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I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Age: 75 †
Born: 1807
Born: January 1
Died: 1882
Died: March 24
Novelist
Poet
Professor
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Writer
Portland
Maine
Henry W. Longfellow
H. W. Longfellow
00018405207 IPI
Longfellow
Within
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Burial
Like
Graves
Breathes
Dust
Acres
Breathe
Phrase
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Consecrates
Wall
Grave
Acre
Sleep
Phrases
Saxon

More quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Shepherds at the grange, Where the Babe was born, Sang with many a change, Christmas carols until morn.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.
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Age is opportunity no less than youth itself.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Into each life some rain must fall.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The happy should not insist too much upon their happiness in the presence of the unhappy.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The soul...is audible, not visible.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Two ways the rivers Leap down to different seas, and as they roll Grow deep and still, and their majestic presence Becomes a benefaction to the towns They visit, wandering silently among them, Like patriarchs old among their shining tents.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Devil hinders me. You know I say Just what I think, and nothing more nor less, And, when I pray, my heart is in my prayer. I cannot say one thing and mean another. If I can't pray, I will not make believe!
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The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart The secret anniversaries of the heart, When the full river of feeling overflows- The happy days unclouded to their close The sudden joys that our of darkness start As flames from ashes swift desires that dart Like swallows singing down each wind that blows!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Fame grows like a tree if it have the principle of growth in it the accumulated dews of ages freshen its leaves.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Sculpture is more divine, and more like Nature, That fashions all her works in high relief, And that is Sculpture. This vast ball, the Earth, Was moulded out of clay, and baked in fire Men, women, and all animals that breathe Are statues, and not paintings.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Mine is the Month of Roses yes, and mine The Month of Marriages! All pleasant sights And scents, the fragrance of the blossoming vine, The foliage of the valleys and the heights. Mine are the longest days, the loveliest nights The mower's scythe makes music to my ear I am the mother of all dear delights I am the fairest daughter of the year.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the organ of the soul. The intellect of man is enthroned visibly on his forehead and in his eye, and the heart of man is written on his countenance, but the soul, the soul reveals itself in the voice only.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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This will be a great day in our history the date of a New Revolution - quite as much needed as the old one. Even now as I write they are leading old John Brown to execution in Virginia for attempting to rescue slaves! This is sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind which will come soon!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.
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One, if by land, and two, if by sea And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm For the country folk to be up and to arm.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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And in despair I bowed my head There is no peace on earth, I said For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: God is not dead, nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow