 | Poems of house and home |  |
111
A VOICE IN OHIO.
DECEMBER 17, 1877.
By my quick firelight rapt and still,
High on this black Ohio hill,
I think of him who crossed to-day
The snow-roofed boundary of our way
(His book upon my table lies,
Look from my wall his grave, sweet eyes),
The poet, who, in many a song,
Quickening unnumbered hearts so long,
Has breathed New England's spirit forth
From East to West, through South and North—
Not the witch-burning bigot's rage,
That soiled her first heroic page,
But that, sweet, tender, warm and good,
Confirming human brotherhood;
Religious with diviner scope;
Wide-armed with charity and hope;
Lighter of household fires that bless
The fast-withdrawing wilderness
(Keeping old home-stars burning clear
In Memory's holy atmosphere);
Sowing the waste with seeds of light;
Righteous with wrath at wrongful might:
Such is thy better spirit, known
Wherever Whittier's songs have flown;—
Thy greater, larger, nobler air,
New England, thus is everywhere!
What though no kith or kin of mine
Came with the Mayflower o'er the brine,
(I know not—the dear Lord only knows:
No wide-branched family record shows!)
Grudge me not local pride—aye much—
In him, New England! French and Dutch
(We also fled for conscience' sake,
From zealot sword, revival stake),
Was I not taught by thy wise rule
In the great Western Yankee school?
Was I not shaped by thine and thee
In almost all that now makes me?
So, while my pulses warm and stir,
I truly am a New Englander!
High on this black Ohio hill,
I think of him who crossed to-day
The snow-roofed boundary of our way
(His book upon my table lies,
Look from my wall his grave, sweet eyes),
The poet, who, in many a song,
Quickening unnumbered hearts so long,
Has breathed New England's spirit forth
From East to West, through South and North—
112
That soiled her first heroic page,
But that, sweet, tender, warm and good,
Confirming human brotherhood;
Religious with diviner scope;
Wide-armed with charity and hope;
Lighter of household fires that bless
The fast-withdrawing wilderness
(Keeping old home-stars burning clear
In Memory's holy atmosphere);
Sowing the waste with seeds of light;
Righteous with wrath at wrongful might:
Such is thy better spirit, known
Wherever Whittier's songs have flown;—
Thy greater, larger, nobler air,
New England, thus is everywhere!
113
Came with the Mayflower o'er the brine,
(I know not—the dear Lord only knows:
No wide-branched family record shows!)
Grudge me not local pride—aye much—
In him, New England! French and Dutch
(We also fled for conscience' sake,
From zealot sword, revival stake),
Was I not taught by thy wise rule
In the great Western Yankee school?
Was I not shaped by thine and thee
In almost all that now makes me?
So, while my pulses warm and stir,
I truly am a New Englander!
Blessings be with him—praise, less worth;
Why ask long-added hours of earth?
Grateful, if given, these shall come.
Birds, sing to the reaper going home,
Singing himself—his work well-done.
Shine on him, slow, soft-setting sun!
Why ask long-added hours of earth?
114
Birds, sing to the reaper going home,
Singing himself—his work well-done.
Shine on him, slow, soft-setting sun!
North Bend, Ohio.
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