John Greenleaf Whittier 1807-1892 John Bartlett


1
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!
Ichabod.
2
When faith is lost, when honor dies The man is dead!
Ichabod.
3
Making their lives a prayer.
To A. K. On receiving a Basket of Sea-Mosses.
4
Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, So “Bonnie Doon” but tarry; Blot out the epic’s stately rhyme, But spare his “Highland Mary!”
Line on Burns.
5
For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: “It might have been!” 1
Maud Muller.
6
Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good.
Brown of Ossawatomie.
7
The hope of all who suffer, The dread of all who wrong.
The Mantle of St. John de Matha.
8
I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
The eternal Goodness.
9
Again the shadow moveth o’er The dial-plate of time.
The New Year.
10
Yet sometimes glimpses on my sight, Through present wrong the eternal right; And, step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man;
The Chapel of the Hermits.



11
We lack but open eye and ear To find the Orient’s marvels here; The still small voice in autumn’s hush, Yon maple wood the burning bush. 2
The Chapel of the Hermits.
12
Better heresy of doctrine than heresy of heart.
Mary Garvin.
13
Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.
Mary Garvin.
14
The Night is Mother of the Day, The Winter of the Spring, And ever upon old Decay The greenest mosses cling.
A Dream of Summer.
15
Beauty seen is never lost.
Sunset on the Bearcamp.
16
God blesses still the generous thought, And still the fitting word He speeds, And Truth, at His requiring taught, He quickens into deeds.
Channing.
17
Each crisis brings its word and deed.
The lost Occasion.
18
The Beauty which old Greece or Rome Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at home.
To ———.
19
We seemed to see our flag unfurled, Our champion waiting in his place For the last battle of the world, The Armageddon of the race.
Rantoul.
20
Nature speaks in symbols and in signs.
To Charles Sumner.
21
Who never wins can rarely lose, Who never climbs as rarely falls.
To James T. Fields.
22
To eat the lotus of the Nile And drink the poppies of Cathay.
The Tent on the Beach.
23
The harp at Nature’s advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away.
The Worship of Nature.
24
Falsehoods which we spurn to-day Were the truths of long ago.
Calef in Boston.
25
Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
Snow Bound.
26
All hearts confess the saints elect, Who, twain in faith, in love agree, And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity!
Snow Bound.
27
Life is ever lord of Death And Love can never lose its own.
Snow Bound.
28
Let the thick curtain fall; I better know than all How little I have gained, How vast the unattained.
My Triumph.
29
Sweeter than any sung My songs that found no tongue; Nobler than any fact My wish that failed of act. Others shall sing the song, Others shall right the wrong,— Finish what I begin, And all I fail of win.
My Triumph.
30
God is and all is well. 3
My Birthday.

Note 1.
Francis Bret Harte: Mrs. Judge Jenkins.
More sad are these we daily see:
It is, but had n’t ought to be. [back]

Note 2.
Mrs. Browning: Aurora Leigh. Book vii. See page 659. [back]

Note 3.
See Browning: Pippa Passes. [back]

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