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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
the monster born of Crissa's slime, Like the blind bard who in Castalian springs Tempered the steel that clove the crest of kings, And on the shrine of England's freedom laid The gifts of Cumae and of Delphi's shade,— Small need hast thou of words of praise from me. Thou knowest my heart, dear friend, and well canst guess That, even though silent, I have not the less Rejoiced to see thy actual life agree With the large future which I shaped for thee, When, years ago, beside the summer sea, White in the moon, we saw the long waves fall Baffled and broken from the rocky wall, That, to the menace of the brawling flood, Opposed alone its massive quietude, Calm as a fate; with not a leaf nor vine Nor birch-spray trembling in the still moonshine, Crowning it like God's peace. I sometimes think That night-scene by the sea prophetical, (For Nature speaks in symbols and in signs, And through her pictures human fate divines), That rock, wherefrom we saw the billows sink In murmuring rout, up
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Occasional Poems (search)
call around you fruit and flower As fair as Eden had. I clothe your hands with power to lift The curse from off your soil; Your very doom shall seem a gift, Your loss a gain through Toil. Go, cheerful as yon humming-bees, To labor as to play. “ White glimmering over Eden's trees The angel passed away. The pilgrims of the world went forth Obedient to the word, And found where'er they tilled the earth A garden of the Lord! The thorn-tree cast its evil fruit And blushed with plum and pear, And and feel Our weakness is our strong appeal. So, by these Western gates of Even We wait to see with Thy forgiven The opening Golden Gate of Heaven! Suffice it now. In time to be Shall holier altars rise to Thee,— Thy Church our broad humanity! White flowers of love its walls shall climb, Soft bells of peace shall ring its chime, Its days shall all be holy time. A sweeter song shall then be heard,— The music of the world's accord Confessing Christ, the Inward Word! That song shall swell fr<
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), The tent on the Beach (search)
And old men mending their nets of twine, Talk together of dream and sign, Talk of the lost ship Palatine,— The ship that, a hundred years before, Freighted deep with its goodly store, In the gales of the equinox went ashore. The eager islanders one by one Counted the shots of her signal gun, And heard the crash when she drove right on! Into the teeth of death she sped: (May God forgive the hands that fed The false lights over the rocky Head!) O men and brothers! what sights were there! White upturned faces, hands stretched in prayer! Where waves had pity, could ye not spare? Down swooped the wreckers, like birds of prey Tearing the heart of the ship away, And the dead had never a word to say. And then, with ghastly shimmer and shine Over the rocks and the seething brine, They burned the wreck of the Palatine. In their cruel hearts, as they homeward sped, ‘The sea and the rocks are dumb,’ they said: ‘There'll be no reckoning with the dead.’ But the year went round, and
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), At sundown (search)
hurch, 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, and prayers, remains, As when it dropped from love's dear hands. And not unfitly garlanded, Is he, who, country-born and bred, We
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
of the arching blue And waking stars came softly through The rifts of many a giant limb. Above the wet and tangled swamp White vapors gathered thick and damp, And through their cloudy curtaining Flapped many a brown and dusky wing—-- Pinions that fg life,—but there comes not one, Save the fox's bark and the rabbit's bound; But here and there, on the blackened ground, White bones are glistening in the sun. And where the house of prayer arose, And the holy hymn, at daylight's close, And the agenown street— The tree my childhood loved is there, Its bare-worn roots are at my feet, And through its open boughs I meet White glimpses of the place of prayer; And unforgotten eyes again Are glancing through the cottage pane, Than Asia's lustrous e, Into the north wind free, Through the rising and vanishing islands, Over the mountain sea,— To the little hamlet lying White in its mountain fold, Asleep by the lake and dreaming A dream that is never told,— And in the Red Hill's shadow Your
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Index of first lines (search)
n Freedom, on her natal day, III. 46. When on my day of life the night is falling, II. 333. When the breath divine is flowing, II. 203. When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, i. 188. Where are we going? where are we going, III. 125. Where ceaseless Spring her garland twines, IV. 196. Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg, i. 345. Where the Great Lake's sunny smiles, IV. 241. Where Time the measure of his hours, II. 188. White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, II. 27. Who gives and hides the giving hand, II. 314. Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, II. 232. Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone, IV. 357. Why urge the long, unequal fight, III. 345. Wildly round our woodland quarters, III. 297 With a cold and wintry noon-light, III. 106. With a glory of winter sunshine, IV. 150. With clearer light, Cross of the South, shine forth, III. 361. With fifty years betw