[Ode to Whittier, in] A memorial of John Greenleaf Whittier from his native city Haverhill Massachusetts |
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 | [Ode to Whittier, in] A memorial of John Greenleaf Whittier |  |
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ODE TO WHITTIER.
I.
If Industry, Humanity, and Truth
Have laid the solid stepping-stones of Youth,
If they have smiled upon a Summer-time,
And strewed with flowers the pathway of a prime,
If tenderly they have bent down and kissed
A toil-worn brow amid the Autumn mist,
If they have decked, with e'er-increasing glow,
Unsullied drifts of Manhood's purest snow,
If every action Memory leads to mind
Has been a free help-offering to mankind,
Until the good man's very form and face
Becomes a benediction to his race,—
Have laid the solid stepping-stones of Youth,
If they have smiled upon a Summer-time,
And strewed with flowers the pathway of a prime,
If tenderly they have bent down and kissed
A toil-worn brow amid the Autumn mist,
If they have decked, with e'er-increasing glow,
Unsullied drifts of Manhood's purest snow,
If every action Memory leads to mind
Has been a free help-offering to mankind,
Until the good man's very form and face
Becomes a benediction to his race,—
Then let the world take cheer;
But when within that life of goodly fame
Creeps Genius, with its ne'er-extinguished flame,
Till every thought reverberates afar,
And every word throws radiance like a star,
And Honor's torch lights up its every hour,
And the whole world admits a master's power,
When every moon has listened, fondly long,
To the sweet cadence of another song,
And each sun's golden finger has thrown bare
The mighty thoughts that made their ambush there,—
But when within that life of goodly fame
Creeps Genius, with its ne'er-extinguished flame,
Till every thought reverberates afar,
And every word throws radiance like a star,
And Honor's torch lights up its every hour,
And the whole world admits a master's power,
When every moon has listened, fondly long,
To the sweet cadence of another song,
And each sun's golden finger has thrown bare
The mighty thoughts that made their ambush there,—
Then reverence must appear;
Then the proud earth its wrinkled hand must raise,
And crown the singer with its choicest bays;
And so, to-day, we ask the world to praise
Our good and grand Whittier!
Then the proud earth its wrinkled hand must raise,
And crown the singer with its choicest bays;
And so, to-day, we ask the world to praise
Our good and grand Whittier!
II.
Sing, Merrimac! lift thy sweet voice above
All other streams; thou wast his river-love!
Through thy green valleys crept the unclad feet
That soon should walk Fame's palace-bordered street;
Upon thy banks first flashed the dreams in view,
That brightened all the world in coming true;
He loved the gallant words and deeds to praise
Of thy advance-guard of Colonial days;
He loved upon Fame's canvas high to lift
Thy brilliant present, with its scenes of thrift;
He strove to make thy future doubly sure,
With precepts, which like diamonds will endure;
All other streams; thou wast his river-love!
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That soon should walk Fame's palace-bordered street;
Upon thy banks first flashed the dreams in view,
That brightened all the world in coming true;
He loved the gallant words and deeds to praise
Of thy advance-guard of Colonial days;
He loved upon Fame's canvas high to lift
Thy brilliant present, with its scenes of thrift;
He strove to make thy future doubly sure,
With precepts, which like diamonds will endure;
His spirit lingers here!
Thou wast his teacher: from thy lips he learned
Lessons that lesser men had lost or spurned:
As thou couldst smile at sky and cloud and tree,
And pave with song thy pathway to the sea,
And still couldst pause, in needful time and place,
To toil and struggle for the human race,
So he could court the zephyr or the flower
That helped to pass a sweetly idle hour,
Then fly away from pleasures, when he ought,
To turn the massive enginery of thought,
Thou wast his teacher: from thy lips he learned
Lessons that lesser men had lost or spurned:
As thou couldst smile at sky and cloud and tree,
And pave with song thy pathway to the sea,
And still couldst pause, in needful time and place,
To toil and struggle for the human race,
So he could court the zephyr or the flower
That helped to pass a sweetly idle hour,
Then fly away from pleasures, when he ought,
To turn the massive enginery of thought,
For bringing Heaven more near!
