The age is dull and mean. Men creep, Not walk; with blood too pale and tame To pay the debt they owe to shame; Buy cheap, sell dear; eat. drink, and sleep down-pillowed, deaf to moaning want; Pay tithes for soul-insurance; keep Six days to Mammon, one to Cant
Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone, How falls the polished hammer! Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown A quick and merry clamor. Now shape the sole! now deftly curl The glassy vamp around it, And bless the while the bright-eyed girl Whose gentle fingers bound it!
I'll lift you and you lift me, and we'll both ascend together. John Greenleaf Whittie
And the more you spend in blessing The poor and lonely and sad, The more of your heart's possessing Returns to you glad.
Press bravely onward! - not in vainYour generous trust in human kind;The good which bloodshed could not gainYour peaceful zeal shall find.
With silence only as their benediction, God's angels come Where in the shadow of a great affliction, The soul sits dumb!
Around the mighty master cameThe marvels which his pencil wrought,Those miracles of power whose fameIs wide as human thought.
Let the thick curtain fall;I better know than allHow little I have gained,How vast the unattained.
We live by faith; but Faith is not the slave Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds. What asks our Father of His children, save Justice and mercy and humility, A reasonable service of good deeds, Pure living, tenderness to human needs, Reverence and trus
The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.
Peace hath higher tests of manhood, than battle ever knew. John Greenleaf Whittie
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
Ah, that I were free again! Free as when I rode that day, Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay
the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you
Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl
You don't always win your battles, but it's good to know you fought. John Greenleaf Whittie
Simple duty hath no place for fear.
Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores.
The dreariest spot in all the land to Death they set apart; with scanty grace from Nature's hand, and none from that of Art.
They who wander widest lift No more of beauties' jealous veils, Than they who from their doorways see The miracle of flowers and trees.
Time is hastening on, and weWhat our fathers are shall be,--Shadow-shapes of memory!Joined to that vast multitudeWhere the great are but the good.
No cloud above, no earth below, A universe of sky and snow.
And step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.
Somewhat of goodness, something trueFrom sun and spirit shining throughAll faiths, all worlds, as through the darkOf ocean shines the lighthouse spark,Attests the presence everywhereOf love and providential care.
Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty.
What, my soul, was thy errand here?Was it mirth or ease,Or heaping up dust from year to year?"Nay, none of these!"Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight,Whose eye looks stillAnd steadily on thee through the night;"To do His will!
To be saved is only this-salvation from our own selfishness.
The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.
Unknown to her the rigid rule, the dull restraint, the chiding frown, the weary torture of the school, the taming of wild nature down.
No longer forward or behind I look in hope or fear, But grateful, take the good I find, The best of now and here.