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Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!
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
Gift
Farmer
High
Horns
November
Wintry
Richer
Hoard
Corn
Lavish
Autumn
Horn
Farmers
Heap
Golden
Poured
More quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier
Once more the liberal year laughs out O'er richer stores than gems or gold: Once more with harvest song and shout Is nature's boldest triumph told.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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.
John Greenleaf Whittier
The low green tent Whose curtain never outward swings.
John Greenleaf Whittier
There's life alone in duty done, And rest alone in striving.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Small leisure have the poor for grief.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.
John Greenleaf Whittier
Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn
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
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
This is truth the poet sings . . .
John Greenleaf Whittier
He is wisest, who only gives, True to himself, the best he can: Who drifting on the winds of praise, The inward monitor obeys. And with the boldness that confuses fear Takes in the crowded sail, and lets his conscience steer.
John Greenleaf Whittier
It is well for us if we have learned to listen to the sweet persuasion of the Beatitudes, but there are crises in all lives which require also the emphatic Thou shalt not of the decalogue which the founders wrote on the gateposts of their commonwealth.
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
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
Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone, How falls the polished hammer! Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown A quick and merry clamor. Now shape the sole! now deftly curl The glassy vamp around it, And bless the while the bright-eyed girl Whose gentle fingers bound it!
John Greenleaf Whittier
And step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.
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
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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.
John Greenleaf Whittier
I dimly guess, from blessings known, of greater out of sight.
John Greenleaf Whittier