So this, O river, let thy burden be,
And sing it from the mountain to the sea;
There was no grander man on earth than he—
The sweet—the strong Whittier!
So this, O river, let thy burden be,
And sing it from the mountain to the sea;
There was no grander man on earth than he—
The sweet—the strong Whittier!
III.
You mountains, write his name, in letters high,
Upon the tinted pages of the sky!
He used upon thy granite roofs to stand,
And fondly gaze across his Fatherland;
To trace the checkered cloaks, in shifting crowds,
Thrown o'er thee by the shadows of the clouds;
To see the kingly battles of the storms,
That raved around thy staid and stately forms;
Or read the sun's midwinter message bright
Flashing upon thy signal towers of white.
Thou wert but stations toward his shining goal;
For in his lofty heart, and mind, and soul,
Upon the tinted pages of the sky!
He used upon thy granite roofs to stand,
And fondly gaze across his Fatherland;
To trace the checkered cloaks, in shifting crowds,
Thrown o'er thee by the shadows of the clouds;
To see the kingly battles of the storms,
That raved around thy staid and stately forms;
Or read the sun's midwinter message bright
Flashing upon thy signal towers of white.
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For in his lofty heart, and mind, and soul,
He was a mountaineer!
Boast of him, mountains, for he learned of thee;
He saw the clouds come sweeping from the sea,
He saw thee prisoned in their midday gloom,
And buried deep within a vapor-tomb;
And still imagined that thou couldst descry
That all was well, and wait there for the sky!
When joys of earth were shrouded from our view,
He told us Heaven would soon come smiling through;
When our sad nation delved in deepest night,
To his pure spirit, God was still in sight;
Boast of him, mountains, for he learned of thee;
He saw the clouds come sweeping from the sea,
He saw thee prisoned in their midday gloom,
And buried deep within a vapor-tomb;
And still imagined that thou couldst descry
That all was well, and wait there for the sky!
When joys of earth were shrouded from our view,
He told us Heaven would soon come smiling through;
When our sad nation delved in deepest night,
To his pure spirit, God was still in sight;
He saw the promise clear.
Look upward, mountains! he has onward passed;
But his great shadow o'er the cliffs is cast,
And long among thy peaks his name shall last—
The lofty-souled Whittier!
Look upward, mountains! he has onward passed;
But his great shadow o'er the cliffs is cast,
And long among thy peaks his name shall last—
The lofty-souled Whittier!
IV.
Tell of him, Ocean; let thy cold waves be
Each one a voice; he loved to sing of thee.
He traced thy tossing pathways o'er and o'er—
He mourned the wrecks that lashed thy wailing shore;
Full oft he made thy guests once more engage
In dramas on thy great cloud-curtained stage;
He camped with thee, thy legends sweetly sung,
Now heard where'er the heart has found a tongue;
He sought thy shore for Sea-dreams, sadly true,
Of the sweet girl-love that his boyhood knew.
Thou wast his teacher, ancient, gray-haired sea;
His lofty genius lessons learned from thee,
Each one a voice; he loved to sing of thee.
He traced thy tossing pathways o'er and o'er—
He mourned the wrecks that lashed thy wailing shore;
Full oft he made thy guests once more engage
In dramas on thy great cloud-curtained stage;
He camped with thee, thy legends sweetly sung,
Now heard where'er the heart has found a tongue;
He sought thy shore for Sea-dreams, sadly true,
Of the sweet girl-love that his boyhood knew.
Thou wast his teacher, ancient, gray-haired sea;
His lofty genius lessons learned from thee,
Its steadfast course to steer;
For thou each day art sending, one by one,
Thy foaming billows upward toward the sun,
Which, marshalled in their cloud-flotillas grand,
Sail o'er the harvest field and desert-land,
Then cast to earth their glittering, life-charged seeds,
And minister once more to mortal needs.
