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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
hearth and home,—from her, The last bud on thy household tree, The last dear one to minister In duty and in love to thee, From all which nature holdeth dear, Feeble with years and worn with pain, To seek our distant land again, Bound in the spirit, yet unknowing The things which should befall thee here, Whether for labor or for death, In childlike trust serenely going To that last trial of thy faith! Oh, far away, Where never shines our Northern star On that dark waste which Balboa saw From Darien's mountains stretching far, So strange, heaven-broad, and lone, that there, With forehead to its damp wind bare, He bent his mailed knee in awe; In many an isle whose coral feet The surges of that ocean beat, In thy palm shadows, Oahu, And Honolulu's silver bay, Amidst Owyhee's hills of blue, And taro-plains of Tooboonai, Are gentle hearts, which long shall be Sad as our own at thought of thee, Worn sowers of Truth's holy seed, Whose souls in weariness and need Were strengthened and refreshe
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
has riven; From mount to mount, from wave to wave, a wild and long lament, A sob that shakes like her earthquakes the startled continent! A light dies out, a life is sped—the hero's at whose word The nations started as from sleep, and girded on the sword; The victor of a hundred fields where blood was poured like rain, And Freedom's loosened avalanche hurled down the hosts of Spain, The eagle soul on Junin's slope who showed his shouting men A grander sight than Balboa saw from wave-washed Darien, As from the snows with battle red died out the sinking sun, And broad and vast beneath him lay a world for freedom won. How died that victor? In the field with banners o'er him thrown, With trumpets in his failing ear, by charging squadrons blown, With scattered foemen flying fast and fearfully before him, With shouts of triumph swelling round and brave men bending o'er him? Not on his fields of victory, nor in his council hall, The worn and sorrowing leader heard the inevitable call. Alo