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The collective name for the ripe fruits of religion in a character is Saintliness. The saintly character is the character for which spiritual emotions are the habitual centre of the personal energy; and there is a certain composite photograph of universal saintliness, the same in all religions, of which the features can easily be traced.

quote by William James
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What makes saintliness in my view, as distinguished from ordinary goodness, is a certain quality of magnanimity and greatness of soul that brings life within the circle of the heroic.

classic quote by Harriet Beecher Stowe
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Saintliness is also a temptation.

quote by Jean Anouilh
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fine Artistic Features

‘Tis perfection
conceivable;
unbelievable

you commission
connoisseur
you perceive;

you surmount
siren saintliness.

If you wellborn
woman were;
you hath harboured

no hatefulness,
grace kindness
guide all your ways.

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Astronomer

One metre is a distance to stay when sick,
He who lived a long time ago is too neurotic.
He who loved a fine day is paying some note
To the gates threatening to open and devote
Their time in keeping with lovely customers
Who laugh and describe a year of astronomers.
They artfully gaze at the sky at darkness,
Pleasing me, pleasing the rest of saintliness.
I deceive a sky full of stars, and it deceives me,
We promote goodness in the hemispheres, and then see.

poem by Naveed Akram
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On His Deafness

'Speak up - no need to shout -I'm not THAT deaf! '
- do I have real reason to complain,
if years of partial listening have brought
now partial hearing in their fateful train?

O Milton - isn't it curious: the blind
evoke our instant feelings of compassion -
while deafness calls some idiot state to mind,
evoking, far from pity - irritation?

Those saintly mystics would just praise their God
that He, to speed their simple saintliness,
brings outer deafness so that inner Word
in cloistered silence, bring a greater bliss...

So may I bear affliction in good part
and hope to hear the louder in the heart.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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I’ll Open the Window

Our embrace lasted too long.
We loved right down to the bone.
I hear the bones grind, I see
our two skeletons.

Now I am waiting
till you leave, till
the clatter of your shoes
is heard no more. Now, silence.

Tonight I am going to sleep alone
on the bedclothes of purity.
Aloneness
is the first hygienic measure.
Aloneness
will enlarge the walls of the room,
I will open the window
and the large, frosty air will enter,
healthy as tragedy.
Human thoughts will enter

[...] Read more

poem by Anna Swirszczynska
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Sonnet: On His Deafness

‘Speak up! No need to shout – I’m not t h a t deaf..! ’
-do I have any real right to complain
if years of partial listening have brought
now partial hearing in their fateful train?

O Milton – isn’t it curious: the blind
evoke our instant feelings of compassion;
while deafness calls some idiot state to mind –
evoking, far from pity – irritation!

Those saintly mystics would just praise their God
that He, to speed their simple saintliness,
brings outer deafness, so that inner Word
in cloistered silence brings a greater bliss..

So may I bear affliction in good part:
and hear a greater, louder word in heart.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Leave a Prayer

During summer Saturday walks,
I notice the intricate design of flowers,
The majestic beauty that seems
To magically materialize
Before my eyes
And I smile.

Saturday evening downtown in the city,
I study the lonely men in seedy bars
And the homeless men roaming the streets
Like rickety cars,
And I feel the sadness of human defeat.

Sunday mornings I retreat to a parish church
Where a widow kisses the hand of a priest
And a grandmother scolds her granddaughter
For behaving inappropriately but with maternal sweetness
And then they embrace.

In every direction I turn my face,

[...] Read more

poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Between The Gates

Between the gates of birth and death
An old and saintly pilgrim passed,
With look of one who witnesseth
The long-sought goal at last.

O thou whose reverent feet have found
The Master's footprints in thy way,
And walked thereon as holy ground,
A boon of thee I pray.

'My lack would borrow thy excess,
My feeble faith the strength of thine;
I need thy soul's white saintliness
To hide the stains of mine.

'The grace and favor else denied
May well be granted for thy sake.'
So, tempted, doubting, sorely tried,
A younger pilgrim spake.

[...] Read more

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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