And this man's genius, soaring toward the sky,
Flashed in the sunlight, pleased the gazing eye,
Then, with obedient furtherance of God's plan,
Sought earth again, to minister to man,
For thou each day art sending, one by one,
Thy foaming billows upward toward the sun,
Which, marshalled in their cloud-flotillas grand,
Sail o'er the harvest field and desert-land,
Then cast to earth their glittering, life-charged seeds,
And minister once more to mortal needs.
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Flashed in the sunlight, pleased the gazing eye,
Then, with obedient furtherance of God's plan,
Sought earth again, to minister to man,
Fresh, fragrant deeds to rear;
So, Ocean, now a deep-voiced song from thee;
And let its many-octaved burden be,
His heart was deep and boundless as the sea—
The mighty-souled Whittier!
So, Ocean, now a deep-voiced song from thee;
And let its many-octaved burden be,
His heart was deep and boundless as the sea—
The mighty-souled Whittier!
V.
O Summer, when again thou claim'st the hours,
Write on his grave an epitaph of flowers.
See that the pansy's gentle face has brought
Its messages of sweet and pleasant thought;
Let the pure lily come, with aspect meek,
And violets his modesty bespeak;
Make rosebuds symbolize an unknown name,
Then blossom forth, as did his fragrant fame;
With thy persuasive touch, guide to the spot
The kind and starry-eyed forget-me-not;
Let every flower with honor in its bloom,
Aid to adorn that low but lofty tomb—
Write on his grave an epitaph of flowers.
See that the pansy's gentle face has brought
Its messages of sweet and pleasant thought;
Let the pure lily come, with aspect meek,
And violets his modesty bespeak;
Make rosebuds symbolize an unknown name,
Then blossom forth, as did his fragrant fame;
With thy persuasive touch, guide to the spot
The kind and starry-eyed forget-me-not;
Let every flower with honor in its bloom,
Aid to adorn that low but lofty tomb—
That never-hidden bier!
Unpicked bouquets for his free spirit blow,
Even where the hidden forest-gardens grow;
Each blossom must a perfumed message send
To him, at once its lover and its friend;
Each true-voiced bird must linger o'er him long,
And give the sleeping master song for song;
Each moon-ray pierce, with radiance dreamy-bright,
The soft sad stillness of the summer night,
And every morning sun more keenly shine,
To guide some pilgrim to that honored shrine,
Unpicked bouquets for his free spirit blow,
Even where the hidden forest-gardens grow;
Each blossom must a perfumed message send
To him, at once its lover and its friend;
Each true-voiced bird must linger o'er him long,
And give the sleeping master song for song;
Each moon-ray pierce, with radiance dreamy-bright,
The soft sad stillness of the summer night,
And every morning sun more keenly shine,
To guide some pilgrim to that honored shrine,
With reverent words sincere;
Sing of him, Summer! set thy zephyrs free;
Let the true song float over hill and lea,
No sweeter spirit lived on earth than he—
The gentle-faced Whittier!
Sing of him, Summer! set thy zephyrs free;
Let the true song float over hill and lea,
No sweeter spirit lived on earth than he—
The gentle-faced Whittier!
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VI.
O Winter, that upon the earth hast thrown
White dazzling fields and hilltops of thine own,
When the trim cottage chimney flings in sight
'Gainst thy clear sky its shivering breath of white,
When children of the fountains and the rains
Peer upward through thy frosted window-panes,
When gardens grow the ice-flowers on their stems,
And trees are open caskets full of gems,
Or when the muffled earth can hear and feel
Thy frozen storm-cloud's lengthened thunder-peal,
Disturb not then the poet's peaceful rest;
Plant lightly thy white footsteps on his breast;
White dazzling fields and hilltops of thine own,
When the trim cottage chimney flings in sight
'Gainst thy clear sky its shivering breath of white,
When children of the fountains and the rains
Peer upward through thy frosted window-panes,
When gardens grow the ice-flowers on their stems,
And trees are open caskets full of gems,
Or when the muffled earth can hear and feel
Thy frozen storm-cloud's lengthened thunder-peal,
Disturb not then the poet's peaceful rest;
Plant lightly thy white footsteps on his breast;
He loved thy splendors drear;
Each twelvemonth to his calm, kind nature lent
Not sorrow, but a winter of content;
Each gave new time to comfort and to bless;
His birthdays were not signals of distress.
