John Greenleaf Whittier

"The same old baffling questions! O my friend,     I cannot answer them. In vain I send     My soul into the dark, where never burn     The lamp"

"The shadows round the inland sea     Are deepening into night;     Slow up the slopes of Ossipee     They chase the lessening light.     Tired"

"Not vainly did old poets tell,     Nor vainly did old genius paint     God's great and crowning miracle,     The hero and the saint!     For"

"How sweetly come the holy psalms     From saints and martyrs down,     The waving of triumphal palms     Above the thorny crown     The choral"

"After the Danish of Christian Winter.     Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,     In its little Christian city stands"

"Lake Winnipesaukee I. NOON.     White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep,     Light mists, whose soft embraces keep     The sunshine on the h"

"From Institutes of Manu.     The soul itself its awful witness is.     Say not in evil doing, "No one sees,"     And so offend the conscious"

"The day's sharp strife is ended now,     Our work is done, God knoweth how!     As on the thronged, unrestful town     The patience of the moon"

"We give thy natal day to hope,     O Country of our love and prayer!     Thy way is down no fatal slope,     But up to freer sun and air."

"An epistle not after the manner of Horace.     Old friend, kind friend! lightly down     Drop time's snow-flakes on thy crown!     Never be t"

"December 17, 1891.     Blossom and greenness, making all     The winter birthday tropical,     And the plain Quaker parlors gay,     Have go"

"We see not, know not; all our way     Is night, with Thee alone is day     From out the torrents troubled drift,     Above the storm our praye"

"She sang alone, ere womanhood had known     The gift of song which fills the air to-day     Tender and sweet, a music all her own     May fitly"

"As Islam's Prophet, when his last day drew     Nigh to its close, besought all men to say     Whom he had wronged, to whom he then should pay"

""Long since, a dream of heaven I had,     And still the vision haunts me oft;     I see the saints in white robes clad,     The martyrs with th"

"From purest wells of English undefiled     None deeper drank than he, the New World's child,     Who in the language of their farm-fields spoke"

"Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day,     While kneeling at the altar's foot to pray,     Alone with God, as was his pious choice,     Heard from w"

"From the Mahabharata.     Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day     Which from the night shall drive thy peace away.     In months of sun so"

"Not unto us who did but seek     The word that burned within to speak,     Not unto us this day belong     The triumph and exultant song."

"I.     Fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act     A history stranger than his written fact,     Him who portrayed the splendor and the gloom"

"Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage.     Gone, gone, sold and gone     To the rice-swamp dank and lone."

"Through heat and cold, and shower and sun,     Still onward cheerly driving!     There's life alone in duty done,     And rest alone in strivin"

"My ear is full of summer sounds,     Of summer sights my languid eye;     Beyond the dusty village bounds     I loiter in my daily rounds,"

"Bearer of Freedom's holy light,     Breaker of Slavery's chain and rod,     The foe of all which pains the sight,     Or wounds the generous ea"

"Oh, none in all the world before     Were ever glad as we!     We're free on Carolina's shore,     We're all at home and free.     Thou Friend"

"Though flowers have perished at the touch     Of Frost, the early comer,     I hail the season loved so much,     The good St. Martins summer."

"Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,     O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array,     Who is losing? who is"

"INSCRIBED TO ROBERT C. WATERSTON, OF BOSTON     I give thee joy! I know to thee     The dearest spot on earth must be     Where sleeps thy loved"

"Knowst thou, O slave-cursed land     How, when the Chians cup of guilt     Was full to overflow, there came     Gods justice in the sword of"

"Champion of those who groan beneath     Oppression's iron hand:     In view of penury, hate, and death,     I see thee fearless stand.     Sti"

"The fourteen centuries fall away     Between us and the Afric saint,     And at his side we urge, to-day,     The immemorial quest and old comp"

"The sunlight glitters keen and bright,     Where, miles away,     Lies stretching to my dazzled sight     A luminous belt, a misty light,"

"Unnoted as the setting of a star     He passed; and sect and party scarcely knew     When from their midst a sage and seer withdrew     To fitt"

"By fire and cloud, across the desert sand,     And through the parted waves,     From their long bondage, with an outstretched hand,     God le"

"The autumn-time has come;     On woods that dream of bloom,     And over purpling vines,     The low sun fainter shines.     The aster-flower"

"This, the last of Mr. Whittier's poems, was written but a few weeks before his death.     Among the thousands who with hail and cheer     Will"

"The proudest now is but my peer,     The highest not more high;     To-day, of all the weary year,     A king of men am I.     To-day, alike a"

"Have ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,     Through cane-brake and forest, the hunting of men?     The lords of our land to this h"

"Friend of my many years     When the great silence falls, at last, on me,     Let me not leave, to pain and sadden thee,     A memory of tears,"

"My lady walks her morning round,     My ladys page her fleet greyhound,     My ladys hair the fond winds stir,     And all the birds make son"

"Bowdoin Street, Boston, 1877.     The end has come, as come it must     To all things; in these sweet June days     The teacher and the schola"

"The shade for me, but over thee     The lingering sunshine still;     As, smiling, to the silent stream     Comes down the singing rill."

"Last night, just as the tints of autumns sky     Of sunset faded from our hills and streams,     I sat, vague listening, lapped in twilight dre"

"'T was night. The tranquil moonlight smile     With which Heaven dreams of Earth, shed down     Its beauty on the Indian isle,     On broad gre"

"We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave     Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's,     Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds."

"Painted Upon a Porte Livre.     How strange to greet, this frosty morn,     In graceful counterfeit of flowers,     These children of the meadows"

"O dwellers in the stately towns,     What come ye out to see?     This common earth, this common sky,     This water flowing free?     As gay"

"Thrice welcome to thy sisters of the East,     To the strong tillers of a rugged home,     With spray-wet locks to Northern winds released,"

"O Christ of God! whose life and death     Our own have reconciled,     Most quietly, most tenderly     Take home thy star-named child!     Th"

"Heap high the farmers wintry hoard!     Heap high the golden corn!     No richer gift has Autumn poured     From out her lavish horn!     Le"

"God bless ye, brothers! in the fight     Ye 're waging now, ye cannot fail,     For better is your sense of right     Than king-craft's triple"

"The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine     Of fruitful Ceres, charm no more;     The woven wreaths of oak and pine     Are dust along the Isth"

"O Norah, lay your basket down,     And rest your weary hand,     And come and hear me sing a song     Of our old Ireland.     There was a lor"

"Traveller! on thy journey toiling     By the swift Powow,     With the summer sunshine falling     On thy heated brow,     Listen, while all e"

"I spread a scanty board too late;     The old-time guests for whom I wait     Come few and slow, methinks, to-day.     Ah! who could hear my me"

"All day the darkness and the cold     Upon my heart have lain,     Like shadows on the winter sky,     Like frost upon the pane;     But now"

""Here, while the loom of Winter weaves     The shroud of flowers and fountains,     I think of thee and summer eves     Among the Northern moun"

"The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,     Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:     No word of haughty ch"

"O people-chosen! are ye not     Likewise the chosen of the Lord,     To do His will and speak His word?     From the loud thunder-storm of war"

"A picture memory brings to me     I look across the years and see     Myself beside my mothers knee.     I feel her gentle hand restrain"