Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when read more
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches
The innermost recesses of my spirit!
Oh, there is something in that voice that reaches
The innermost recesses of my spirit!
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was read more
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day; their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the word repeat of read more
I heard the bells on Christmas Day; their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the word repeat of peace on earth, good-will to men!
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
