Named Entity Results
Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall)

Lines to L. M. Child, in response to her verses on the death of Elis Gray Loring. John G. Whittier. The sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain, The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces, The greeting of a soul I send. What cheer hath he? How is it with him? Where lingers he this weary while? Over what pleasant fields of heaveLoring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces, The greeting of a soul I send. What cheer hath he? How is it with him? Where lingers he this weary while? Over what pleasant fields of heaven Dawns the sweet sunshine of his smile? Does he not know our feet are treading The earth hard down on Slavery's grave? That in our crowning exultations We miss the charm his presence gave? Why on this spring air comes no whisper From him to tell us all is well? Why to our flower time comes no token Of lily and of asphodel? I feel the unutterable longing, Thy hunger of the heart is mine; I reach and grasp for hands in darkness, My ear grows sharp for voice or sign. Still on the lips of all we

Lines to L. M. Child, in response to her verses on the death of Elis Gray Loring. John G. Whittier. The sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain, The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces, The greeting of a soul I send. What cheer hath he? How is it with him? Where lingers he this weary while? Over what pleasant fields of heaven Dawns the sweet sunshine of his smile? Does he not know our feet are treading The earth hard down on Slavery's grave? That in our crowning exultations We miss the charm his presence gave? Why on this spring air comes no whisper From him to tell us all is well? Why to our flower time comes no token Of lily and of asphodel? I feel the unutterable longing, Thy hunger of the heart is mine; I reach and grasp for hands in darkness, My ear grows sharp for voice or sign. Still on the lips of all we

Lines to L. M. Child, in response to her verses on the death of Elis Gray Loring. John G. Whittier. The sweet spring day is glad with music, But through it sounds a sadder strain, The worthiest of our narrowing circle Sings Loring's dirges o'er again. O woman greatly loved I join thee In tender memories of our friend; With thee across the awful spaces, The greeting of a soul I send. What cheer hath he? How is it with him? Where lingers he this weary while? Over what pleasant fields of heaven Dawns the sweet sunshine of his smile? Does he not know our feet are treading The earth hard down on Slavery's grave? That in our crowning exultations We miss the charm his presence gave? Why on this spring air comes no whisper From him to tell us all is well? Why to our flower time comes no token Of lily and of asphodel? I feel the unutterable longing, Thy hunger of the heart is mine; I reach and grasp for hands in darkness, My ear grows sharp for voice or sign. Still on the lips of all we