Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier). You can also browse the collection for Alpine, Ga. (Georgia, United States) or search for Alpine, Ga. (Georgia, United States) in all documents.

Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:

The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Poems of Nature (search)
an rolled. VI. Rich gift of God! A year of time! What pomp of rise and shut of day, What hues wherewith our Northern clime Makes autumn's dropping woodlands gay, What airs outblown from ferny dells, And clover-bloom and sweetbrier smells, What songs of brooks and birds, what fruits and flowers, Green woods .and moonlit snows, have in its round been ours! Vii. I know not how, in other lands, The changing seasons come and go; What splendors fall on Syrian sands, What purple lights on Alpine snow! Nor how the pomp of sunrise waits On Venice at her watery gates; A dream alone to me is Arno's vale, And the Alhambra's halls are but a traveller's tale. Viii. Yet, on life's current, he who drifts Is one with him who rows or sails; And he who wanders widest lifts No more of beauty's jealous veils Than he who from his doorway sees The miracle of flowers and trees, Feels the warm Orient in the noonday air, And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer! IX. The eye may
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Poems Subjective and Reminiscent (search)
truth divine, The call of God is given! Awaking in the human heart Love for the true and right,— Zeal for the Christian's better part, Strength for the Christian's fight. Nor unto manhood's heart alone The holy influence steals: Warm with a rapture not its own, The heart of woman feels! As she who by Samaria's wall The Saviour's errand sought,— As those who with the fervent Paul And meek Aquila wrought: Or those meek ones whose martyrdom Rome's gathered grandeur saw: Or those who in their Alpine home Braved the Crusader's war, When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard, Through all its vales of death, The martyr's song of triumph poured From woman's failing breath. And gently, by a thousand things Which o'er our spirits pass, Like breezes o'er the harp's fine strings, Or vapors o'er a glass, Leaving their token strange and new Of music or of shade, The summons to the right and true And merciful is made. Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light Flash o'er thy waiting mind, Unfolding to