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But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love;
No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, read more
But all lost things are in the angels' keeping, Love;
No past is dead for us, but only sleeping, Love;
The years of Heaven with all earth's little pain
Make Good
Together there we can begin again
In babyhood.
It must be so--Plato, thou reasonest well!--
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing read more
It must be so--Plato, thou reasonest well!--
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
O falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.
What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal.
What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal.
Immortal mortals, mortal immortals, one living the others death and dying the others life.
Immortal mortals, mortal immortals, one living the others death and dying the others life.
Man is the only animal that contemplates death, and also the only animal that shows any sign of doubt of read more
Man is the only animal that contemplates death, and also the only animal that shows any sign of doubt of its finality.
All men think all men mortal, but themselves.
All men think all men mortal, but themselves.
A book is the only immortality.
A book is the only immortality.
The muse does not allow the praise-de-serving here to die: she
enthrones him in the heavens.
[Lat., Dignum read more
The muse does not allow the praise-de-serving here to die: she
enthrones him in the heavens.
[Lat., Dignum laude virum Musa vetat mori;
Coelo Musa beat.]
