Dear Friend, we come to yield anew
The reverence we owe thy name,
And celebrate with fresh acclaim
Our Quaker Poet, strong and true.
For though there needs no day of praise
For him who held with all his sect
That love and honor and respect
Belong alike to all our days,—
Yet do we love in special wise
To celebrate his natal day,
And, pausing in our onward way,
Look back awhile with reverent eyes
Upon his long and noble life,
A life as blameless and serene
As any that the world hae seen,—
Yet one that had its doubts and strife,
Its martyrdom to sternest duty
In days when men were weak with fear,
A life that grew from year to year
Nearer the type of godly beauty.
———
Lowly his birth, his fortunes low,
His kin a plain and simple folk;
The weight of toil and labor’s yoke
He learned from early years to know.
And yet there blossomed in his heart
A passion native-born and strong,
That made him love the poet’s song
And practise it with homely art.
A ‘barefoot boy’ he oft would climb,
In lonely mood, his favorite height,
And, gazing o’er the hills, recite
The songs of Burns, or set to rhyme
His thoughts of fields and woods below,
The grassy meads and joyous brooks,
The flowery banks and sylvan nooks,
And the blue river’s peaceful flow.
And as he strengthened day by day
His touch upon the lyric string,
The world was glad to hear him sing,
This nightingale in Quaker gray.
But when there swept across the land
The ebb and flow of Freedom’s tide,
The tuneful harp was laid aside,
And Whittier stood hand in hand
With those great souls so true and brave,
Who led the van of that crusade
Which cleansed the sullied land and made
A freeman of the shackled slave.
‘Twas then he shone upon our sight
A second Milton among men,
The poet scourging with his pen
The enemies of truth and right.
And still like that great Puritan—
When peace succeeded iron war,
He donned his singing robes once more,
And, newly heartened by the span
Of those dark years, he sang with tone
So full of hope, so large and free,
It made the mourning nation see
That o’er the hills the sun still shone.
He sang in songs of many keys,—
He sang of home and sweet content,
And through his verses came the scent
Of flowers, and sounds of birds and bees.
He sang of duty, faith, and love,
He sang the brotherhood of man,
And ever shorter made the span
That parts us from the life above.
The life above,—ah, it is thine,
Dear Heart, for, ever through the years,
Through all thy human hopes and fears,
There gleamed a spirit half divine,—
A spirit that in all its moods
Of joy and grief obeyed the Light,
That read the laws of God aright
And followed the Beatitudes.
His creed,—and who shall name his creed?—
If so we may those feelings call
That were too wide for ritual,
That asked no priest to intercede
With service born of man’s device,—
But rested in the faith content
That God is good, that reverent
And upright living is the price
Of joy beyond. So while he stood
Within the faith his fathers held,
His great and loving heart out-welled
Towards all the human brotherhood.
O gentle Friend, serene and strong,
O Poet, sweet and tender-true,
Thy work was such as martyrs do,
Thy life one grand and noble song!
(John Russell Hayes)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Man Poems, God Poems, Life Poems, World Poems, Light Poems, Sadness Poems, War & Peace Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Friendship Poems, Name PoemsBased on Keywords: whittier, heartened, native-born, tender-true