John Greenleaf Whittier Poems

A TALE for Roman guides to tell
To careless, sight-worn travellers still,
Who pause beside the narrow cell
Of Gregory on the Caelian Hill.
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Blest land of Judea! thrice hallowed of song,
Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng;
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1640-1890.

O river winding to the sea!
We call the old time back to thee;
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Out from Jerusalem
The king rode with his great
War chiefs and lords of state,
And Sheba's queen with them;
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THE moon has set: while yet the dawn
Breaks cold and gray,
Between the midnight and the morn
Bear off your prey!
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One Sabbath day my friend and I
After the meeting, quietly
Passed from the crowded village lanes,
White with dry dust for lack of rains,
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Still, as of old, in Beavor's Vale,
O man of God! our hope and faith
The Elements and Stars assail,
And the awed spirit holds its breath,
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Yes, pile the marble o'er him! It is well
That ye who mocked him in his long stern strife,
And planted in the pathway of his life
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Gone before us, O our brother,
To the spirit-land!
Vainly look we for another
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AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND.

HAPPY young friends, sit by me,
Under May's blown apple-tree,
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