Jesus shall reign where'er the sun Does his successive journeys run; His kingdom stretch from shore to shore, Till moons shall wax and wane no more.
Isaac WattsShe was a form of life and light That seen, became a part of sight, And rose, where'er I turn'd mine eye, The morning-star of memory! Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Alla given, To lift from earth our low desire.
lord byronSuch is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country ever is, at home.
Oliver GoldsmithWell may your hearts believe the truths I tell:'T is virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell.
william collinsThe eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.
william wordsworthHave faith! where'er thy bark is driven, 'The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, Know this! God rules the host of heaven, The inhabitants of earth.
friedrich von schillerI read within a poet's book A word that starred the page, "Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage." Yes, that is true, and something more: You'll find, where'er you roam, That marble floors and gilded walls Can never make a home. But every house where Love abides And Friendship is a guest, Is surely home, and home, sweet home; For there the heart can rest.
henry van dykeWith good and gentle-humored hearts I choose to chat where'er I come Whate'er the subject be that starts. But if I get among the glum I hold my tongue to tell the truth And keep my Breath to cool my broth.
This is the charm, by sages often told, Converting all it touches into gold: Content can soothe, where'er by fortune placed, Can rear a garden in the desert waste.
For I am a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail, where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.
lord byronwhere'er his fancy bids him roam, In ev'ry Inn he finds a home * * * * * Will not an Inn his cares beguile, Where on each face he sees a smile?
Whoe'er has travel'd life's dull round, where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome, at an inn.
Still must I on, for I am as a weed, Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail where'er the surge may sweep.
lord byronwhere'er he moves, the goddess shone before.
where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground.
lord byronOn this I ponder where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, Sweet Cork, of thee, With thy bells of Shandon, That sounds so grand on The pleasant waters Of the river Lee.