers trod; Still let us, for his golden corn, Send up our thanks to God!
john greenleaf whittier— John Greenleaf Whittier, The Corn-Song: Quoted in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), Lemma "Agriculture" p. 18-19.
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage.
Alexander Pope— Alexander Pope, Prologue to Addison's Cato, line 1.
Cinderella's lefts and rights To Geraldine's were frights, And I trow The damsel, deftly shod, Has dutifully trod Until now.
— Frederick Locker-Lampson, To My Mistress's Boots.
Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before. Advanced a stage or two upon that road which you must travel in the steps they trod.
— Aristophanes, Fragment, II; translation by Cumberland.
Death's but a path that must be trod, if man would ever pass to God.
thomas parnell— Thomas Parnell, Night-Piece on Death, line 67.
Against her ankles as she trod The lucky buttercups did nod.
jean ingelow— Jean Ingelow, Reflections.
Going as if he trod upon eggs.
robert burton— Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), Part III. Sect, II. Memb. 3; reported as a proverb in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 640.
Nathless the sacred shrine is holy yet, With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod. Take off your shoes as by the burning bush, Before the mystery of death and God.
Emma Lazarus— Emma Lazarus, In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport [1]
You led our sons across the haunted flood, Into the Canaan of their high desire No milk and honey there, but tears and blood Flowed where the hosts of evil trod in fire, And left a worse than desert where they passed.
— Amelia J. Burr, To General Pershing.
Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod, They have left unstained, what there they found, Freedom to worship God.
felicia hemans— Felicia Hemans, Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers.
On Leven's banks, while free to rove, And tune the rural pipe to love, I envied not the happiest swain That ever trod the Arcadian plain. Pure stream! in whose transparent wave My youthful limbs I wont to lave; No torrents stain thy limpid source, No rocks impede thy dimpling course, That sweetly warbles o'er its bed, With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread.
tobias smollett— Tobias Smollett, Ode to Leven Water, reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p. 437.
Ah, what a warning for a thoughtless man, Could field or grove, could any spot of earth, Show to his eye an image of the pangs Which it hath witnessed; render back an echo Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
william wordsworth— William Wordsworth, The Excursion (1814), Book VI
And bound for the same bourn as I, On every road I wandered by, trod beside me, close and dear, The beautiful and death-struck year.
— 1896 A Shropshire Lad, no.41.
Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just, Stoop’d down serene and wrote them in the dust, trod under foot, the sport of every wind, Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind. There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie, And grieved they could not ’scape the Almighty eye.
— Boulter's Monument (1745), dedicated to Frederick, Prince of Wales, who had been Madden's student.
