John Greenleaf Whittier

Press bravely onward!--not in vain
Your generous trust in human kind;
The good which bloodshed could not read more

Press bravely onward!--not in vain
Your generous trust in human kind;
The good which bloodshed could not gain
Your peaceful zeal shall find.

Again the blackbirds sings; the streams
Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams,
And tremble in the April read more

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

They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses read more

They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, That all of thee we loved and cherished Has with thy summer roses perished; And left, as its young beauty fled, An ashen memory in its stead.

And let these altars, wreathed with flowers
And piled with fruits, awake again
Thanksgivings for the golden read more

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

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at read more

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.