Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but
the silence of our friends.

In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but
the silence of our friends.

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had read more

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the distance.
. . . .
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the
silence.

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.

Very hot and still the air was,
Very smooth the gliding river,
Motionless the sleeping shadows.

Very hot and still the air was,
Very smooth the gliding river,
Motionless the sleeping shadows.

The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and read more

The architect
Built his great heart into these sculptured stones,
And with him toiled his children, and their lives
Were builded, with his own, into the walls,
As offerings unto God.