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The hope of all earnest souls must be realized.

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
Earnest
Souls
Realized
Hope
Soul
Must

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Love hath never known a law beyond its own sweet will.
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The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
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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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Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, So Bonnie Doon but tarry Blot out the epic's stately rhyme, But spare his Highland Mary!
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Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race!
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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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And let these altars, wreathed with flowers And piled with fruits, awake again Thanksgivings for the golden hours, The early and the latter rain!
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Falsehoods which we spurn today, were the truths of long ago.
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Despair is infidelity and death.
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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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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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Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!
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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.
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O brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there To worship rightly is to love each other, Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer.
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What does the good ship bear so well? The cocoa-nut with its stony shell, And the milky sap of its inner cell.
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O Time and change! - with hair as gray as was my sire's that winter day, how strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on!
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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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Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant.
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Children have neither past nor future - they rejoice in the present.
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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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