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New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 4
e up higher, Life is not less, the heavens are only nigher! James Russell Lowell. from purest wells of English undefiled None deeper drank than he, the New World's child, Who in the language of their farm-fields spoke The wit and wisdom of New England folk, Shaming a monstrous wrong. The world-wide laugh Provoked thereby might well have shaken half The walls of Slavery down, ere yet the ball And mine of battle overthrew them all. Haverhill. 1640-1890. Read at the Celebration of th sea. Think of our thrushes, when the lark sings clear, Of our sweet Mayflowers when the daisies bloom; And bear to our and thy ancestral home The kindly greeting of its children here. Say that our love survives the severing strain; That the New England, with the Old, holds fast The proud, fond memories of a common past; Unbroken still the ties of blood remain! Inscription. For the bass-relief by Preston Powers, carved upon the huge boulder in Denver Park, Col., and representing the L
Haverhill (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 4
wrong. The world-wide laugh Provoked thereby might well have shaken half The walls of Slavery down, ere yet the ball And mine of battle overthrew them all. Haverhill. 1640-1890. Read at the Celebration of the Two Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of the City, July 2, 1890. O River winding to the sea! We call the old time make The sad world happier for its sake. As tenants of uncertain stay, So may we live our little day That only grateful hearts shall fill The homes we leave in Haverhill. The singer of a farewell rhyme, Upon whose outmost verge of time The shades of night are falling down, I pray, God bless the good old town! To G. G. An Autograph. The daughter of Daniel Gurteen, Esq., delegate from Haverhill, England, to the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary celebration of Haverhill, Massachusetts. The Rev. John Ward of the former place and many of his old parishioners were the pioneer settlers of the new town on the Merrimac. graceful in name and in thysel
Ariana (search for this): chapter 4
have made some changes, additions, and omissions. on these green banks, where falls too soon The shade of Autumn's afternoon, The south wind blowing soft and sweet, The water gliding at my feet, The distant northern range uplit By the slant sunshine over it, With changes of the mountain mist From tender blush to amethyst, The valley's stretch of shade and gleam Fair as in Mirza's Bagdad dream, With glad young faces smiling near And merry voices in my ear, I sit, methinks, as Hafiz might In Iran's Garden of Delight. For Persian roses blushing red, Aster and gentian bloom instead; For Shiraz wine, this mountain air; For feast, the blueberries which I share With one who proffers with stained hands Her gleanings from yon pasture lands, Wild fruit that art and culture spoil, The harvest of an untilled soil; And with her one whose tender eyes Reflect the change of April skies, Midway 'twixt child and maiden yet, Fresh as Spring's earliest violet; And one whose look and voice and ways Make
St. Margaret's church (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 4
agle, stooping from yon snow-blown peaks, For the wild hunter and the bison seeks, In the changed world below; and finds alone Their graven semblance in the eternal stone. Lydia H. Sigourney. Inscription on her Memorial Tablet in Christ Church at Hartford, Conn. she sang alone, ere womanhood had known The gift of song which fills the air to-day: Tender and sweet, a music all her own May fitly linger where she knelt to pray. Milton. Inscription on the Memorial Window in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, the gift of George W. Childs, of America. the new world honors him whose lofty plea For England's freedom made her own more sure, Whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be Their common freehold while both worlds endure. The Birthday Wreath. December 17, 1891. blossom and greenness, making all The winter birthday tropical, And the plain Quaker parlors gay, Have gone from bracket, stand, and wall; We saw them fade, and droop, and fall, And laid them tenderly away
Bethlehem (Pennsylvania, United States) (search for this): chapter 4
From a transfigured world The moon's ghost fled, the smoke of home-hearths curled Up the still air unblown. In Orient warmth and brightness, did that morn O'er Nain and Nazareth, when the Christ was born, Break fairer than our own? The morning's promise noon and eve fulfilled In warm, soft sky and landscape hazy-hilled And sunset fair as they; A sweet reminder of His holiest time, A summer-miracle in our winter clime, God gave a perfect day. The near was blended with the old and far, And Bethlehem's hillside and the Magi's star Seemed here, as there and then,— Our homestead pine-tree was the Syrian palm, Our heart's desire the angels' midnight psalm, Peace, and good — will to men! The vow of Washington. Read in New York, April 30, 1889, at the Centennial Celebration of the Inauguration of George Washington as the first President of the United States. the sword was sheathed: in April's sun Lay green the fields by Freedom won; And severed sections, weary of debates, Joined han
Hartford (Connecticut, United States) (search for this): chapter 4
