My name may have buoyancy enough to float upon the sea of time. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
I am the spirit of the morning sea, I am the awakening and the glad surprise. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
What babe new born is this that in a manger cries? Near on her lowly bed his happy mother lies. Oh, see the air… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee A lesson of humanity: To every mother's heart forlorn, In every house the Christ is born. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
I am the laughter of the new-born child On whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
In Heaven's happy bowers There blossom two flowers, One with fiery glow And one as white as snow; While lo! before them stands, With… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
Since ancient Time began, Ever on some great soul God laid an infinite burden-- The weight of all this world, the hopes of man,… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
Ye living soldiers of the mighty war, Once more from roaring cannon and the drums And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes; Forget… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
Against the darkness outer God's light his likeness takes, And he from the mighty doubter The great believer makes. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
Oh, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
In the embers shining bright A garden grows for thy delight, With roses yellow, red, and white. But, O my child, beware, beware! Touch… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
A man not perfect, but of heart so high, of such heroic rage, That even his hopes became a part of earth's eternal heritage. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
My name may have buoyancy enough to float upon the sea of time. — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
What if thou be saint or sinner, Crooked gray-beard, straight beginner,-- Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, When Death thee shall call. All like are… — Richard Watson Gilder Copy Share Image
