Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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!
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
So wonderfully built among the reeds
Of the lagoon, read more
White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
So wonderfully built among the reeds
Of the lagoon, that fences thee and feeds,
As sayeth thy old historian and thy guest!
All things come round to him who will but wait.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold read more
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
This is the forest primeval.
This is the forest primeval.
