Henry Van Dyke

All the trees are sleeping, all the winds are still,
All the flocks of fleecy clouds have wandered past the hill;
Through the noonday silence, down the woods of June,
Hark, a little hunter's voice comes running with a tune

June 22, 1611
HE
OP ON
ON

Long, long ago I heard a little song,  (Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday
)So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,  That far into my heart it found the way:
A melody consoling and endearing;  And still, in silent hours,
I'm often

I Thou who hast made thy dwelling fair With flowers beneath, above with starry lights, And set thine altars everywhere,— On mountain heights, In woodlands dim with many a dream, In valleys bright with springs,
And on the curving capes of ever...

To the music of Beethoven's ninth symphony Joyful, joyful, we adore Thee, God of glory,
Lord of love; Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, Praising Thee their sun above
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; Drive the dark of doubt away;...

The mountains that enfold the vale With walls of granite, steep and high,
Invite the fearless foot to scale Their stairway toward the sky
The restless, deep, dividing sea That flows and foams from shore to shore,
Calls to its sunbur...

Home, for my heart still calls me; Home, through the danger zone;
Home, whatever befalls me, I will sail again to my own
Wolves of the sea are hiding Closely along the way,
Under the water biding Their moment to rend and slay...

"Christ of the Andes," Christ of Everywhere,
Great lover of the hills, the open air,
And patient lover of impatient men Who blindly strive and sin and strive again, — Thou Living Word, larger than any creed,
Thou Love Divi...

I -
HT  With two bright eyes, my star, my love,     Thou lookest on the stars above:     Ah, would that I the heaven might be     With a million eyes to look on thee
Plato
II -

There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon

Oh, why are you shining so bright, big Sun,
And why is the garden so gay
Do you know that my days of delight are done,
Do you know I am going away

Four things a man must learn to do If he would make his record true:
To think without confusion clearly;
To love his fellow man sincerely;
To act from honest motives purely;