Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.

Writ in the climate of heaven, in the language spoken by angels.

All things come round to him who will but wait.

All things come round to him who will but wait.

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant read more

Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness:
So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!
The frontier town and citadel of night!

Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!
The frontier town and citadel of night!

Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
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Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.