The Works of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6

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Houghton, Mifflin, 1892
 

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Page 93 - What wondrous life is this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Page 98 - He nothing common did, or mean, Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try ; Nor called the gods with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless right, But bowed his comely head Down, as upon a bed.
Page 100 - War's and Fortune's son, March indefatigably on ; And for the last effect Still keep the sword erect : Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain A power, must it maintain.
Page 97 - Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, And cast the Kingdoms old Into another mould.
Page 93 - twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new; Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run, And, as it works, the industrious bee Computes its time as well as we ! How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers...
Page 30 - I am somewhat too fond of these great mercies, but also because I should have often brought to my mind the many hardships, miseries, and wants, that my poor family was like to meet with, should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all beside. Oh ! the thoughts of the hardship I thought my poor blind one might go under, would break my heart to pieces.
Page 32 - This black den which rocks emboss, Overgrown with eldest moss: The rude portals that give light More to terror than delight; This my chamber of neglect, Walled about with disrespect. From all these, and this dull air, A fit object for despair, She hath taught me by her might To draw comfort and delight.
Page 30 - Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows trust in me.
Page 43 - And so did I. Which made my reading the more acceptable to my master. He, on the other hand, perceiving with what earnest desire I pursued learning, gave me not only all the encouragement but all the help he could ; for, having a curious ear, he understood by my tone when I understood what I read and when I did not ; and accordingly would stop me, examine me, and open the most difficult passages to me.
Page 20 - Look at the generations of old, and see : did ever any trust in the Lord, and was confounded ? or did any abide in His fear, and was forsaken ? or whom did He ever despise, that called upon Him...

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