sweet balm


  • WordNet 3.6
    • n sweet balm bushy perennial Old World mint having small white or yellowish flowers and fragrant lemon-flavored leaves; a garden escapee in northern Europe and North America
    • ***


In literature:

The Roman stood absorbed and motionless for some moments, gazing on the scene, and inhaling the sweet balm of the mellow air.
"Rienzi" by Edward Bulwer Lytton
Your sweet friendship was the balm of my life; and I have lost it, I fear for ever, by one fault and folly after another.
"Liber Amoris, or, The New Pygmalion" by William Hazlitt
The whole mountain is a heap of balm; a bundle of sweet spices.
"The Lands of the Saracen" by Bayard Taylor
There were balm and sweet satisfaction in the thought.
"The Castle Inn" by Stanley John Weyman
They seemed as sweet incense and a soothing balm to her troubled spirit.
"The value of a praying mother" by Isabel C. Byrum
Sweet-balm tea is cooling when one is in a feverish state.
"The American Frugal Housewife" by Lydia M. Child
I don't know any "balm in Gilead" so sweet and altogether acceptable.
"The Inner Sisterhood" by Douglass Sherley et al.
As sweet thy breath as Eden's balm, As sweet and pure.
"Debris" by Madge Morris
Balm is a native of southern Europe, where it was cultivated as a source of honey and as a sweet herb more than 2,000 years ago.
"Culinary Herbs: Their Cultivation Harvesting Curing and Uses" by M. G. Kains
The beauty and sweetness of the place were subtle balm to Jim.
"Still Jim" by Honoré Willsie Morrow
You had better have a pitcher of sweet balm for your nerves.
"A Little Girl in Old Philadelphia" by Amanda Minnie Douglas
Jesus, sweet Jesus, my darling, my life, my light, my balm, my honey-drop!...
"Religion & Sex" by Chapman Cohen
The clear, sweet voice of the young girl flowed over him like celestial balm.
"Carmen Ariza" by Charles Francis Stocking
But pity is very sweet; there is a balm in it to those who are wounded.
"A Country Gentleman and his Family" by Mrs. (Margaret) Oliphant
There's balm, at least, in a sweet woman's counsel, womanly given.
"John March, Southerner" by George W. Cable
In you I knew the sweet contentment of the world, The balm of silence and the strength of love.
"Challenge" by Louis Untermeyer
The event in question had been, in truth, sweet balm to the spirit and the confidence bruised in so many rebuffs.
"Angela's Business" by Henry Sydnor Harrison
Nowhere in her desolate heart could she find the sweet balm she had so often poured into the wounds of other's griefs.
"Lily Pearl and The Mistress of Rosedale" by Ida Glenwood
Can I, sweet Mother of Sorrows, pour balm into that terrible wound?
"Mater Christi" by Mother St. Paul
From the trunk of the tree there flowed a little stream of sweet balm that could cure even deadly wounds and make weak people strong.
"Stories from the Faerie Queen" by Edmund Spenser

In poetry:

No words can tell what sweet relief
There for my every want I find,
What strength for warfare, balm for grief,
What peace of mind.
"My God, is any hour so sweet" by Charlotte Elliott
VI. Thus come, delightful and delusive Sleep,
Thus o'er my wither'd spirits claim thy pow'r;
In thy sweet balm each anguish'd feeling steep;
For days of suff'ring give one blissful hour.
"Sleep" by Sydney Owenson
The cold streams run in a bed of pebbles and stone,
The sweet owls vaguely swim in an atmosphere
Where the balms of prayer and mystery are blown;
Sometimes in the rill a ripple flashes clear;
"Crimen Amoris" by Clark Ashton Smith
How sweet to the heart is the thought of to--morrow
When Hope's fairy pictures bright colours display;
How sweet when we can from Futurity borrow
A balm for the griefs which afflict us to--day!
"To-Morrow - Written During Sickness." by Susanna Blamire
"An image false of shapes of living mould,
(Time's very mummy, she!)
Whom only Hope's sweet balm hath power to hold
Within the chambers of the grave so cold,—
Thy fever calls this immortality!"
"Resignation" by Friedrich von Schiller
Landscape of fear! yet, weary heart,
Thou need'st not in thy gloom depart,
Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home:
Sweetly thy sickening throbs are eyed
By the kind Saviour at thy side;
For healing and for balm e'en now thine hour is come.
"Seventh Sunday After Trinity" by John Keble