John Greenleaf Whittier

Strike! Thou the Master, we Thy keys, The anthem of the destinies! The minor of Thy loftier strain, Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain — "Thy will be done!"

For they the mind of Christ discern Who lean, like John, upon His breast.

As yonder tower outstretches to the earth The dark triangle of its shade alone When the clear day is shining on its top; So, darkness in the pathway of man's life Is but the shadow of God's providence, By the great Sun of wisdom cast …

God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late, They touch the shining hills of day; The evil cannot brook delay, The good can well afford to wait.

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, For rich repiner and household drudge! God pity them both! and pity us all, Who vainly the dreams of youth recall; For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been!"

Weary lawyers with endless tongues.

A manly form at her side she saw, And joy was duty and love was law. Then she took up her burden of life again, Saying only, "It might have been".

He wedded a wife of richest dower, Who lived for fashion, as he for power. Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, He watched a picture come and go: And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes Looked out in their innocent surprise.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, And Maud was left in the field alone. But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, When he hummed in court an old love-tune.

Maud Muller, on a summer's day, Raked the meadows sweet with hay. Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth Of simple beauty and rustic health.

The laws of changeless justice bind Oppressor with oppressed And close as sin and suffering joined We march to fate abreast.

Their right, like that of their white fellow-citizens, dates back to the dread arbitrament of war. Their bones whiten every stricken field of the Revolution; their feet tracked with blood the snows of Jersey; their toil built up every …

God is and all is well.

Sweeter than any sung My songs that found no tongue; Nobler than any fact My wish that failed of act. Others shall sing the song, Others shall right the wrong,—

Let the thick curtain fall; I better know than all How little I have gained, How vast the unattained.

Life is ever lord of Death And Love can never lose its own.

All hearts confess the saints elect, Who, twain in faith, in love agree, And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity!

Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores.

Falsehoods which we spurn to-day Were the truths of long ago.

The harp at Nature's advent strung Has never ceased to play; The song the stars of morning sung Has never died away.

To eat the lotus of the Nile And drink the poppies of Cathay.

Who never wins can rarely lose, Who never climbs as rarely falls.

Nature speaks in symbols and in signs.

We seemed to see our flag unfurled, Our champion waiting in his place For the last battle of the world, The Armageddon of the race.