by Thomas R. Kelly

Hasten unto Him who calls you in the silences of your heart.

on Psalm 23, by David Roper

God is articulate. He speaks to us through is Word. Meditate on His words until His thoughts begin to take shape in your mind ...
   When we read His Word we are reading His mind -- what He knows, what He feels, what He wants, what He enjoys, what He desires, what He loves, what He hates.

on God, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

(This one makes me wish Mozart had fleshed out his thoughts a bit.) 


God is ever before my eyes. I realize His omnipotence and I fear His anger; but I also recognize His love, His compassion, and His tenderness towards His creatures.

from Daily Readings in the ABCs of Faith, by Frederick Buechner

Glory is to God what style is to an artist. A painting by Vermeer, a sonnet by Donne, a Mozart aria -- each is so rich with the style of the one who made it that to the connoisseur it couldn't have been made by anybody else, and the effect is staggering. The style of an artist brings you as close to the sound of his voice and the light in his eye as it is possible to get this side of actually shaking hands with him.

from Scent of Water, by Elizabeth Goudge

He had a round clerical hat, dusty and green with age. He put it on, gripped his umbrella in his left hand and held out his right to me. I held it and it was dry and rough and hot. "My dear," he said, "I will pray for you every day of my life until I die." 

   Then he abruptly let go of my hand, turned his back on me and stumbled down the steps that led from the front door to the drive. At the bottom he turned around again, and looking into his face I noticed that when he was neither eager nor alarmed his eyes had the most extraordinary quietness in them. "My dear," he said, "love, your God, is a trinity. There are three necessary prayers and they have three words each. They are these, 'Lord have mercy. Thee I adore. Into thy hands.' Not difficult to remember. If in times of distress you hold to these you will do well." Then he lifted his hat and turned around again. I stood at the door and watched him go. 

from Diary of an Old Soul, by George MacDonald

When I can no more stir my soul to move,
And life is but the ashes of a fire;
When I can but remember that my heart
Once used to live and love, long and aspire --
Oh be thou then the first, the one thou are;
Be thou the calling, before all answering love,
And in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.

Diary of an Old Soul