John Greenleaf Whittier

“ My light glove on his casque of steel, My love-knot on his spear! "Oh for the white plume floating Sad Zutphen's field above,— The lion heart in battle, The woman's heart in love! "Oh that man once more were manly, Woman's pride, and not her scorn: That once more the pale young mother Dared to boast 'a man is born'! "But, now life's slumberous current No sun-bowed cascade wakes; No tall, heroic manhood The level dulness breaks. "Oh for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear! My light glove on his casque of steel, My love-knot on his spear!" ”

“ And if the ways to hell were free, I left then free to heaven!" Take heart with us, O man of old, Soul-freedom's brave confessor, So love of God and man wax strong, Let sect and creed be lesser. The jarring discords of thy day In ours one hymn are swelling; The wandering feet, the severed paths, All seek our Father's dwelling. And slowly learns the world the truth That makes us all thy debtor,— That holy life is more than rite, And spirit more than letter; That they who differ pole-wide serve Perchance the common Master, And other sheep He hath than they Who graze one narrow pasture! ”

“ I. Our fathers' God! from out whose hand The centuries fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done, And trust Thee for the opening one. II. Here, where of old, by Thy design, The fathers spake that word of Thine Whose echo is the glad refrain Of rended bolt and falling chain, To grace our festal time, from all The zones of earth our guests we call. III. Be with us while the New World greets The Old World thronging all its streets, Unveiling all the triumphs won By art or toil beneath the sun ”

“ What weary doom of baffled quest, Thou sad sea-ghost, is thine? What makes thee in the haunts of home A wonder and a sign? No foot is on thy silent deck, Upon thy helm no hand; No ripple hath the soundless wind That smites thee from the land! For never comes the ship to port, Howe'er the breeze may be; Just when she nears the waiting shore She drifts again to sea. No tack of sail, nor turn of helm, Nor sheer of veering side; Stern-fore she drives to sea and night, Against the wind and tide. In vain o'er Harpswell Neck the star Of evening guides her in ”

“ No man his brother can redeem Or a soul's ransom pay. "Not always age is growth of good; Its years have losses with their gain; Against some evil youth withstood Weak hands may strive in vain. "With deeper voice than any speech Of mortal lips from man to man, What earth's unwisdom may not teach The Spirit only can. "Make thou that holy guide thine own, And following where it leads the way, The known shall lapse in the unknown As twilight into day. "The best of earth shall still remain, And heaven's eternal years shall prove That life and death, and joy and pain, Are ministers of Love." ”

“ Who shall offer youth and beauty On the wasting shrine Of a stern and lofty duty, With a faith like thine? Oh, thy gentle smile of greeting Who again shall see? Who amidst the solemn meeting Gaze again on thee? Who when peril gathers o'er us, Wear so calm a brow? Who, with evil men before us, So serene as thou? Early hath the spoiler found thee, Brother of our love! Autumn's faded earth around thee, And its storms above! Evermore that turf lie lightly, And, with future showers, O'er thy slumbers fresh and brightly Blow the summer flowers In the locks thy forehead gracing, Not a silvery streak ”

“ We thank Thee for thy wise design Whereby these human hands of ours In Nature's garden work with Thine. And thanks that from our daily need The joy of simple faith is born; That he who smites the summer weed, May trust Thee for the autumn corn. Give fools their gold, and knaves their power; Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall; Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants a tree, is more than all. For he who blesses most is blest; And God and man shall own his worth Who toils to leave as his bequest An added beauty to the earth. ”

“ Where Mammon hath its altars Wet o'er with human blood, And pride and lust debases The workmanship of God,— There shall thy praise be spoken, Redeemed from Falsehood's ban, When the fetters shall be broken, And the slave shall be a man! Joy to thy spirit, brother! A thousand hearts are warm, A thousand kindred bosoms Are baring to the storm. What though red-handed Violence With secret Fraud combine? The wall of fire is round us, Our Present Help was thine. Lo, the waking up of nations, From Slavery's fatal sleep; The murmur of a Universe, Deep calling unto Deep! Joy to thy spirit, brother! ”

