The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Milner and Sowerby, 1862 - 669 pages
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Page 165 - Thou, too, sail on. O Ship of State ! Sail on, O UNION, strong and great ! Humanity, with all its fears, With all the hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate...
Page 143 - And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. 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.
Page 44 - And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ; Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! /!Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time...
Page 171 - THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted...
Page 165 - Tis of the wave and not the rock ; Tis but the flapping of the sail, And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempest's roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee...
Page 44 - O holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before ! Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care, And they complain no more.
Page 108 - THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary ; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary.
Page 148 - Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe — " Forever — never ! Never — forever...
Page 127 - Were half the power, that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts, Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts...
Page 458 - The heights by great men reached and kept Were not. attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.

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