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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.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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John Greenleaf Whittier
Age: 84 †
Born: 1807
Born: December 17
Died: 1892
Died: September 7
Journalist
Lawyer
Poet
Writer
Haverhill
Massachusetts
Sells
Loaves
Thou
Hyacinths
Fortune
Dole
Left
Bereft
Two
Store
Soul
Feed
Stores
Sell
More quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier
I dimly guess, from blessings known, of greater out of sight.
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Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
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Falsehoods which we spurn today, were the truths of long ago.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, So Bonnie Doon but tarry Blot out the epic's stately rhyme, But spare his Highland Mary!
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And light is mingled with the gloom, And joy with grief Divinest compensations come, Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom In sweet relief.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn
John Greenleaf Whittier
A charmed life old goodness hath the tares may perish, but the grain is not for death.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Press bravely onward! - not in vainYour generous trust in human kindThe good which bloodshed could not gainYour peaceful zeal shall find.
John Greenleaf Whittier
And peace unweaponed conquers every wrong!
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Children have neither past nor future - they rejoice in the present.
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God's providence is not blind, but full of eyes.
John Greenleaf Whittier
God blesses still the generous thought,And still the fitting word He speeds,And Truth, at His requiring taught,He quickens into deeds.
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And I will trust that He who heeds The life that hides in mead and wold, Who hangs you alder's crimson beads, And stains these mosses green and gold, Will still, as He hath done, incline His gracious care to me and mine.
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No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.
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Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing, under the sky's gray arch. Smiling, I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing It is the wind of March.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Despair is infidelity and death.
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Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness His own thy will.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Through the open door A drowsy smell of flowers -grey heliotrope And white sweet clover, and shy mignonette Comes fairly in, and silent chorus leads To the pervading symphony of Peace.
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Drop Thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess The beauty of Thy peace.
John Greenleaf Whittier
For still the new transcends the old In signs and tokens manifold Slaves rise up men the olive waves, With roots deep set in battle graves!
John Greenleaf Whittier