John Greenleaf Whittier

Of all the words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these... it might have been.

Of all the words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these... it might have been.

Feast of Cyril & Methodius, Missionaries to the Slavs, 869 & 885 Commemoration of Valentine, Martyr at Rome, c.269 I read more

Feast of Cyril & Methodius, Missionaries to the Slavs, 869 & 885 Commemoration of Valentine, Martyr at Rome, c.269 I see the wrong that round me lies, I feel the guilt within; I hear, with groan and travail-cries, The world confess its sin. Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed trust my spirit clings I know that God is good!

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.

We search the world for truth; we cull
The good, the pure, the beautiful,
From all old read more

We search the world for truth; we cull
The good, the pure, the beautiful,
From all old flower fields of the soul;
And, weary seeker of the best,
We come back laden from out quest,
To find that all the sages said
Is in the Book our mothers read.

Cast not the clouded gem away,
Quench not the dim but living ray,--
My brother man, Beware!
read more

Cast not the clouded gem away,
Quench not the dim but living ray,--
My brother man, Beware!
With that deep voice which from the skies
Forbade the Patriarch's sacrifice.
God's angel, cries, Forbear!