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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
High
Horns
November
Wintry
Richer
Hoard
Corn
Lavish
Autumn
Horn
Farmers
Heap
Golden
Poured
Gift
Farmer

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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!
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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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Thine to work as well as pray, Clearing thorny wrongs away Plucking up the weeds of sin, Letting heaven's warm sunshine in.
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Thee lift me, and I lift thee, and together we ascend.
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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!
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In kindly showers and sunshine bud The branches of the dull gray wood Out from its sunned and sheltered nooks The blue eye of the violet looks.
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Quite the ugliest face I ever saw was that of a woman whom the world called beautiful. Through its silver veil the evil and ungentle passions looked out, hideous and hateful.
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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.
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Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed trust my spirit clings I know that God is good!
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With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!
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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.
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And step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.
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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!
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Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race!
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I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
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There's life alone in duty done, And rest alone in striving.
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For still in mutual sufferance lies The secret of true living Love scarce is love that never knows The sweetness of forgiving.
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And peace unweaponed conquers every wrong!
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