Best 155 quotes of John Greenleaf Whittier on MyQuotes

A bending staff I would not break, A feeble faith I would not shake, Nor even rashly pluck away The error which some truth may stay, Whose loss might leave the soul without A shield against the shafts of doubt.

A charmed life old goodness hath; the tares may perish, but the grain is not for death.

A faint blush melting through the light of thy transparent cheek like a rose-leaf bathed in dew.

A felon's cell-- The fittest earthly type of hell!

Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.

A grateful loving heart carries with it, under every parallel of latitude, the warmth and light of the tropics. It plants its Eden in the wilderness and solitary place, and sows with flowers the gray desolation of rock and mosses.

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and South, come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before. What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?

Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play!

A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year. These make a merry christmas!

All day the darkness and the cold Upon my heart have lain Like shadows on the winter sky Like frost upon the pane

All the windows of my heart I open to the day.

Along the river's summer walk, The withered tufts of asters nod; And trembles on its arid stalk the hoar plum of the golden-rod.

And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood. And close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October's wood.

And I will trust that He who heeds The life that hides in mead and wold, Who hangs you alder's crimson beads, And stains these mosses green and gold, Will still, as He hath done, incline His gracious care to me and mine.

And let these altars, wreathed with flowers And piled with fruits, awake again Thanksgivings for the golden hours, The early and the latter rain!

And light is mingled with the gloom, And joy with grief; Divinest compensations come, Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom In sweet relief.

And step by step, since time began, I see the steady gain of man.

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

And the more you spend in blessing The poor and lonely and sad, The more of your heart's possessing Returns to you glad.

Around the mighty master came The marvels which his pencil wrought, Those miracles of power whose fame Is wide as human thought.

A true life is at once interpreter and proof of the gospel.

At what point does a man turn into a monster? I don’t believe that it’s when he does horrible things, but when he accepts that he’s able to do them, and that he does them well.

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

Bathsheba! to whom none ever said scat- No worthier cat Ever sat on a mat, Or caught a rat. Requiescat!

Beauty is its own excuse.

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

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For God, who loveth all his works, Has left his Hope with all.

Beneath the winter's snow lie germs of summer flowers.

Better heresy of doctrine than heresy of heart.

Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease; Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing the glory to God and of good-will to man!

But let the good old corn adorn The hills our fathers trod; Still let us, for his golden corn, Send up our thanks to God!

Children have neither past nor future - they rejoice in the present.

Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant.

Dear Lord and Father of mankind, Forgive our foolish ways! Re-clothe us in our rightful mind, In purer lives thy service find, In deeper reverence praise

Despair is infidelity and death.

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

Every chain that spirits wear crumbles in the breadth of prayer.

Falsehoods which we spurn today, were the truths of long ago.

Few have borne unconsciously the spell of loveliness.

Flowers spring to blossom where she walks The careful ways of duty; Our hard, stiff lines of life with her Are flowing curves of beauty.

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

Formed on the good old plan, A true and brave and downright honest man! He blew no trumpet in the market-place, Nor in the church with hypocritic face Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace; Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will What others talked of while their hands were still.

For still in mutual sufferance lies The secret of true living; Love scarce is love that never knows The sweetness of forgiving.

For still the new transcends the old In signs and tokens manifold; Slaves rise up men; the olive waves, With roots deep set in battle graves!

Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race!

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.

From the death of the old the new proceeds, and the life of truth from the death of creeds.

God blesses still the generous thought,And still the fitting word He speeds,And Truth, at His requiring taught,He quickens into deeds.

God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed.

God gives quietness at last.