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Again the blackbirds sings the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.
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
Streams
Flowers
Tassels
Wake
Blackbirds
Winter
Maple
Flower
Tremble
Dreams
Sings
Laughing
April
Dream
Showers
More quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier
The good is always beautiful, the beautiful is good!
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The child must teach the man.
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God's providence is not blind, but full of eyes.
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Press bravely onward! - not in vainYour generous trust in human kindThe good which bloodshed could not gainYour peaceful zeal shall find.
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Nothing before, nothing behind The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The Rock beneath.
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Thine to work as well as pray, Clearing thorny wrongs away Plucking up the weeds of sin, Letting heaven's warm sunshine in.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Thee lift me, and I lift thee, and together we ascend.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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
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Rest if you must, but never quit.
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Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!
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A charmed life old goodness hath the tares may perish, but the grain is not for death.
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Love hath never known a law beyond its own sweet will.
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What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?
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The sooner we recognize the fact that the mercy of the Almighty extends to every creature endowed with life, the better it will be for us as men and Christians.
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The green earth sends her incense up. From many a mountain shrine From folded leaf and dewey cup She pours her sacred wine.
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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.
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!
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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
Like warp and woof all destinies Are woven fast, Linked in sympathy like the keys Of an organ vast. Pluck one thread, and the web ye mar Break but one Of a thousand keys, and the paining jar Through all will run.
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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
