John Greenleaf Whittier Poems on Christianity (105 Poems)

The Pennsylvania (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

PreludeI sing the Pilgrim of a softer climeAnd milder speech than those brave men’s who broughtTo the ice and iron of our winter timeA will as firm, a creed as stern, and wroughtWith one mailed hand, and with the other … Continue reading →

Aechdeacon Barbour (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

THROUGH the long hall the shuttered windows shedA dubious light on every upturned head;On locks like those of Absalom the fair,On the bald apex ringed with scanty hair,On blank indifference and on curious stare;On the pale Showman reading from his … Continue reading →

Among the Hills (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

PRELUDEALONG the roadside, like the flowers of goldThat tawny Incas for their gardens wrought,Heavy with sunshine droops the golden-rod,And the red pennons of the cardinal-flowersHang motionless upon their upright staves.The sky is hot and hazy, and the wind,Vying-weary with its … Continue reading →

Mogg Megone – Part II. (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

‘Tis morning over Norridgewock, —On tree and wigwam, wave and rock.Bathed in the autumnal sunshine, stirredAt intervals by breeze and bird,And wearing all the hues which glowIn heaven’s own pure and perfect bow,That glorious picture of the air,Which summer’s light-robed … Continue reading →

Miriam (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

One Sabbath day my friend and IAfter the meeting, quietlyPassed from the crowded village lanes,White with dry dust for lack of rains,And climbed the neighboring slope, with feetSlackened and heavy from the heat,Although the day was wellnigh done,And the low … Continue reading →

The Chapel of the Hermits (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

“I do believe, and yet, in grief,I pray for help to unbelief;For needful strength aside to layThe daily cumberings of my way. “I ‘m sick at heart of craft and cant,Sick of the crazed enthusiast’s rant,Profession’s smooth hypocrisies,And creeds of … Continue reading →

Mogg Megone – Part III. (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

Ah! weary Priest! — with pale hands pressedOn thy throbbing brow of pain,Baffled in thy life-long quest,Overworn with toiling vain,How ill thy troubled musings fitThe holy quiet of a breastWith the Dove of Peace at rest,Sweetly brooding over it.Thoughts are … Continue reading →

The Grave By The Lake (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

Where the Great Lake’s sunny smilesDimple round its hundred isles,And the mountain’s granite ledgeCleaves the water like a wedge,Ringed about with smooth, gray stones,Rest the giant’s mighty bones. Close beside, in shade and gleam,Laughs and ripples Melvin stream;Melvin water, mountain-born,All … Continue reading →

The Last Walk In Autumn (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

I.O’er the bare woods, whose outstretched handsPlead with the leaden heavens in vain,I see, beyond the valley lands,The sea’s long level dim with rain.Around me all things, stark and dumb,Seem praying for the snows to come,And, for the summer bloom … Continue reading →

The Tent On The Beach (John Greenleaf Whittier Poems)

I would not sin, in this half-playful strain,–Too light perhaps for serious years, though bornOf the enforced leisure of slow pain,–Against the pure ideal which has drawnMy feet to follow its far-shining gleam.A simple plot is mine: legends and runesOf … Continue reading →