Though never His word has stilled thy waves,
Well for us may thy shores be holy,
With Christian altars and saintly graves.”
The whole poem is full of noble thought and rhythmic beauty:
“Sing on! bring down, O lowland river,
The joy of the hills to the waiting sea;
The wealth of the vales, the pomp of mountains,
The breath of the woodlands, bear with thee.”
XX
In 1890, when Haverhill, his native town, was to celebrate its two hundred and fiftieth anniversary, Whittier was called upon for a poem. He wrote to his friend, Col. F——: