A Quote by William Wordsworth

What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love? — © William Wordsworth
What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest -- blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine.
For all we know Of what the blessed do above Is, that they sing, and that they love. While I listen to thy Voice.
Young love don't know nothin' when the radio plays you sing along. When she's holding on you just can't get close enough, you swear it's sent from above. It's real,it's good, and it's young love
If you are one of earth’s inhabitants, how blest your father, and your gentle mother, blest all your kin. I know what happiness must send the warm tears to their eyes, each time they see their wondrous child go to the dancing! But one man’s destiny is more than blest—he who prevails, and takes you as his bride. Never have I laid eyes on equal beauty in man or woman. I am hushed indeed.
I think my purpose was just to get out and sing. I love to sing. I wasn't even in it for the - you know, the prize. I was, like, 'Hey, man, I'm going to sing.
I think my purpose was just to get out and sing. I love to sing. I wasn't even in it for the - you know, the prize. I was, like, 'Hey, man, I'm going to sing.'
This is the gospel of labour, ring it, ye bells of the kirk! The Lord of Love came down from above, to live with the men who work. This is the rose that He planted, here in the thorn-curst soil: Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of Earth is toil.
I sing your restless longing for the statue, your fear of the feelings that await you in the street. I sing the small sea siren who sings to you, riding her bicycle of corals and conches. But above all I sing a common thought that joins us in the dark and golden hours. The light that blinds our eyes is not art. Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.
Anyone can sing badly, but to sing badly on purpose and make it believable is harder. I listen for the actual melody in my head but sing right underneath or above it out loud. It takes a lot of concentration.
I love to sing big rock and roll songs; I love to sing country-pop stuff, and then I love to sing soft, sadder beautiful songs.
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jest or pranks, that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good.
I love singing. You know, my mother always used to encourage me, 'Sing, sing,' and I was in a choir in church, yes.
Whatever be the depth of woe Along the path that I must go, I'll sing my song— My song of joy for all the love That's lavished on us from above, And count no loss of treasure-trove When things go wrong. I'll sing the sunlight, and the bright Soft smiling stars that gem the night; For gifts of good That God hath spread along my way, The lilt of birds in tuneful play, The harvests full and flowers gay, The whole day long I'll sing my song Of gratitude!
Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love; Lay aside sadness and sing How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead, and how In the grave all love shall sleep: Love is aweary now.
I love to sing. Seriously, in my past life I was Miley Cyrus or something. I swear I'm a singer, but I know I'm not. If I could sing, I would be the happiest person on Earth.
I love to sing some Beyonce - ya know, like 'All the Single Ladies.' I'll sing that - maybe not with the body shakin' - but I'll have a little bit of the hand movement going on.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!