Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him read more

So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the read more

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.

Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy read more

Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning - an endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly bodies.

It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
Of that read more

It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty, a vision bright,
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth
Heaven gives to those it loves.

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
read more

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
. . . .
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.