Song of the Silent Land
Into the Silent Land!
Ah! who shall lead us thither?
Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather,
And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand.
Who leads us with a gentle hand
Thither, O thither,
Into the Silent Land?
Into the Silent Land!
To you, ye boundless regions
Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions
Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band!
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand,
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms
Into the Silent Land!
O Land! O Land!
For all the broken-hearted
The mildest herald by our fate allotted
Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand
To lead us with a gentle hand
To the land of the great Departed,
Into the Silent Land!
Into the Silent Land!
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (born
February 27, 1807)
The Human Voice
How wonderful is the human voice! It is indeed the of the organ of the
soul! The intellect of man sits enthroned visibly upon his forehead and in his
eye; and the heart of man is written upon his countenance. But the soul reveals
itself in the voice only, as God revealed himself to the prophet of old, in
"the still, small voice," and in a voice from the burning bush. The
soul of men is audible, not visible. A sound alone betrays the flowing of the
eternal fountain, invisible to man!
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (born
February 27, 1807)
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