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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.
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
Thousand
Linked
Woof
Break
Organs
Warp
Running
Thread
Destinies
Like
Sympathy
Jars
Vast
Pluck
Fast
Organ
Keys
Woven
Destiny
Mars
More quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier
Bathsheba! to whom none ever said scat- No worthier cat Ever sat on a mat, Or caught a rat. Requiescat!
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The hope of all earnest souls must be realized.
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Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness His own thy will.
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Beauty is its own excuse.
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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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From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.
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Through the dark and stormy night Faith beholds a feeble light Up the blackness streaking Knowing God's own time is best, In a patient hope I rest For the full day-breaking!
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Simple duty hath no place for fear.
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Better heresy of doctrine than heresy of heart.
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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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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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Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.
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Small leisure have the poor for grief.
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Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!
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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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From purest wells of English undefiled None deeper drank than he, the New World's Child, Who in the language of their farm field spoke The wit and wisdom of New England folk.
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Give fools their gold, and knaves their power let fortune's bubbles rise and fall who sows a field, or trains a flower, or plants a tree, is more than all.
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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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The still, sad music of humanity.
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Beneath the winter's snow lie germs of summer flowers.
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