THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

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Seite 232 - Live and laugh, as boyhood can! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil...
Seite 118 - That all of good the past hath had, Remains to make our own time glad ; Our common daily life divine, And every land a Palestine.
Seite 261 - God pity them both ! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these :
Seite 319 - Mother and sister, wife and maid, Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Over the moaning and rainy sea, — Looked for the coming that might not be!
Seite 320 - Sweetly along the Salem road Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. Little the wicked skipper knew Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
Seite 261 - Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, A manly form at her side she saw, « And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, "It might have been.
Seite 368 - Enough that blessings undeserved have marked my erring track; that wheresoe'er my feet have swerved, his chastening turned me back; that more and more a Providence of love is understood, making the springs of time and sense sweet with eternal good; that death seems but a covered way which opens into light, wherein no blinded child can stray beyond the Father's sight...
Seite 99 - O, dumb be passion's stormy rage, When he who might Have lighted up and led his age, Falls back in night.
Seite 119 - Through the harsh noises of our day A low, sweet prelude finds its way ; Through clouds of doubt and creeds of fear, A light is breaking, calm and clear. That song of Love, now low and far, Ere long shall swell from star to star! That light, the breaking day, which tips The golden-spired Apocalypse...
Seite 84 - I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea. The rudiments of empire here Are plastic yet and warm; The chaos of a mighty world Is rounding into form!

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