My Country.
Land of the forest and the rock,
Of dark-blue lake and mighty river,
Of mountains reared aloft to mock
The storm’s career, the lightning’s shock;
My own green land forever!
O never may a son of thine,
Where’er his wandering steps incline,
Forget the skies which bent above
His childhood like a dream of love.
John G. Whittier attended a reunion of his schoolmates at Haverhill, Mass., on the 10th of September, 1885. He was of the Class of ’27. He wrote a poem for the occasion, which was read by a cousin of his. It is entitled “1827-1885,” and is as follows:
The gulf of seven and fifty years
We stretch our welcoming hand across;
The distance but a pebble’s toss
Between us and our youth appears.
For in life’s school we linger on,
The remnant of a once full list;
Conning our lessons, undismissed,
With faces to the setting sun.
And some have gone the unknown way,
And some await the call to rest;
Who knoweth whether it is best
For those who went or us who stay?
And yet, despite of loss and ill,
If faith and love and hope remain,
Our length of days is not in vain,
And life is well worth living still.
Still to a gracious Providence
The thanks of grateful hearts are due
For blessings when our lives were new—
For all the good vouchsafed us since.
The pain that spared us sorer hurt;
The wish denied, the purpose crossed;
And pleasure, fond occasions lost,
These mercies to our small desert.
’Tis something that we wander back,
Gray pilgrims, to the ancient ways,
And tender memories of old days
Walk with us by the Merrimac.
That even in life’s afternoon
A sense of youth comes back again,
As though this cool September rain
The still green woodlands dream of spring.
The eyes, grown dim to present things,
Have keener sight for by-gone years,
And sweet and clear in deafening ears
The bird that sang at morning sings.
Dear comrades, scattered wide and far
Send from their homes their kindly word;
And dearer ones, unseen, unheard,
Smile on us from some heavenly star.
For life and death with God are one;
Unchanged by seeming change, His care
And love are round us here and there;
He breaks no thread His hands have spun.
Soul touches soul; the muster-roll
Of life eternal has no gaps;
And after half a century’s lapse
Our school-day ranks are closed and whole.
Hail and farewell! We go our way
Where shadows end, we trust, in light;
The star that ushers in the night
Is herald also of the day.