by Julia Ward Howe
Had I one of thy words, my Master, With a spirit and tone of thine, I would run to the farthest Indies To scatter the joy divine. I would waken the frozen ocean With a billowy… Read the rest
Category: Julia Ward Howe
Women Who Weave in Hope the Daily Web
by Julia Ward Howe
Women who weave in hope the daily web, Who leave the deadly depths of passion pure, Who hold the stormy powers of will attent, As Heaven directs, to act, or to endure; No multitude strews branches… Read the rest
The Flag
by Julia Ward Howe
There's a flag hangs over my threshold, whose folds are more dear to me Than the blood that thrills in my bosom its earnest of liberty; And dear are the stars it harbors in its sunny… Read the rest
The Rough Sketch
by Julia Ward Howe
A great grieved heart, an iron will, As fearless blood as ever ran; A form elate with nervous strength And fibrous vigor,—all a man. A gallant rein, a restless spur, The hand to wield a biting… Read the rest
These Are My People, Quaint and Ancient
by Julia Ward Howe
These are my people, quaint and ancient, Gentlefolks with their prim old ways; This, their leader come from England, Governed a State in early days. I must vanish with my ancients, But a golden web of… Read the rest
He Gave the Mother’s Chastened Heart
by Julia Ward Howe
He gave the Mother's chastened heart, He gave the Mother's watchful eye, He bids me live but where thou art, And look with earnest prayer on high.… Read the restThen spake the angel of Mothers To me in
I Have Made a Voyage Upon a Golden River
by Julia Ward Howe
I have made a voyage upon a golden river, 'Neath clouds of opal and of amethyst. Along its banks bright shapes were moving ever, And threatening shadows melted into mist. The eye, unpractised, sometimes lost the… Read the rest
In Music Hall
by Julia Ward Howe
Looking down upon the white heads of my contemporaries Beneath what mound of snow Are hid my springtime roses? How shall Remembrance know Where buried Hope reposes? In what forgetful heart As in a cañon darkling,… Read the rest
Limitations of Benevolence
by Julia Ward Howe
"The beggar boy is none of mine," The reverend doctor strangely said; "I do not walk the streets to pour Chance benedictions on his head. "And heaven I thank who made me so. That toying with… Read the rest
Methinks My Friends Grow Beauteous in My Sight
by Julia Ward Howe
Methinks my friends grow beauteous in my sight, As the years make their havoc of sweet things; Like the intenser glory of the light When the sad bird of Autumn sits and sings. Ah! woe is… Read the rest