926 Quotes by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls, The burial-ground God’s-Acre.

Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War’s great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise.

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.

Prayer is innocence’s friend; and willingly flieth incessant ’twist the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven.

O holy trust! O endless sense of rest! Like the beloved John To lay his head upon the Saviour’s breast, And thus to journey on!

Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor’s nose.

O Music! language of the soul, Of love, of God to man; Bright beam from heaven thrilling, That lightens sorrow’s weight.

And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters.

Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o’er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more.