Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
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!
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind in never weary;
The read more
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind in never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when read more
Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
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.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
A region of repose it seems,
A place of slumber and of dreams.
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he read more
Spake full well, in language quaint and olden,
One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine,
When he call'd the flowers, so blue and golden,
Stars that on earth's firmament do shine.
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!
Day of the Lord, as all our days should be!
Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, read more
Two ways the rivers
Leap down to different seas, and as they roll
Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence
Becomes a benefaction to the towns
They visit, wandering silently among them,
Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
