The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4.
John Greenleaf Whittier, Ed.

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[43] In vain shall Rome her portals bar,
     And shut from him her saintly prize,
Whom, in the world's great calendar,
     All men shall canonize.

By Narragansett's sunny bay,
     Beneath his green embowering wood,
To me it seems but yesterday
     Since at his side I stood.

The slopes lay green with summer rains,
     The western wind blew fresh and free,
And glimmered down the orchard lanes
     The white surf of the sea.

With us was one, who, calm and true,
     Life's highest purpose understood,
And, like his blessed Master, knew
     The joy of doing good.

Unlearned, unknown to lettered fame,
     Yet on the lips of England's poor
And toiling millions dwelt his name,
     With blessings evermore.

Unknown to power or place, yet where
     The sun looks o'er the Carib sea,
It blended with the freeman's prayer
     And song of jubilee.

He told of England's sin and wrong,
     The ills her suffering children know,
The squalor of the city's throng,
     The green field's want and woe.