John Greenleaf Whittier Quotes

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

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

I hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be, The first low wash of waves where soon Shall roll a human sea.

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.

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

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

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

Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.

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.

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

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

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 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

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

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 the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!

One brave deed makes no hero.

The simple heart that freely asks in love, obtains.

Rest if you must, but never quit.

Truth should be the first lesson of the child and the last aspiration of manhood; for it has been well said that the inquiry of truth, which is the love-making of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature.

A grateful loving heart carries with it, under every parallel of latitude, the warmth and light of the tropics. It plants its Eden in the wilderness and solitary place, and sows with flowers the gray desolation of rock and mosses.

Somewhat of goodness, something true From sun and spirit shining through All faiths, all worlds, as through the dark Of ocean shines the lighthouse spark, Attests the presence everywhere Of love and providential care.

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.

What, my soul, was thy errand here? Was it mirth or ease, Or heaping up dust from year to year? "Nay, none of these!" Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight, Whose eye looks still And steadily on thee through the night; "To do His will!

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

Beauty is its own excuse.

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!

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

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

Life's sunniest hours are not without The shadow of some lingering doubt-- Amid its brightest joys will steal Spectres of evil yet to feel-- Its warmest love is blent with fears, Its confidence a trembling one-- Its smile--the harbinger of tears-- Its hope--the change of April's sun! A weary lot--in mercy given, To fit the chastened soul for heaven.

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.

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