“ And, yet more, for the faith which embraces the whole, Of the creeds of the ages the life and the soul, Wherein letter and spirit the same channel run, And man has not severed what God has made one! For a sense of the Goodness revealed everywhere, As sunshine impartial, and free as the air; For a trust in humanity, Heathen or Jew, And a hope for all darkness the Light shineth through. Who scoffs at our birthright?—the words of the seers, And the songs of the bards in the twilight of years, All the foregleams of wisdom in santon and sage, In prophet and priest, are our true heritage. ”

“ He who lies where the minster's groined arches curve down To the tomb-crowded transept of England's renown, The glorious essayist, by genius enthroned, Whose pen as a sceptre the Muses all owned,— Who through the world's pantheon walked in his pride, Setting new statues up, thrusting old ones aside, And in fiction the pencils of history dipped, To gild o'er or blacken each saint in his crypt,— How vainly he labored to sully with blame The white bust of Penn, in the niche of his fame! Self-will is self-wounding, perversity blind On himself fell the stain for the Quaker designed! ”

“ Thereat the pale monk crossed His brow, and, muttering, "Madman! thou art lost!" Took up his pyx and fled; and, left alone, The sick man closed his eyes with a great groan That sank into a prayer, "Thy will be done!" Then was he made aware, by soul or ear, Of somewhat pure and holy bending o'er him, And of a voice like that of her who bore him, Tender and most compassionate: "Never fear! For heaven is love, as God himself is love; Thy work below shall be thy work above." And when he looked, lo! in the stern monk's place He saw the shining of an angel's face! ”

“ Heart and ear, we long have listened To thy saga, rune, and song; As a household joy and presence We have known and loved thee long. By the mansion's marble mantel, Round the log-walled cabin's hearth, Thy sweet thoughts and northern fancies Meet and mingle with our mirth. And o'er weary spirits keeping Sorrow's night-watch, long and chill, Shine they like thy sun of summer Over midnight vale and hill. We alone to thee are strangers, Thou our friend and teacher art; Come, and know us as we know thee; Let us meet thee heart to heart! ”

“ But, through the war-cloud, pray to Thee For union, but a union free, With peace that comes of purity! That Thou wilt bare Thy arm to, save And, smiting through this Red Sea wave, Make broad a pathway for the slave! For us, confessing all our need, We trust nor rite nor word nor deed, Nor yet the broken staff of creed. Assured alone that Thou art good To each, as to the multitude, Eternal Love and Fatherhood,— Weak, sinful, blind, to Thee we kneel, Stretch dumbly forth our hands, and feel Our weakness is our strong appeal. ”

“ I tread no cottage-floor; I own no lover poor. "My love must come on silken wings, With bridal lights of diamond rings, Not foul with kitchen smirch, With tallow-dip for torch." The other, on whose modest head Was lesser dower of beauty shed, With look for home-hearths meet, And voice exceeding sweet, Answered, "We will not rivals be; Take thou the gold, leave love to me; Mine be the cottage small, And thine the rich man's hall. "I know, indeed, that wealth is good; But lowly roof and simple food, With love that hath no doubt, Are more than gold without." ”

“ Thine are all the gifts, O God! Thine the broken bread; Let the naked feet be shod, And the starving fed. Let Thy children, by Thy grace, Give as they abound, Till the poor have breathing-space, And the lost are found. Wiser than the miser's hoards Is the giver's choice; Sweeter than the song of birds Is the thankful voice. Welcome smiles on faces sad As the flowers of spring; Let the tender hearts be glad With the joy they bring. Happier for their pity's sake Make their sports and plays, And from lips of childhood take Thy perfected praise! ”

“ Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel Hath evil wrought Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel,— The good die not! God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly What He hath given; They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in His heaven. And she is with thee; in thy path of trial She walketh yet; Still with the baptism of thy self-denial Her locks are wet. Up, then, my brother! Lo, the fields of harvest Lie white in view She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest To both is true. Thrust in thy sickle! England's toilworn peasants Thy call abide ”

