John Greenleaf Whittier
Immortal love, forever full
Immortal love, forever full, Forever flowing free, Forever shared, forever whole, A never ebbing sea! Our outward lips confess the name All other names above; Love only knoweth whence it came, And comprehendeth love.
The Worship of Nature
The harp at Nature’s advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away. And prayer is made, and praise is given, By all things near
The Pipes At Lucknow
Pipes of the misty moorlands, Voice of the glens and hills; The droning of the torrents, The treble of the rills! Not the braes of bloom and heather, Nor the mountains dark with rain,
My Triumph
The autumn-time has come; On woods that dream of bloom, And over purpling vines, The low sun fainter shines. The aster-flower is failing, The hazel’s gold is paling; Yet overhead more near The eternal
The Frost Spirit
He comes, – he comes, – the Frost Spirit comes! You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted fields And the brown hill’s withered brow. He has smitten the
The Changeling ( From The Tent on the Beach )
FOR the fairest maid in Hampton They needed not to search, Who saw young Anna favor Come walking into church, Or bringing from the meadows, At set of harvest-day, The frolic of the blackbirds,
The Barefoot Boy
Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the
The Norsemen ( From Narrative and Legendary Poems )
GIFT from the cold and silent Past! A relic to the present cast, Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting and unstable sand, Which wastes beneath the steady chime And beating of the waves
Stanzas for the Times
Is this the land our fathers loved, The freedom which they toiled to win? Is this the soil whereon they moved? Are these the graves they slumber in? Are we the sons by whom
What the Birds Said
The birds against the April wind Flew northward, singing as they flew; They sang, “The land we leave behind Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew.” “O wild-birds, flying from the South, What saw
Kallundborg Church ( From The Tent on the Beach)
“Tie stille, barn min! Imorgen kommer Fin, Fa’er din, Og gi’er dich Esbern Snares öine og hjerte at lege med!” Zealand Rhyme. “BUILD at Kallundborg by the sea A church as stately as church
Barclay Of Ury
Up the streets of Aberdeen, By the kirk and college green, Rode the Laird of Ury; Close behind him, close beside, Foul of mouth and evil-eyed, Pressed the mob in fury. Flouted him the
An Autograph
I write my name as one, On sands by waves o’errun Or winter’s frosted pane, Traces a record vain. Oblivion’s blankness claims Wiser and better names, And well my own may pass As from
A Word for the Hour
The firmament breaks up. In black eclipse Light after light goes out. One evil star, Luridly glaring through the smoke of war, As in the dream of the Apocalypse, Drags others down. Let us
Vesta
O CHRIST of God! whose life and death Our own have reconciled, Most quietly, most tenderly Take home thy star-named child! Thy grace is in her patient eyes, Thy words are on her tongue;