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About this poet

An American poet and editor, John Greenleaf Whittier was born December 17, 1807, in Haverhill, Massachusetts. The son of two devout Quakers, he grew up on the family farm and had little formal schooling. His first published poem, "The Exile's Departure," was published in William Lloyd Garrison's Newburyport Free Press in 1826. He then attended Haverhill Academy from 1827 to 1828, supporting himself as a shoemaker and schoolteacher. By the time he was twenty, he had published enough verse to bring him to the attention of editors and readers in the antislavery cause. A Quaker devoted to social causes and reform, Whittier worked passionately for a series of abolitionist newspapers and magazines. In Boston, he edited American Manufacturer and Essex Gazette before becoming editor of the important New England Weekly Review. Whittier was active in his support of National Republican candidates; he was a delegate in 1831 to the national Republican Convention in support of Henry Clay, and he himself ran unsuccessfully for Congress the following year.

His first book, Legends of New England in Prose and Verse, was published in 1831; from then until the Civil War, he wrote essays and articles as well as poems, almost all of which were concerned with abolition. In 1833 he wrote Justice and Expedience urging immediate abolition. In 1834 he was elected as a Whig for one term to the Massachusetts legislature; mobbed and stoned in Concord, New Hampshire, in 1835. He moved in 1836 to Amesbury, Massachusetts, where he worked for the American Anti-Slavery Society. During his tenure as editor of the Pennsylvania Freeman, in May 1838, the paper's offices burned to the ground and were sacked during the destruction of Pennsylvania Hall by a mob.

Whittier founded the antislavery Liberty party in 1840 and ran for Congress in 1842. In the mid-1850s he began to work for the formation of the Republican party; he supported presidential candidacy of John C. Frémont in 1856. He helped to found Atlantic Monthly in 1857. Although Whittier was close friends with Elizabeth Lloyd Howell and considered marrying her, in 1859 he decided against it.

While Whittier's critics never considered him to be a great poet, they thought him a nobel and kind man whose verse gave unique expression to ideas they valued. The Civil War inspired the famous poem, "Barbara Frietchie," but the important change in his work came after the war. From 1865 until his death in 1892, Whittier wrote of religion, nature, and rural life; he became the most popular Fireside poets.

In 1866 he published his most popular work, Snow-Bound, which sold 20,000 copies. In the early 1880s, he formed close friendships with Sarah Orne Jewett and Annie Fields. For his seventieth birthday dinner in 1877, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Mark Twain, Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, and William Dean Howells attended. He died at Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, on September 7, 1892.


Selected Bibliography

Poetry

Legends of New England in Prose and Verse (1831)
Moll Pitcher (1832)
Justice and Expediency (1833)
Poems (1838)
Lays of My Home (1843)
The Panorama (1846)
Voices of Freedom (1846)
Poems by John G. Whittier (1849)
Songs of Labor (1850)
The Chapel of the Hermits (1853)
Poetical Works (1857)
Home Ballads (1860)
In War Time (1864)
Snow-Bound (1866)
The Tent on the Beach (1867)
Among the Hills (1869)
Miriam and Other Poems (1871)
Hazel-Blossoms (1875)
The Vision of Echard (1878)
St. Gregory's Guest (1886)
At Sundown (1890)
The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1894)

Prose

Leaves from Margaret Smith's Journal (1849)
Old Portraits and Modern Sketches (1850)
Literary Recreations and Miscellanies (1854)

The Battle Autumn of 1862

The flags of war like storm-birds fly,
     The charging trumpets blow;
Yet rolls no thunder in the sky,
     No earthquake strives below.

And, calm and patient, Nature keeps
     Her ancient promise well,
Though o’er her bloom and greenness sweeps
     The battle’s breath of hell.

And still she walks in golden hours
     Through harvest-happy farms,
And still she wears her fruits and flowers
     Like jewels on her arms.

What mean the gladness of the plain,
     This joy of eve and morn,
The mirth that shakes the beard of grain
     And yellow locks of corn?

Ah! eyes may well be full of tears,
     And hearts with hate are hot;
But even-paced come round the years,
     And Nature changes not.

She meets with smiles our bitter grief,
     With songs our groans of pain;
She mocks with tint of flower and leaf
     The war-field’s crimson stain.

Still, in the cannon’s pause, we hear
     Her sweet thanksgiving-psalm;
Too near to God for doubt or fear,
     She shares the eternal calm.

She knows the seed lies safe below
     The fires that blast and burn;
For all the tears of blood we sow
     She waits the rich return.

She sees with clearer eye than ours
     The good of suffering born,—
The hearts that blossom like her flowers,
     And ripen like her corn.

Oh, give to us, in times like these,
     The vision of her eyes;
And make her fields and fruited trees
     Our golden prophecies!

Oh, give to us her finer ear!
     Above this stormy din,
We too would hear the bells of cheer
     Ring peace and freedom in.

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.

John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier

An American poet and editor, John Greenleaf Whittier was born December 17, 1807

by this poet

poem

No time is this for hands long overworn
To task their strength; and (unto Him be praise
Who giveth quietness!) the stress and strain
Of years that did the work of centuries
Have ceased, and we can draw our breath once more
Freely and full. So, as yon harvesters
Make glad their
poem
"All hail!" the bells of Christmas rang,
"All hail!" the monks at Christmas sang,
The merry monks who kept with cheer
The gladdest day of all their year.

But still apart, unmoved thereat,
A pious elder brother sat
Silent, in his accustomed place,
With God's sweet peace upon his face.

"Why sitt'st thou thus?"
poem
The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of