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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
per by the Northern sea, The gates of opportunity! God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed. Wise men and strong we did not lack; But still, with memory turning back, In the dark hours we thought of thee, And thy lone gr, to look With complacence on a book!— Where the genial pedagogue Half forgot his rogues to flog, Citing tale or apologue, Wise and merry in its drift As was Phaedrus' twofold gift, Had the little rebels known it, Risum et prudentiam monet! I,—the ma And thy primal lessons, feel Grateful smiles my lips unseal, As, remembering thee, I blend Olden teacher, present friend, Wise with antiquarian search, In the scrolls of State and Church: Named on history's title-page, Parish-clerk and justice sage;at home With the little and the big, Woollen cap and periwig, Madam in her high-laced ruff, Goody in her home-made stuff,— Wise and simple, rich and poor, Thou hast known them all before! 1851. The cross. Richard Dillingham, a young member <
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), At sundown (search)
experiment. Could it succeed? Of honor sold And hopes deceived all history told. Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past, Was the long dream of ages true at last? Thank God! the people's choice was just, The one man equal to his trust, Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good, Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude! His rule of justice, order, peace, Made possible the world's release; Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust, And rule, alone, which serves the ruled, space, From mart and crowd, her old-time grace, And guards with fondly jealous arms The wild growths of outlying farms. Her sunsets on Kenoza fall, Her autumn leaves by Saltonstall; No lavished gold can richer make Her opulence of hill and lake. Wise was the choice which led out sires To kindle here their household fires, And share the large content of all Whose lines in pleasant places fall. More dear, as years on years advance, We prize the old inheritance, And feel, as far and wide we roam