Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Love gives itself; it is not bought.

Love gives itself; it is not bought.

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked up a horseshoe.

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so read more

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate; still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor read more

Let us, then, be up and doing, with a heart for any fate; still achieving, still pursuing, learn to labor and to wait.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.