Each saw wide banners of his love unfurled,
Each brought new greetings from a grateful world.
Though arctic blasts might compass him around,
His radiant heart was never once “snow-bound;”
He always singing paced his foot-worn way,
And even “at sundown” of a winter day,
Each twelvemonth to his calm, kind nature lent
Not sorrow, but a winter of content;
Each gave new time to comfort and to bless;
His birthdays were not signals of distress.
Each saw wide banners of his love unfurled,
Each brought new greetings from a grateful world.
Though arctic blasts might compass him around,
His radiant heart was never once “snow-bound;”
He always singing paced his foot-worn way,
And even “at sundown” of a winter day,
Through past joys he would peer.
Winter, to praise him set thy trumpets free!
He was a comrade and a friend to thee;
Old age had ne'er a grander man than he—
The snowy-haired Whittier!
Winter, to praise him set thy trumpets free!
He was a comrade and a friend to thee;
Old age had ne'er a grander man than he—
The snowy-haired Whittier!
VII.
O you who dwell in homes divinely fair,
With love and comfort smiling through the air,
With lives in mutual helpfulness so blessed,
That toil itself is harmony and rest,
He lives with you, and comforts you the while;
He makes your homes the brighter for his smile.
Your fireside borrows new and winsome glow
From the quaint Quaker hearth of long ago;
To him the homage of your heart belongs;
Your children are the sweeter for his songs.
He is a soul that will not be replaced;
A guest whose absence cannot be effaced;
With love and comfort smiling through the air,
With lives in mutual helpfulness so blessed,
That toil itself is harmony and rest,
He lives with you, and comforts you the while;
He makes your homes the brighter for his smile.
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From the quaint Quaker hearth of long ago;
To him the homage of your heart belongs;
Your children are the sweeter for his songs.
He is a soul that will not be replaced;
A guest whose absence cannot be effaced;
Your friend through smile or tear;
And you whose life increasing wealth controls,
Till it would fain make prisoners of your souls,
Accept awhile from gilded jails release,
And walk with him in open fields of peace.
Find, strewn about, a wealth that hath not wings;
Appraise the fortune hid in common things;
Turn mortal dollars to immortal deeds,
Seek daily help with help for others' needs,
And learn from him, how mending hearts that break,
Will soothe the griefs you cannot shun, and make
And you whose life increasing wealth controls,
Till it would fain make prisoners of your souls,
Accept awhile from gilded jails release,
And walk with him in open fields of peace.
Find, strewn about, a wealth that hath not wings;
Appraise the fortune hid in common things;
Turn mortal dollars to immortal deeds,
Seek daily help with help for others' needs,
And learn from him, how mending hearts that break,
Will soothe the griefs you cannot shun, and make
Your anguish less severe;
This lesson con, of worth superlative:
He who upon our earth would truly live,
Must bend his efforts both to gain and give!
So taught the great Whittier!
This lesson con, of worth superlative:
He who upon our earth would truly live,
Must bend his efforts both to gain and give!
So taught the great Whittier!
VIII.
You whose life-work misfortune strews with pain,
With agony of body, heart, or brain,
Turn from despair; escape depression's net;
You had a faithful friend—you have him yet!
His gallantry watched kindly on her way,
The humble maid that tossed the fragrant hay;
His pity sought the fallen conquered brave,
And left its tears upon an Indian grave;
With flowers of justice and of love he strewed
The witch's child, by zealotry pursued;
Even the soul in endless darkness thrown,
Had pity from his muse; there was no moan
With agony of body, heart, or brain,
Turn from despair; escape depression's net;
You had a faithful friend—you have him yet!
