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!

And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.

And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain.

He heard the convent bell,
Suddenly in the silence ringing
For the service of noonday.

He heard the convent bell,
Suddenly in the silence ringing
For the service of noonday.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
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I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

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.