Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
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The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
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Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within and God o'erhead.

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted read more

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the read more

It was Autumn, and incessant
Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves,
And, like living coals, the apples
Burned among the withering leaves.