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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 6 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 4 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 4 0 Browse Search
Colonel William Preston Johnston, The Life of General Albert Sidney Johnston : His Service in the Armies of the United States, the Republic of Texas, and the Confederate States. 2 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 2 0 Browse Search
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r neighbor to play with a cur of low degree --a proper dog for a master as mean and worthless as himself. This man, who had been kindly treated by the general and his family, but who envied and hated him with that sort of malice which the base and vulgar generally cherish toward the noble and refined, to distress the children, or show his spite against his distinguished neighbors, or from the promptings of some dirty motive which is only understood by the devils that got into the swine of Gennesaret, or by those who are instigated by them, threw a piece of meat poisoned with strychnine to the dog, which came home, and in a few minutes died with convulsions, in the presence of the children and their parents. The little children wept bitterly the loss of their favorite, and Mrs. Johnston shed tears. The general was deeply distressed, but said nothing in anger. Some one present declared that the villain who committed the deed ought to be prosecuted or shot. He replied that if he sued
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Narrative and legendary poems (search)
ight and air of Palestine, Impregnate with His life divine! Oh, bear me thither! Let me look On Siloa's pool, and Kedron's brook; Kneel at Gethsemane, and by Gennesaret walk, before I die! Methinks this cold and northern night Would melt before that Orient light; And, wet by Hermon's dew and rain, My childhood's faith revive a “O stranger; but if need be thine, I bid thee welcome, for the sake Of Him who is thy Lord and mine.” A grave, calm face the stranger raised, Like His who on Gennesaret trod, Or His on whom the Chaldeans gazed, Whose form was as the Son of God. ‘Know'st thou,’ he said, ‘thy gift of old?’ And in the hand he lifted up The Pontier own the pitying love of Christ. So wheresoe'er the guiding Spirit went She followed, finding every prison cell It opened for her sacred as a tent Pitched by Gennesaret or by Jacob's well. And Pride and Fashion felt her strong appeal, And priest and ruler marvelled as they saw How hand in hand went wisdom with her zeal, A
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Poems Subjective and Reminiscent (search)
hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee. Where pilgrim and prophet have lingered before; With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. Blue sea of the hills! in my spirit I hear Thy waters, Gennesaret, chime on my ear; Where the Lowly and Just with the people sat down, And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown. Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, And the desolate hills of the wild Gadarene; And I pause on the goat-crags of Ted lips and reverent eyes And pure of heart and hand. So shalt thou be with power endued From Him who went about The Syrian hillsides doing good, And casting demons out. That Good Physician liveth yet Thy friend and guide to be; The Healer by Gennesaret Shall walk the rounds with thee. The two angels. God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. ‘Arise,’ He said, “my angels! a wail of woe and sin Steals through the gates o<
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Anti-Slavery Poems (search)
'er wrongs which Earth's sad children know; Where'er a single heart is keeping Its prayerful watch with human woe: Thence let them come, and greet each other, And know in each a friend and brother! Yes, let them come! from each green vale Where England's old baronial halls Still bear upon their storied walls The grim crusader's rusted mail, Battered by Paynim spear and brand On Malta's rock or Syria's sand! And mouldering pennon-staves once set Within the soil of Palestine, By Jordan and Gennesaret; Or, borne with England's battle line, O'er Acre's shattered turrets stooping, Or, midst the camp their banners drooping, With dews from hallowed Hermon wet, A holier summons now is given Than that gray hermit's voice of old, Which unto all the winds of heaven The banners of the Cross unrolled! Not for the long-deserted shrine; Not for the dull unconscious sod, Which tells not by one lingering sign That there the hope of Israel trod; But for that truth, for which alone In pilgrim eyes are
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Songs of Labour and Reform (search)
ay, Up! clouted knee and ragged coat! A man is a man to-day! 1848. The dream of Pio Nono. it chanced that while the pious troops of France Fought in the crusade Pio Nono preached, What time the holy Bourbons stayed his hands (The Hur and Aaron meet for such a Moses), Stretched forth from Naples towards rebellious Rome To bless the ministry of Oudinot, And sanctify his iron homilies And sharp persuasions of the bayonet, That the great pontiff fell asleep, and dreamed. He stood by Lake Tiberias, in the sun Of the bright Orient; and beheld the lame, The sick, and blind, kneel at the Master's feet, And rise up whole. And, sweetly over all, Dropping the ladder of their hymn of praise From heaven to earth, in silver rounds of song, He heard the blessed angels sing of peace, Good — will to man, and glory to the Lord. Then one, with feet unshod, and leathern face Hardened and darkened by fierce summer suns And hot winds of the desert, closer drew His fisher's haick, and girded up h
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), The tent on the Beach (search)
he thunder of the wrath of God Break from the hollow trumpet of the cloud. And there he stands in memory to this day, Erect, self-poised, a rugged face, half seen Against the background of unnatural dark, A witness to the ages as they pass, That simple duty hath no place for fear. 1866. He ceased: just then the ocean seemed To lift a half-faced moon in sight; And, shore-ward, o'er the waters gleamed, From crest to crest, a line of light, Such as of old, with solemn awe, The fishers by Gennesaret saw, When dry-shod o'er it walked the Son of God, Tracking the waves with light where'er his sandals trod. Silently for a space each eye Upon that sudden glory turned: Cool from the land the breeze blew by, The tent-ropes flapped, the long beach churned Its waves to foam; on either hand Stretched, far as sight, the hills of sand; With bays of marsh, and capes of bush and tree, The wood's black shore-line loomed beyond the meadowy sea. The lady rose to leave. “One song, Or hymn,” they ur