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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=472458" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memory Of John Greenleaf Whittier</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">December 17, l807 - September 7, 1892<br>THOU, too, hast left us. While with heads bowed low,<br>And sorrowing hearts, we mourned our summer's dead,<br>The flying season bent its Parthian bow,<br>And yet again our mingling tears were shed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was Heaven impatient that it could not wait<br>The blasts of winter for earth's fruits to fall?<br>Were angels crowding round the open gate<br>- To greet the spirits coming at their call?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, let not fancies, born of old beliefs,<br>Play with the heart-beats that are throbbing still,<br>And waste their outworn phrases on the griefs,<br>The silent griefs that words can only chill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thee, dear friend, there needs no highwrought lay,<br>To shed its aureole round thy cherished name,<br>Thou whose plain, home-born speech of Yea and Nay<br>Thy truthful nature ever best became.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Death reaches not a spirit such as thine,<br>It can but steal the robe that hid thy wings;<br>Though thy warm breathing presence we resign,<br>Still in our hearts its loving semblance clings.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Peaceful thy message, yet for struggling light,<br>When Slavery's gauntlet in our face was flung,<br>While timid weaklings watched the dubious fight<br>No herald's challenge more defiant rung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet was thy spirit tuned to gentle themes<br>Sought in the haunts thy humble youth had known.<br>Our stern New England's hills and vales and streams,<br>Thy tuneful idyls made them all their own.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wild flowers springing from thy native sod<br>Lent all their charms thy new-world song to fill,<br>Gave thee the mayflower and the golden-rod<br>To match the daisy and the daffodil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the brave records of our earlier time<br>A hero's deed thy generous soul inspired,<br>And many a legend, told in ringing rhyme,<br>The youthful soul with high resolve has fired.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not thine to lean on priesthood's broken reed;<br>No barriers caged thee in a bigot's fold;<br>Did zealots ask to syllable thy creed,<br>Thou saidst ' Our Father,' and thy creed was told.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Best loved and saintliest of our singing train,<br>Earth's noblest tributes to thy name belong.<br>A lifelong record closed without a stain,<br>A blameless memory shrined in deathless song.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lift from its quarried ledge a flawless stone;<br>Smooth the green turf and bid the tablet rise,<br>And on its snow-white surface carve alone<br>These words, he needs no more, <br>HERE WHITTIER LIES.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oliver+Wendell+Holmes">Oliver Wendell Holmes</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=472458" data-title="In Memory Of John Greenleaf Whittier de Oliver Wendell Holmes" data-description="December 17, l807 - September 7, 1892
THOU, too, hast left us. While with heads bowed low,
And sorrowing hearts, we mourned our summer's dead,
The flying season bent its Parthian bow,
And yet again our mingling tears were shed.

Was Heaven impatie..."></div>
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