memories of a common past; Unbroken still the ties of blood remain! Inscription. For the bass-relief by Preston Powers, carved upon the huge boulder in Denver Park, Col., and representing the Last Indian and the Last Bison. the eagle, stooping from yon snow-blown peaks, For the wild hunter and the bison seeks, In the changed world below; and finds alone Their graven semblance in the eternal stone. Lydia H. Sigourney. Inscription on her Memorial Tablet in Christ Church at Hartford, Conn. she sang alone, ere womanhood had known The gift of song which fills the air to-day: Tender and sweet, a music all her own May fitly linger where she knelt to pray. Milton. Inscription on the Memorial Window in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, the gift of George W. Childs, of America. the new world honors him whose lofty plea For England's freedom made her own more sure, Whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be Their common freehold while both worlds endure. The Birth
United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 4
Our heart's desire the angels' midnight psalm, Peace, and good — will to men! The vow of Washington. Read in New York, April 30, 1889, at the Centennial Celebration of the Inauguration of George Washington as the first President of the United States. the sword was sheathed: in April's sun Lay green the fields by Freedom won; And severed sections, weary of debates, Joined hands at last and were United States. O City sitting by the Sea! How proud the day that dawned on thee, When the neUnited States. O City sitting by the Sea! How proud the day that dawned on thee, When the new era, long desired, began, And, in its need, the hour had found the man! One thought the cannon salvos spoke, The resonant bell-tower's vibrant stroke, The voiceful streets, the plaudit-echoing halls, And prayer and hymn borne heavenward from St.Paul's! How felt the land in every part The strong throb of a nation's heart, As its great leader gave, with reverent awe, His pledge to Union, Liberty, and Law! That pledge the heavens above him heard, That vow the sleep of centuries stirred; In wo
Time (Pennsylvania, United States) (search for this): chapter 4
shall each in honor hold, And simple manhood outweigh gold. Earth shall be near to Heaven when all That severs man from man shall fall, For, here or there, salvation's plan Alone is love of God and man. O dwellers by the Merrimac, The heirs of centuries at your back, Still reaping where you have not sown, A broader field is now your own. Hold fast your Puritan heritage, But let the free thought of the age Its light and hope and sweetness add To the stern faith the fathers had. Adrift on Time's returnless tide, As waves that follow waves, we glide. God grant we leave upon the shore Some waif of good it lacked before; Some seed, or flower, or plant of worth, Some added beauty to the earth; Some larger hope, some thought to make The sad world happier for its sake. As tenants of uncertain stay, So may we live our little day That only grateful hearts shall fill The homes we leave in Haverhill. The singer of a farewell rhyme, Upon whose outmost verge of time The shades of night are
Westminster (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 4
m yon snow-blown peaks, For the wild hunter and the bison seeks, In the changed world below; and finds alone Their graven semblance in the eternal stone. Lydia H. Sigourney. Inscription on her Memorial Tablet in Christ Church at Hartford, Conn. she sang alone, ere womanhood had known The gift of song which fills the air to-day: Tender and sweet, a music all her own May fitly linger where she knelt to pray. Milton. Inscription on the Memorial Window in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, the gift of George W. Childs, of America. the new world honors him whose lofty plea For England's freedom made her own more sure, Whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be Their common freehold while both worlds endure. The Birthday Wreath. December 17, 1891. blossom and greenness, making all The winter birthday tropical, And the plain Quaker parlors gay, Have gone from bracket, stand, and wall; We saw them fade, and droop, and fall, And laid them tenderly away. White virgin li
Quaker (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 4
music all her own May fitly linger where she knelt to pray. Milton. Inscription on the Memorial Window in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, the gift of George W. Childs, of America. the new world honors him whose lofty plea For England's freedom made her own more sure, Whose song, immortal as its theme, shall be Their common freehold while both worlds endure. The Birthday Wreath. December 17, 1891. blossom and greenness, making all The winter birthday tropical, And the plain Quaker parlors gay, Have gone from bracket, stand, and wall; We saw them fade, and droop, and fall, And laid them tenderly away. White virgin lilies, mignonette, Blown rose, and pink, and violet, A breath of fragrance passing by; Visions of beauty and decay, Colors and shapes that could not stay, The fairest, sweetest, first to die. But still this rustic wreath of mine, Of acorned oak and needled pine, And lighter growths of forest lands, Woven and wound with careful pains, And tender thoughts, a
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