John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 – 1892)
American poet and abolitionist.
Who never wins can rarely lose,
Who never climbs as rarely falls.
The Beauty which old Greece or Rome
Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at home.
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.
But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune
Better heresy of doctrine than heresy of heart.
Making their lives a prayer.
Press bravely onward! — not in vain
Your generous trust in human kind;
The good which bloodshed could not gain
Your peaceful zeal shall find.
Strike! Thou the Master, we Thy keys,
The anthem of the destinies!
The minor of Thy loftier strain,
Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain —
"Thy will be done!"
We seemed to see our flag unfurled,
Our champion waiting in his place
For the last battle of the world,
The Armageddon of the race.
The windows of my soul I throw
Wide open to the sun.
The Night is Mother of the Day,
The Winter of the Spring,
And ever upon old Decay
The greenest mosses cling.
Perish with him the folly that seeks through evil good.
He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow,
He watched a picture come and go:
And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.
God's ways seem dark, but, soon or late,
They touch the shining hills of day;
The evil cannot brook delay,
The good can well afford to wait.
"O, brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother;
where pity dwells, the peace of God is there."
When faith is lost, when honor dies
The man is dead!
Beauty seen is never lost.
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore;
The glory from his gray hairs gone
For evermore!
Somehow not only for Christmas
But all the long year through,
The joy that you give to others
Is the joy that comes back to you.
And the more you spend in blessing
The poor and lonely and sad,
The more of your heart's possessing
Returns to make you glad.
Each crisis brings its word and deed.
For they the mind of Christ discern
Who lean, like John, upon His breast.