255 Quotes by John Greenleaf Whittier

Up from the meadows rich with corn / Clear in the cool September morn.

Oh for boyhood's time of June, / Crowding years in one brief moon, / When all things I heard or saw, / Me, their master, waited for.

The end has come, as come it must / To all things; in these sweet June days / The teacher and the scholar trust / Their parting feet to separate ways.

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

The settler saw his oaken flail / Take bud, and bloom before his eyes / From frozen pools he saw the pale / Sweet summer lilies rise.

Drop thy still dews of quietness / Till all our strivings cease; / Take from our soul the strain and stress,/ And let our ordered lives confess / The beauty of thy peace.

We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain, / Beneath the sun of May, / And frightened from our sprouting grain / The robber crows away.

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.

The sunset fires will burn / The flowers will blow, the river flow / When I no more return.