Sail forth into the sea, 0 ship! Through wind and wave, right onward steer! The moistened eye, the trembling lip, Are not the signs of doubt or fear. And amid the clamours Of clattering hammers, He who listened heard, now and then, The song of the Master and his men: -" Build me straight, O worthy Master, Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!" THE DEDICATION OF THE SHIP. from the boiling, bubbling, seething Caldron that glowed, And overflowed With the black tar, heated for the sheathing.
Longfellow sail forth download#
Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. With dreams and visions, was the first to teach.This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught The second of desire, the third of thought Three Silences there are: the first of speech,.Kéramos, line 66 reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922), p.Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change.VI, A travelling Scholastic affixing his Theses to the gate of the College. So that nothing but God alone will remain. Of the Spirit of God, who, in breathing hereafter Which is begging the question that should be debated,Īnd moveth me less to anger than laughter. That, had he existed, he would have created Then asserting that God before the creationĬould not have existed, because it is plain That the universe is and must be eternal Īt first laying down, as a fact fundamental, In the face of the truth, the error infernal, That are making such terrible work in the churches,īy Michael the Stammerer sent from the East,Īnd done into Latin by that Scottish beast, The error of all those doctrines so vicious I think I have proved, by profound researches,.Leading from light to light, through a brief darkness! The grave itself is but a covered bridge,.My Lost Youth, refrain (1858), quoting Olaus Sirma.2 (1858).Īnd the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. While underneath such leafy tents they keep
Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind's breath, The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep.The heights by great men reached and kept.If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, There is no flock, however watched and tended,."Hymn, For my Brother's Ordination", The Seaside and the Fireside (1850).To lay his head upon the Saviour's breast, She floats upon the river of his thoughts.It consecrates each grave within its walls,Īnd breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls."The Rainy Day", Bentley's Miscellany ( December 1841).Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad." Then come the gloomy hours, when the fire will neither burn on our hearths nor in our hearts and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms and kiss it. And then it changes suddenly and is dark and sorrowful, and clouds shut out the sky. Sometimes it is all gladness and sunshine, and Heaven itself lies not far off. "Ah! this beautiful world!" said Flemming, with a smile.There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,.Look, then, into thine heart, and write!.I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light I heard the trailing garments of the Night.Resignation, as reported in Hoyt's New Cyclopedia Of Practical Quotations (1922).There is no Death! What seems so is transition.Music is the universal language of mankind - poetry their universal pastime and delight."The Battle of Lovell's Pond," poem first published in the Portland Gazette (November 17, 1820).They are dead but they live in each Patriot's breast,Īnd their names are engraven on honor's bright crest. They died in their glory, surrounded by fame,Īnd Victory's loud trump their death did proclaim Nor points out the spot from the graves of their foes. No stone tells the place where their ashes repose, Have sunk to their rest the damp earth is their bed
The warriors that fought for their country, and bled,
Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change
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