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Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 2 58 0 Browse Search
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall) 27 5 Browse Search
Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 3 15 1 Browse Search
Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 1 15 1 Browse Search
Archibald H. Grimke, William Lloyd Garrison the Abolitionist 12 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 2 7 1 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Cheerful Yesterdays 6 0 Browse Search
Lydia Maria Child, Isaac T. Hopper: a true life 6 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Margaret Fuller Ossoli 6 2 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 3 4 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier). You can also browse the collection for Ellis Gray Loring or search for Ellis Gray Loring in all documents.

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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
By love, which is the law of liberty! 1869. To Lydia Maria child, On Reading her Poem in the standard. Mrs. Child wrote her lines, beginning, Again the trees are clothed in vernal green, May 24, 1859, on the first anniversary of Ellis Gray Loring's death, but did not publish them for some years afterward, when I first read them, or I could not have made the reference which I did to the extinction of slavery. the sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain; The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved! I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces The greeting of a soul I send! What cheer hath he? How is it with him? Where lingers he this weary while? Over what pleasant fields of Heaven Dawns the sweet sunrise of his smile? Does he not know our feet are treading The earth hard down on Slavery's grave? That, in our crowning exultations, We miss the charm h