John Greenleaf Whittier Quotes

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

Through this broad street, restless ever, ebbs and flows a human tide, wave on wave a living river; wealth and fashion side by side; Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide.

A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas!

Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying.

Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk the hoar plum of the golden-rod.

Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!

All the windows of my heart I open to the day.

If thou of fortune be bereft, and in thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his Hope with all.

Green calm below, blue quietness above.

the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you

Peace hath higher tests of manhood, than battle ever knew.

The Fates are just: they give us but our own; Nemesis ripens what our hands have sown.

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 green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine; From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.

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.

What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past like the rich pumpkin pie?

We meet today To thank Thee for the era done, And Thee for the opening one.

Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.

Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, Our burden is our boon; The curse of earth's gray morning is The blessing of its noon.

No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.

I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together.

We shape ourselves the joy or fear Of which the coming life is made, And fill our Future's atmosphere With sunshine or with shade.

Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.

Who never wins can rarely lose, Who never climbs as rarely falls

And sweet and far as from a star, replied a voice which shall not cease, till drowning all the noise of war, it sings the blessed song of peace

The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.

Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme and plan? The Lord is God! He needeth not The poor device of man.

All day the darkness and the cold Upon my heart have lain Like shadows on the winter sky Like frost upon the pane

One brave deed makes no hero.

So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!

The simple heart that freely asks in love, obtains.

Rest if you must, but never quit.

Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.

The good is always beautiful, the beautiful is good!

Beauty seen is never lost, God's colors all are fast.

Who sows a field, or trains a flower, Or plants at tree, is more than all.

Beauty is its own excuse.

What is really momentous and all-important with us is the present, by which the future is shaped and colored.

Autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter's snow.

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!

The smile of God is victory.

And the more you spend in blessing The poor and lonely and sad, The more of your heart's possessing Returns to you glad.

Thee lift me, and I lift thee, and together we ascend.

The still, sad music of humanity.

And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood. And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood.

Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race!

And let these altars, wreathed with flowers And piled with fruits, awake again Thanksgivings for the golden hours, The early and the latter rain!

Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.

Despair is infidelity and death.