Sarah Josepha Buell Hale

Sarah Josepha Buell Hale Poems

The outward world, for rugged toil designed,
Where Evil from true Good the crown hath riven,
Hath been to men's dominion ever given;

And thou art gone! the Bridal Rose
Fresh on thy laurelled head;
A land of new, wild, wondrous scenes
Before thy fancy spread-

Earth held no symbol, had no living sign
To image forth the Mother's deathless love;
And so the tender care the righteous prove

My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
And thy spirit will sigh to roam:
And thou must go; but never, when there,
Forget the light of home.

The Daughter from her father's bosom goes-
The Sister drops her brother's clasping hand-
For God himself ordained a holier band

Around the sides of Etna
How fair the gardens grow,-

One came with light and laughing air,
And cheek like opening blossom,-
Bright gems were twined amid her hair,
And glittered on her bosom,

Many, many years ago,
When all the world moved very slow;
Before the light of Science broke,

It was two hundred years ago,
When moved the world so very slow,
And when the wide Atlantic Sea


Ye may place the trusty guard,
Bolt the dark and narrow room,
Bind the heavy fetter hard,
Till the links the flesh consume;

We bring no earthly wreath for Time;
To man th'immortal Time was given-
Years should be marked by deeds sublime,
That elevate his soul to heaven.

Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And every where that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go;

The iron cares that load and press men down
A father can, like school-boy tasks, lay by,
When gazing in his Daughter's loving eye,

Wild as a cold, o'er prairies bounding free,
The wakened spirit of the Boy doth spring,
Spurning the rein authority would fling,

The birds their love-notes warble
Among the blossomed trees;
The flowers are sighing forth their sweets

Pale Zephyrus is yielding
His last and sweetest sighs,

When soft the gales are blowing,
And calm is ocean's wave,
So small the danger seemeth

There is no form upon our earth
That bears the mighty Maker's seal,
But has some charm:-to draw this forth,
We must have hearts to feel.

I have learned my lesson,
And mother said
She would give me a kiss

Sarah Josepha Buell Hale Biography

Sarah Josepha Buell Hale (October 24, 1788 - April 30, 1879) was an American writer and an influential editor. She is the author of the nursery rhyme "Mary Had a Little Lamb". She famously campaigned for the creation of the American holiday known as Thanksgiving.)

The Best Poem Of Sarah Josepha Buell Hale

My Country

America! my own dear land-
O, 'tis a lovely land to me;
I thank my God that I was born
Where man is free!

Our land- it is a glorious land-
And wide it spreads from sea to sea-
And sister States in Union join
And all are free.

And equal laws we all obey-
To kings we never bend the knee-
We may not own no Lord but God
Where all are free.

We've lofty hills and sunny vales
And streams that roll to either sea-
And through this large and varied land
Alike we're free.

You hear the sounds of healthful toil,
And youth's gay shout and childhood's glee,
And every one in safety dwells,
And all are free.

We're brothers all from South to North,
One bond will draw us to agree-
We love this country of our birth-
We love the free-

We love the name of Washington,
I lisped it on my father's knee-
And we shall ne'er forget the _name_
While we are free.

My Land, my own dear native Land,
Thou art a lovely land to me;
I bless my God that I was born
Where man is free!

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