Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; the secret anniversaries of the heart.

The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; the secret anniversaries of the heart.

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth read more

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.

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!

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
and read more

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.
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.

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!

For thine own purpose, thou hast sent
The strife and the discouragement!