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Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, So Bonnie Doon but tarry Blot out the epic's stately rhyme, But spare his Highland Mary!
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
Teeth
Stately
Give
Blot
Giving
Pomp
Time
Spare
Doon
Spares
Lettered
Epic
Highland
Rhyme
Tarry
Mary
Bonnie
More quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier
For still in mutual sufferance lies The secret of true living Love scarce is love that never knows The sweetness of forgiving.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Time is hastening on, and we What our fathers are shall be,-- Shadow-shapes of memory! Joined to that vast multitude Where the great are but the good.
John Greenleaf Whittier
The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.
John Greenleaf Whittier
A felon's cell-- The fittest earthly type of hell!
John Greenleaf Whittier
With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight, From Life's glad morning to its solemn night Yet, through the dear Lord's love, I also show There's light above me by the shade I throw.
John Greenleaf Whittier
No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, Those miracles of power whose fame Is wide as human thought.
John Greenleaf Whittier
The age is dull and mean. Men creep, Not walk with blood too pale and tame To pay the debt they owe to shame Buy cheap, sell dear eat. drink, and sleep down-pillowed, deaf to moaning want Pay tithes for soul-insurance keep Six days to Mammon, one to Cant
John Greenleaf Whittier
Better heresy of doctrine than heresy of heart.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Simple duty hath no place for fear.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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
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!
John Greenleaf Whittier
Small leisure have the poor for grief.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing the glory to God and of good-will to man!
John Greenleaf Whittier
God is good and God is light In this faith I rest secure, Evil can but serve the right, Over all shall love endure.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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
The child must teach the man.
John Greenleaf Whittier
The low green tent Whose curtain never outward swings.
John Greenleaf Whittier
