255 Quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier

Beauty seen is never lost, God’s colors all are fast.

From purest wells of English undefiled None deeper drank than he, the New World’s Child, Who in the language of their farm field spoke The wit and wisdom of New England folk.

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing, under the sky’s gray arch. Smiling, I watch the shaken elm boughs, knowing It is the wind of March.

Autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter’s snow.

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.

Methinks I see the sunset light flooding the river valley, the western hills stretching to the horizon, overhung with trees gorgeous and glowing with the tints of autumn – a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.

The continuity of life is never broken; the river flows onward and is lost to our sight, but under its new horizon it carries the same waters which it gathered under ours, and its unseen valleys are made glad by the offerings which are borne down to them from the past, – flowers, perchance, the germs of which its own waves had planted on the banks of Time.

Heap high the farmer’s wintry hoard! Heap high the golden corn! No richer gift has Autumn poured From out her lavish horn!

And sweet and far as from a star, replied a voice which shall not cease, till drowning all the noise of war, it sings the blessed song of peace.