“ We need not pray over the Pharisee's prayer, Nor claim that our wisdom is Benjamin's share; Truth to us and to others is equal and one Shall we bottle the free air, or hoard up the sun? Well know we our birthright may serve but to show How the meanest of weeds in the richest soil grow; But we need not disparage the good which we hold; Though the vessels be earthen, the treasure is gold! Enough and too much of the sect and the name. What matters our label, so truth be our aim? The creed may be wrong, but the life may be true, And hearts beat the same under drab coats or blue. ”

“ 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 and far; The ocean looketh up to heaven, And mirrors every star. Its waves are kneeling on the strand, As kneels the human knee, Their white locks bowing to the sand, The priesthood of the sea' They pour their glittering treasures forth, Their gifts of pearl they bring, And all the listening hills of earth Take up the song they sing. The green earth sends her incense up From many a mountain shrine ”

“ In sunny South and prairied West Are exiled hearts remembering still, As bees their hive, as birds their nest, The homes of Haverhill. They join us in our rites to-day; And, listening, we may hear, erelong, From inland lake and ocean bay, The echoes of our song. Kenoza! o'er no sweeter lake Shall morning break or noon-cloud sail,— No fairer face than thine shall take The sunset's golden veil. Long be it ere the tide of trade Shall break with harsh-resounding din The quiet of thy banks of shade, And hills that fold thee in. ”

“ We know the world is rich with streams Renowned in song and story, Whose music murmurs through our dreams Of human love and glory We know that Arno's banks are fair, And Rhine has castled shadows, And, poet-tuned, the Doon and Ayr Go singing down their meadows. But while, unpictured and unsung By painter or by poet, Our river waits the tuneful tongue And cunning hand to show it,— We only know the fond skies lean Above it, warm with blessing, And the sweet soul of our Undine Awakes to our caressing. No fickle sun-god holds the flocks That graze its shores in keeping ”

“ Your hearts call the roll, but they answer not all Through the turf green above them the dead cannot hear; Name by name, in the silence, falls sad as a tear! In love, let us trust, they were summoned so soon rom the morning of life, while we toil through its noon; They were frail like ourselves, they had needs like our own, And they rest as we rest in God's mercy alone. Unchanged by our changes of spirit and frame, Past, now, and henceforward the Lord is the same; Though we sink in the darkness, His arms break our fall, And in death as in life, He is Father of all! ”

“ Be honor, praise, and heart-thanks given, The loves of earth, the hopes of heaven! Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs The air to-day, our love is hers! She needs no guaranty of fame Whose own is linked with Freedom's name. Long ages after ours shall keep Her memory living while we sleep; The waves that wash our gray coast lines, The winds that rock the Southern pines, Shall sing of her; the unending years Shall tell her tale in unborn ears. And when, with sins and follies past, Are numbered color-hate and caste, White, black, and red shall own as one The noblest work by woman done. ”

“ To see the angel in one's way, Who wants to play the ass's part,— Bear on his back the wizard Art, And in his service speak or bray? And who his manly locks would shave, And quench the eyes of common sense, To share the noisy recompense That mocked the shorn and blinded slave? The heart has needs beyond the head, And, starving in the plenitude Of strange gifts, craves its common food,— Our human nature's daily bread. We are but men: no gods are we, To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, Each separate, on his painful peak, Thin-cloaked in self-complacency. ”

“ Thou brave and true one! upon whom Was laid the cross of martyrdom, How didst thou, in thy generous youth, Bear witness to this blessed truth! Thy cross of suffering and of shame A staff within thy hands became, In paths where faith alone could see The Master's steps supporting thee. Thine was the seed-time; God alone Beholds the end of what is sown; Beyond our vision, weak and dim, The harvest-time is hid with Him. Yet, unforgotten where it lies, That seed of generous sacrifice, Though seeming on the desert cast, Shall rise with bloom and fruit at last. ”