Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet read more

Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice.

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, read more

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of morn is read more

O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of morn is shed,
Like a celestial benison!
Here at the portal thou dost stand,
And with thy little hand
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future's undiscovered land.

Being all fashioned of the self-same dust,
Let us be merciful as well as just.

Being all fashioned of the self-same dust,
Let us be merciful as well as just.

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.