Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Sound of the Sea ~ A Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The Midnight Tide: Finding the Soul’s Voice in a Noisy World

The Sound of the Sea

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sea awoke at midnight from its sleep,
    And round the pebbly beaches far and wide
    I heard the first wave of the rising tide
    Rush onward with uninterrupted sweep;
A voice out of the silence of the deep,
    A sound mysteriously multiplied
    As of a cataract from the mountain’s side,
    Or roar of winds upon a wooded steep.
So comes to us at times, from the unknown
    And inaccessible solitudes of being,
    The rushing of the sea-tides of the soul;
And inspirations, that we deem our own,
    Are some divine foreshadowing and foreseeing
    Of things beyond our reason or control.

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Reflection

Have you ever felt a sudden rush of insight or emotion that seemed to come from somewhere far beyond your own mind?

In Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s sonnet, “The Sound of the Sea,” the physical awakening of the ocean at midnight serves as a profound metaphor for the human spirit. Longfellow suggests that just as the tide rushes “uninterrupted” from the deep, our most powerful inspirations are not manufactured by logic; they are “sea-tides of the soul” emerging from the inaccessible depths of our being.

In today’s hyper-connected, data-driven society, we often pride ourselves on being in total control of our lives. We mistake productivity for purpose and logic for wisdom. However, this poem reminds us that true inspiration is often “beyond our reason.” By embracing the “silence of the deep,” we allow ourselves to hear the divine foreshadowing that a noisy, contemporary lifestyle often drowns out. To live fully today is to recognize that we are part of a vast, mysterious rhythm that we do not command, but must learn to inhabit.

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

When was the last time you silenced the external world long enough to hear the “rushing of the sea-tides” within your own soul?

Today’s Quote: It’s Best Not to Judge

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

Overcoming Holiday Grief: A Journey Toward Hope and Healing

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The holiday season is here, bringing joy and connection for many, but for those grieving a lost loved one, it can also bring deep sadness. In Episode 153, we explore the bittersweet emotions of Thanksgiving and Christmas, reflecting on how grief and healing intersect during the most festive time of year. Sharing personal experiences, poetry from Alfred Lord Tennyson and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, and practical steps toward embracing the holidays, this episode offers hope and inspiration. Learn how to navigate the season with courage and rediscover love, laughter, and the joy of living.

Link to Episode 153 Here

Today We Make the Poet’s Words our Own ~ A Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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Today We Make the Poet’s Words our Own

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

To-day we make the poet’s words our own,
And utter them in plaintive undertone;
Nor to the living only be they said,
But to the other living called the dead,
Whose dear, paternal images appear
Not wrapped in gloom, but robed in sunshine here;
Whose simple lives, complete and without flaw,
Were part and parcel of great Nature’s law;
Who said not to their Lord, as if afraid,
“Here is thy talent in a napkin laid,’
But labored in their sphere, as men who live
In the delight that work alone can give.
Peace be to them; eternal peace and rest,
And the fulfilment of the great behest:
“Ye have been faithful over a few things,
Over ten cities shall ye reign as kings.”

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Today’s Poem: The Sea Hath Its Pearls by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The Sea Hath Its Pearls

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The sea hath its pearls,
The heaven hath its stars;
But my heart, my heart,
My heart hath its love.

Great are the sea, and the heaven;
Yet greater is my heart,
And fairer than pearls or stars
Flashes and beams my love.

Thou little, youthful maiden,
Come unto my great heart;
My heart, and the sea and the heaven
Are melting away with love!

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Today’s Poem: The Tide Rises The Tide Falls by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The Tide Rises The Tide Falls

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveler hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveler to the shore.
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

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Today’s Poem: The Two Rivers by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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The Two Rivers

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Slowly the hour-hand of the clock moves round;
  So slowly that no human eye hath power
  To see it move!  Slowly in shine or shower
  The painted ship above it, homeward bound,
Sails, but seems motionless, as if aground;
  Yet both arrive at last; and in his tower
  The slumberous watchman wakes and strikes the hour,
  A mellow, measured, melancholy sound.
Midnight! the outpost of advancing day!
  The frontier town and citadel of night!
  The watershed of Time, from which the streams
Of Yesterday and To-morrow take their way,
  One to the land of promise and of light,
  One to the land of darkness and of dreams!

II.
O River of Yesterday, with current swift
  Through chasms descending, and soon lost to sight,
  I do not care to follow in their flight
  The faded leaves, that on thy bosom drift!
O River of To-morrow, I uplift
  Mine eyes, and thee I follow, as the night
  Wanes into morning, and the dawning light
  Broadens, and all the shadows fade and shift!
I follow, follow, where thy waters run
  Through unfrequented, unfamiliar fields,
  Fragrant with flowers and musical with song;
Still follow, follow; sure to meet the sun,
  And confident, that what the future yields
  Will be the right, unless myself be wrong.

III.
Yet not in vain, O River of Yesterday,
  Through chasms of darkness to the deep descending,
  I heard thee sobbing in the rain, and blending
  Thy voice with other voices far away.
I called to thee, and yet thou wouldst not stay,
  But turbulent, and with thyself contending,
  And torrent-like thy force on pebbles spending,
  Thou wouldst not listen to a poet’s lay.
Thoughts, like a loud and sudden rush of wings,
  Regrets and recollections of things past,
  With hints and prophecies of things to be,
And inspirations, which, could they be things,
  And stay with us, and we could hold them fast,
  Were our good angels,–these I owe to thee.

IV.
And thou, O River of To-morrow, flowing
  Between thy narrow adamantine walls,
  But beautiful, and white with waterfalls,
  And wreaths of mist, like hands the pathway showing;
I hear the trumpets of the morning blowing,
  I hear thy mighty voice, that calls and calls,
  And see, as Ossian saw in Morven’s halls,
  Mysterious phantoms, coming, beckoning, going!
It is the mystery of the unknown
  That fascinates us; we are children still,
  Wayward and wistful; with one hand we cling
To the familiar things we call our own,
  And with the other, resolute of will,
  Grope in the dark for what the day will bring.

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Today’s Poem ~ A Psalm of Life

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A Psalm of Life

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

What the heart of the young man said to the psalmist

 Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
     Life is but an empty dream! —
 For the soul is dead that slumbers,
     And things are not what they seem.

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

 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
     Is our destined end or way;
 But to act, that each to-morrow
     Find us farther than to-day.

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

 In the world’s broad field of battle,
     In the bivouac of Life,
 Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
     Be a hero in the strife!

 Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
     Let the dead Past bury its dead!
 Act, — act in the living Present!
     Heart within, and God o’erhead!

 Lives of great men all remind us
     We can make our lives sublime,
 And, departing, leave behind us
     Footprints on the sands of time;

 Footprints, that perhaps another,
     Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
     Seeing, shall take heart again.

 Let us, then, be up and doing,
     With a heart for any fate;
 Still achieving, still pursuing,
     Learn to labor and to wait.

 

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Today’s Poem ~ A Psalm of Life

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A Psalm of Life
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

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

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

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

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,–act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;–

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

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