Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Man-like it is to fall into sin; fiendlike it is to dwell therein.
Man-like it is to fall into sin; fiendlike it is to dwell therein.
The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
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The sun is set; and in his latest beams
Yon little cloud of ashen gray and gold,
Slowly upon the amber air unrolled,
The falling mantle of the Prophet seems.
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.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
