The Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier

No sign we saw, we heard no voices call; Yet, loving beauty, thou couldst pass
The impenetrable wall

And for the poor deny

it by,

Cast down its shadow, like an awful Thyself, and see thy fresh, sweet flower

doubt,

On all who sat without.

of fame Wither in blight and blame.

Of many a hint of life beyond the veil, 25 Sharing His love who holds in His And many a ghostly tale

Wherewith the ages spanned the gulf

between

The seen and the unseen,

embrace

The lowliest of our race, Sure the Divine economy must be Conservative of thee!

Seeking from omen, trance, and dream For truth must live with truth, self

to gain

Solace to doubtful pain,

sacrifice

Seek out its great allies;

And touch, with groping hands, the gar- Good must find good by gravitation sure,

ment hem

1881.

As a guest who may not stay
Long and sad farewells to say
Glides with smiling face away,

Of the sweetness and the zest
Of thy happy life possessed
Thou hast left us at thy best.

Warm of heart and clear of brain,
Of thy sun-bright spirit's wane
Thou hast spared us all the pain.

Now that thou hast gone away,
What is left of one to say
Who was open as the day?

What is there to gloss or shun?
Save with kindly voices none
Speak thy name beneath the sun.
Safe thou art on every side,
Friendship nothing finds to hide,
Love's demand is satisfied.

ΙΟ

Wilson

WILSON.

235

Read at the Massachusetts Club on the seventieth anniversary of the birthday of Vice-President Wilson, February 16, 1882.

THE lowliest born of all the land,
He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand
The gifts which happier boyhood claims;
And, tasting on a thankless soil
The bitter bread of unpaid toil,

He fed his soul with noble aims.
And Nature, kindly provident,
To him the future's promise lent;
The powers that shape man's destinies,
Patience and faith and toil, he knew,
The close horizon round him grew
Broad with great possibilities.

By the low hearth-fire's fitful blaze
He read of old heroic days,

ΙΟ

The sage's thought, the patriot's speech; Unhelped, alone, himself he taught, 35 His school the craft at which he wrought, His lore the book within his reach.

He stood the unquestioned peer of all.
Beyond the accident of birth
He proved his simple manhood's worth;
Ancestral pride and classic grace
Confessed the large-brained artisan,
So clear of sight, so wise in plan
And counsel, equal to his place.

With glance intuitive he saw
Through all disguise of form and law,
And read men like an open book;
Fearless and firm, he never quailed
Nor turned aside for threats, nor failed
To do the thing he undertook
How wise, how brave, he was, how well
He bore himself, let history tell

THE POET AND THE CHILDREN.

LONGFELLOW.

WITH a glory of winter sunshine
Over his locks of gray,
In the old historic mansion

He sat on his last birthday;

With his books and his pleasant pictures,
And his household and his kin,
While a sound as of myriads singing
From far and near stole in.

It came from his own fair city,

From the prairie's boundless plain,
From the Golden Gate of sunset,

And the cedarn woods of Maine.
And his heart grew warm within him,
And his moistening eyes grew dim,
For he knew that his country's children
Were singing the songs of him:

The lays of his life's glad morning,
The psalms of his evening time,
Whose echoes shall float forever
On the winds of every clime.

All their beautiful consolations,
Sent forth like birds of cheer,
Came flocking back to his windows,
And sang in the Poet's ear.

Grateful, but solemn and tender,
The music rose and fell

A WELCOME TO LOWELL.

TAKE our hands, James Russell Lowell,
Our hearts are all thy own;

To-day we bid thee welcome
Not for ourselves alone.

In the long years of thy absence
Some of us have grown old,
And some have passed the portals
Of the Mystery untold;

For the hands that cannot clasp thee,
10 For each and all I bid thee
For the voices that are dumb,

Ιό

A grateful welcome home!

For Cedarcroft's sweet singer
To the nine-fold Muses dear;
For the Seer the winding Concord
Paused by his door to hear;

ΙΟ

With a joy akin to sadness
And a greeting like farewell.

The golden lips are still!

For her whose life of duty

The last of earth and the first of heaven
Seemed in the songs they sung.

And waiting a little longer

For the wonderful change to come,

He heard the Summoning Angel,

Who calls God's children home!

And to him in a holier welcome

Was the mystical meaning given Of the words of the blessed Master:

For the old friends unforgotten,
For the young thou hast not known,

'Of such is the kingdom of heaven!' 40 I speak their heart-warm greeting;

1882.

Come back and take thy own!

Who sang Saint Agnes' Eve! How passing And Avalon's rock; make populous the fair

sea

Hershapes took color in thy homestead air! Round Grand Manan with eager finny How on thy canvas even her dreams were

truth!

Magician who from commonest elements
Called up divine ideals, clothed upon
By mystic lights soft blending into one
Womanly grace and child-like innocence.
Teacher! thy lesson was not given in vain.
Beauty is goodness; ugliness is sin:
Art's place is sacred: nothing foul therein
May crawl or tread with bestial feet
pro-
fane.

ΙΟ

If rightly choosing is the painter's test, Thy choice, O master, ever was the best. 1885.

MULFORD.

swarms,

Break the long calms, and charm away

the storms.

OAK KNOLL, 23, 3rd mo., 1886.

SAMUEL J. TILDEN.
GREYSTONE, AUG. 4, 1886.

;

ONCE
more, O all-adjusting Death!
The nation's Pantheon opens wide
Once more a common sorrow saith
A strong, wise man has died.
Faults doubtless had he. Had we not 5
Our own, to question and asperse

Author of The Nation and The Republic of God. The worth we doubted or forgot

UNNOTED as the setting of a star

He passed; and sect and party scarcely knew

When from their midst a sage and seer withdrew

To fitter audience, where the great dead

are

In God's republic of the heart and mind,
Leaving no purer, nobler soul behind. 6

1886.

TO A CAPE ANN SCHOONER. LUCK to the craft that bears this name of mine,

Good fortune follow with her golden

spoon

Until beside his hearse?