Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ( 10 of 238 )
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and
masts of ships.
And the wind plays on those great sonorous harps, the shrouds and
masts of ships.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak
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.
Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning,--an
endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea read more
Morality without religion is only a kind of dead reckoning,--an
endeavor to find our place on a cloudy sea by measuring the
distance we have run, but without any observation of the heavenly
bodies.
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep,
All things within its bosom sleep!
A single step, read more
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep,
All things within its bosom sleep!
A single step, and all is o'er,
A plunge, a bubble, and no more.
The picture that approaches sculpture nearest
Is the best picture.
The picture that approaches sculpture nearest
Is the best picture.
Hail to the King of Bethlehem,
Who weareth in his diadem
The yellow crocus for the gem
read more
Hail to the King of Bethlehem,
Who weareth in his diadem
The yellow crocus for the gem
Of his authority!
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 glory of Him who
Hung His masonry pendant on naught, when the world He created.
The glory of Him who
Hung His masonry pendant on naught, when the world He created.
