Proceedings at the Presentation of a Portrait of John Greenleaf Whittier to Friends' School: Providence, R. I., Tenth Month, 24th, 1884

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Printed at the Riverside Press, 1885 - 92 pages
 

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Page 36 - My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone!
Page 62 - And so beside the Silent Sea I wait the muffled oar ; No harm from Him can come to me On ocean or on shore. I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air ; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
Page 28 - I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies. And if my heart and flesh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed He will not break, But strengthen and sustain.
Page 22 - Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag,
Page 58 - MY PLAYMATE The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, Their song was soft and low; The blossoms in the sweet May wind Were falling like the snow. The blossoms drifted at our feet, The orchard birds sang clear; The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year. For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home, 10 And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom.
Page 7 - THE poet in a golden clime was born, With golden stars above ; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
Page 27 - The airs of spring may never play Among the ripening corn, Nor freshness of the flowers of May Blow through the autumn morn ; Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look Through fringed lids to heaven, And the pale aster in the brook Shall see its image given...
Page 29 - But warm, sweet, tender, even yet A present help is He ; And faith has still its Olivet, And love its Galilee. The healing of His seamless dress Is by our beds of pain ; We touch Him in life's throng and press, And we are whole again.
Page 10 - What, ho! our countrymen in chains! The whip on woman's shrinking flesh! Our soil yet reddening with the stains Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh! What! mothers from their children riven! What! God's own image bought and sold! Americans to market driven, And bartered as the brute for gold!
Page 29 - O Lord and Master of us all! Whate'er our name or sign, We own thy sway, we hear thy call, We test our lives by thine.

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