His gallantry watched kindly on her way,
The humble maid that tossed the fragrant hay;
His pity sought the fallen conquered brave,
And left its tears upon an Indian grave;
With flowers of justice and of love he strewed
The witch's child, by zealotry pursued;
Even the soul in endless darkness thrown,
Had pity from his muse; there was no moan
Escaped his eager ear!
He pitied, with brave words that echo yet,
Th' old soldier, prisoned for a paltry debt;
He helped to give a new and honored place
To an unjustly subjugated race;
And though of peaceful lineage and creed,
Yet he could fight, when conflict was the need;
And he could mould the silver of his song
In solid shot, to hurl 'gainst shame and wrong;
And tyrants fell, and fetters burst in twain,
Before the fierce artillery of his brain.
He pitied, with brave words that echo yet,
Th' old soldier, prisoned for a paltry debt;
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To an unjustly subjugated race;
And though of peaceful lineage and creed,
Yet he could fight, when conflict was the need;
And he could mould the silver of his song
In solid shot, to hurl 'gainst shame and wrong;
And tyrants fell, and fetters burst in twain,
Before the fierce artillery of his brain.
He recked not blow or sneer;
Though followed by the menace of the knave,
Though round his presence senseless mobs might rave,
Injustice never found a foe more brave,
Than hero-souled Whittier!
Though followed by the menace of the knave,
Though round his presence senseless mobs might rave,
Injustice never found a foe more brave,
Than hero-souled Whittier!
IX.
Greet him in Heaven! Make his reception grand,
O earth-born poets of the farther land!
You who, with blindness blotting every joy,
Sang, and still sing, the funeral dirge of Troy,
Meet one, who, earthly passions risen above,
Worshiped a God of justice and of love!
You who with epics decked the heights of Rome,
This western poet glorified his home;
Drink from his placid spirit's gentle rills,
O sad-faced exile from fair Florence' hills;
You who, bard of Eternity and Time,
Made even the loss of Paradise sublime,
O earth-born poets of the farther land!
You who, with blindness blotting every joy,
Sang, and still sing, the funeral dirge of Troy,
Meet one, who, earthly passions risen above,
Worshiped a God of justice and of love!
You who with epics decked the heights of Rome,
This western poet glorified his home;
Drink from his placid spirit's gentle rills,
O sad-faced exile from fair Florence' hills;
You who, bard of Eternity and Time,
Made even the loss of Paradise sublime,
Greet him as friend and peer!
Thou, Prince of Stratford—England's flaming star,
Thou, laureate loved, who lately “crossed the bar;”
Thou, Concord sage, by whose great heart and head,
Philosophy and poetry were wed:
Swan of the Charles, who, in progressive calm,
Gave to the world life's thrilling trumpet psalm;
All you who are the brightest and the best,
With intellect as well as goodness blessed,
And all who humbly toiled from day to day,
With but the hope of Heaven to light your way,
Thou, Prince of Stratford—England's flaming star,
Thou, laureate loved, who lately “crossed the bar;”
Thou, Concord sage, by whose great heart and head,
Philosophy and poetry were wed:
Swan of the Charles, who, in progressive calm,
Gave to the world life's thrilling trumpet psalm;
All you who are the brightest and the best,
With intellect as well as goodness blessed,
And all who humbly toiled from day to day,
With but the hope of Heaven to light your way,
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Hail him as comrade dear!
And grant, O God, his spirit may extend
Through all this earth, till days and nights shall end;
Our citizen, our poet, and our friend—
The starry-crowned Whittier!
And grant, O God, his spirit may extend
Through all this earth, till days and nights shall end;
Our citizen, our poet, and our friend—
The starry-crowned Whittier!
| [Ode to Whittier, in] A memorial of John Greenleaf Whittier | |