If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it;Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth.

How Beautiful is the rain!After the dust and heat,In the broad and fiery street,In the narrow lane,How beautiful is the rain!How it clatters along the roofs,Like the tramp of hoofs!How it gushes and struggles outFrom...

Straight between them ran the pathway,Never grew the grass upon it

I heard the bells on Christmas DayTheir old, familiar carols play,And wild and sweetThe words repeatOf peace on earth, good-will to men!

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,By the shining Big-Sea-Water,Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis,Dark behind it rose the forest,Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,Rose the firs with cones upon them;Bright before it...

Resolve, and thou art free.

A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sand of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solenm main, A forlorn...

These are the woes of Slaves;They glare from the abyss;They cry, from unknown graves,”We are the Witnesses!

The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained in sudden flight but, they while their companions slept, they were toiling upwards in the night.

With favoring winds, o’er sunlit seas,We sailed for the Hesperides,The land where golden apples grow;But that, ah! that was long ago.How far, since then, the ocean streamsHave swept us from that land of dreams,That land...

The Day is DoneThe day is done, and the darknessFalls from the wings of Night,As a feather is wafted downwardFrom an eagle in his flight.I see the lights of the villageGleam through the rain and...

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.

Think of your woods and orchards without birds!Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beamsAs in an idiot’s brain remembered wordsHang empty ‘mid the cobwebs of his dreams!

My soul is full of longingfor the secret of the sea,and the heart of the great oceansends a thrilling pulse through me.

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.

A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child.

The Children’s HourBetween the dark and the daylight,When the night is beginning to lower,Comes a pause in the day’s occupations,That is known as the Children’s Hour.I hear in the chamber above meThe patter of little...

For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.

The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,And all the sweet serenity of books

Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

Let us labor for an inward stillness–An inward stillness and an inward healing.That perfect silence where the lips and heartAre still, and we no longer entertainOur own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,But God alone speaks...

I have you fast in my fortress,And will not let you depart,But put you down into the dungeonIn the round-tower of my heart.And there will I keep you forever,Yes, forever and a day,Till the walls...

The Arrow and the SongI shot an arrow into the air,It fell to earth, I knew not where;For, so swiftly it flew, the sightCould not follow it in its flight.I breathed a song into the...

One if by land, two if by sea.

As Unto the bow the the cord is ,So unto the man is woman;Though she bends him, she obeys him,Though she draws him , yet she follows:Useless each without the other.

Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.

Nationality is a good thing to a certain extent, but universality is better. All that is best in the great poets of all countries is not what is national in them, but what is universal....

Sweet as the tender fragrance that survives,When martyred flowers breathe out their little lives,Sweet as a song that once consoled our pain,But never will be sung to us again,Is they remembrance. Now the hour of...

Life is real! Life is earnest!And the grave is not its goal;Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest,Was not spoken of the soul.

Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought

The nearer the dawnthe darker the night.

Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,And our hearts, though stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beatingFuneral marches to the grave.

Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.

I am weary of your quarrels,Weary of your wars and bloodshed,Weary of your prayers for vengeance,Of your wranglings and dissensions

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;Thy fate is the common fate of all,Into each life some rain must fall

Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.

And in despair I bowed my head;”There is no peace on earth,” I said;”For hate is strong,And mocks the songOf peace on earth, good-will to men!”Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:”God is not...

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee!

Ye are better than all the balladsThat ever were sung or said;For ye are living poems,And all the rest are dead.

If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all...

I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart

Anon from the castle wallsThe crescent banner falls,And the crowd beholds instead,Like a portent in the sky,Iskander’s banner fly,The Black Eagle with double head;And a shout ascends on high,For men’s souls are tired of the...

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.