Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.

'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is shining;
Thy fate is read more

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds the sun is shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

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

Men as a whole judge more with their eyes than with their hands.

Men as a whole judge more with their eyes than with their hands.

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away
Over the read more

See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft
So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away
Over the snowy peaks!