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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420603" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Our River</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">FOR A SUMMER FESTIVAL AT 'THE LAURELS' ON THE MERRIMAC.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once more on yonder laurelled height<br>The summer flowers have budded;<br>Once more with summer's golden light<br>The vales of home are flooded;<br>And once more, by the grace of Him<br>Of every good the Giver,<br>We sing upon its wooded rim<br>The praises of our river,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Its pines above, its waves below,<br>The west-wind down it blowing,<br>As fair as when the young Brissot<br>Beheld it seaward flowing,--<br>And bore its memory o'er the deep,<br>To soothe a martyr's sadness,<br>And fresco, hi his troubled sleep,<br>His prison-walls with gladness.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We know the world is rich with streams<br>Renowned in song and story,<br>Whose music murmurs through our dreams<br>Of human love and glory<br>We know that Arno's banks are fair,<br>And Rhine has castled shadows,<br>And, poet-tuned, the Doon and Ayr<br>Go singing down their meadows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But while, unpictured and unsung<br>By painter or by poet,<br>Our river waits the tuneful tongue<br>And cunning hand to show it,--<br>We only know the fond skies lean<br>Above it, warm with blessing,<br>And the sweet soul of our Undine<br>Awakes to our caressing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No fickle sun-god holds the flocks<br>That graze its shores in keeping;<br>No icy kiss of Dian mocks<br>The youth beside it sleeping<br>Our Christian river loveth most<br>The beautiful and human;<br>The heathen streams of Naiads boast,<br>But ours of man and woman.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The miner in his cabin hears<br>The ripple we are hearing;<br>It whispers soft to homesick ears<br>Around the settler's clearing<br>In Sacramento's vales of corn,<br>Or Santee's bloom of cotton,<br>Our river by its valley-born<br>Was never yet forgotten.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The drum rolls loud, the bugle fills<br>The summer air with clangor;<br>The war-storm shakes the solid hills<br>Beneath its tread of anger;<br>Young eyes that last year smiled in ours<br>Now point the rifle's barrel,<br>And hands then stained with fruits and flowers<br>Bear redder stains of quarrel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But blue skies smile, and flowers bloom on,<br>And rivers still keep flowing,<br>The dear God still his rain and sun<br>On good and ill bestowing.<br>His pine-trees whisper, 'Trust and wait!'<br>His flowers are prophesying<br>That all we dread of change or fate<br>His live is underlying.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou, O Mountain-born!--no more<br>We ask the wise Allotter<br>Than for the firmness of thy shore,<br>The calmness of thy water,<br>The cheerful lights that overlay,<br>Thy rugged slopes with beauty,<br>To match our spirits to our day<br>And make a joy of duty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420603" data-title="Our River de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="FOR A SUMMER FESTIVAL AT 'THE LAURELS' ON THE MERRIMAC.

Once more on yonder laurelled height
The summer flowers have budded;
Once more with summer's golden light
The vales of home are flooded;
And once more, by the grace of Him
Of every good the ..."></div>
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