John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old,
Formless and void the dead earth rolled;
Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind
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A PIOUS magistrate! sound his praise throughout
The wondering churches. Who shall henceforth doubt
That the long-wished millennium draweth nigh?
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Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day,
Without the walls of Strasburg, by the Rhine,
Pondering the solemn Miracle of Life;
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As a guest who may not stay
Long and sad farewells to say
Glides with smiling face away,
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Around Sebago's lonely lake
There lingers not a breeze to break
The mirror which its waters make.
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From the Mahabharata.

Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer
Is swift or slow Disease, lay up each year
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NIGHT on the city of the Moor!
On mosque and tomb, and white-walled shore,
On sea-waves, to whose ceaseless knock
The narrow harbor gates unlock,
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A track of moonlight on a quiet lake,
Whose small waves on a silver-sanded shore
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Pipes of the misty moorlands,
Voice of the glens and hills;
The droning of the torrents,
The treble of the rills!
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THE storm and peril overpast,
The hounding hatred shamed and still,
Go, soul of freedom! take at last
The place which thou alone canst fill.
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