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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
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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
Knowing
March
North
Boughs
Wild
Arch
Sky
Arches
Sea
Shaken
Watches
Blowing
Watch
Smiling
Wind
Gray
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I dimly guess, from blessings known, of greater out of sight.
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They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, that all of thee we loved and cherished has with thy summer roses perished and left, as its young beauty fled, an ashen memory in its stead.
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From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.
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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.
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Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his Hope with all.
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The still, sad music of humanity.
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The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.
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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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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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Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!
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Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.
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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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The child must teach the man.
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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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Nothing before, nothing behind The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The Rock beneath.
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The good is always beautiful, the beautiful is good!
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And step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.
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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.
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The low green tent Whose curtain never outward swings.
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