Who is Henry Van Dyke

Henry Jackson van Dyke Jr. (November 10, 1852 – April 10, 1933) was an American author, educator, diplomat, and Presbyterian clergyman.

Early life

Van Dyke was born on November 10, 1852, in Germantown, Pennsylvania. He was the son of Henry Jackson van Dyke Sr. (1822–1891), a prominent Brooklyn Presbyterian clergyman known in the antebellum years for his anti-abolitionist views. The family traced its roots to Jan Thomasse van Dijk, who emigrated from Holland to North America in 1652.The younger Henry van Dyke graduated from Poly Prep Country Day School in 1869, Princeton University, in 1873 and from Princeton Theological Seminary, 1877.

Career

He served as a professor of English literature at Princeton between 1899 and 1923. Among the ...
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Henry Van Dyke Poems

  • Longfellow
    In a great land, a new land, a land full of labour
    and riches and confusion,
    Where there were many running to and fro, and
    shouting, and striving together,...
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Top 10 most used topics by Henry Van Dyke

People 1 Beneath 1 Voice 1 World 1 Women 1 Together 1 Time 1 Sorrow 1 Sea 1 Running 1


Henry Van Dyke Quotes

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Comments about Henry Van Dyke

Coopcamprocks: use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best. - henry van dyke
Plarasoft: love is not getting, but giving, not a wild dream of pleasure, and madness of desire ... it is goodness, and honor, and peace and pure living. - henry van dyke
Ramanhyd99: “use what talents you possess; the woods would be very silent if no birds sang there except those that sang best.” - henry van dyke
Clazziodirect: "there is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. it is to stoop down and lift mankind a little higher." henry van dyke
Shralpin: "there is a loftier ambition than merely to stand high in the world. it is to stoop down and lift mankind a little higher." henry van dyke
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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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