Inscription On A Fountain

For Dorothea L. Dix.


Stranger and traveller,
Drink freely and bestow
A kindly thought on her
Who bade this fountain flow,
Yet hath no other claim
Than as the minister
Of blessing in God's name.
Drink, and in His peace g

John Greenleaf Whittier

John Greenleaf Whittier was an American Quaker poet and advocate of the abolition of slavery in the United States. He was born on December 17, 1807, in Haverhill, Massachusetts, and died on September 7, 1892, in Hampton Falls, New Hampshire. Whittier is remembered particularly for his anti-slavery writings as well as his association with the Fireside Poets, a group of New England writers whose work became notable in American literature in the 19th century.

John Greenleaf Whittier

Autumn Thoughts

John Greenleaf Whittier, Simple Poetry

The Prisoners Of Naples

John Greenleaf Whittier, Simple Poetry

Overruled

John Greenleaf Whittier, Simple Poetry

The Fruit-Gift

John Greenleaf Whittier, Simple Poetry

English

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Inscription On The Shanklin Fountain

O traveller, stay thy weary feet;
Drink of this fountain, pure and sweet;
    It flows for rich and poor the same.
Then go thy way, remembering still
The wayside well beneath the hill,
    The cup of water in His name.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Poem For The Dedication Of The Fountain At Stratford-On-Avon, Presented By George W. Childs, Of Philadelphia

Welcome, thrice welcome is thy silvery gleam,
Thou long-imprisoned stream!
Welcome the tinkle of thy crystal beads
As plashing raindrops to the flowery meads,
As summer's breath to Avon's whispering reeds!
From rock-walled channels, drowned in rayless night,
Leap forth to life and light;
Wake from the darkness of thy troubled dream,
And greet with answering smile the morning's beam!

No purer lymph the white-limbed Naiad knows
Than from thy chalice flows;
Not the bright spring of Afric's sunny shores,
Starry with spangles washed from golden ores,
Nor glassy stream Bandusia's fountain pours,
Nor wave translucent where Sabrina fair
Braids her loose-flowing hair,
Nor the swift current, stainless as it rose
Where chill Arveiron steals from Alpine snows.<...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

An Inscription.

Shepherd, or Huntsman, or worn Mariner,
Whate'er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst,
Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone,
Arch'd, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse,
This iron cup chain'd for the general use,
And these rude seats of earth within the grove,
Were giv'n by FATIMA. Borne hence a bride,
'Twas here she turn'd from her beloved sire,
To see his face no more. [1] Oh, if thou canst,
('Tis not far off) visit his tomb with flowers;
And may some pious hand with water fill
The two small cells scoop'd in the marble there,
That birds may come and drink upon his grave,
Making it holy! [2] ---------

Samuel Rogers

Inscription for a Fountain on a Heath

This Sycamore, oft musical with bees,
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its agéd boughs o'er-canopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring,
Quietly as a sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever cease
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's Page,
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount.
Here Twilight is and Coolness: here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.
Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree.
Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy spirit, listening to some ge...

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Mountain Spring

And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely. Revelation 22:17.


I wandered down a mountain road,
Past flower and rock and lichen gray,
Alone with nature and her God
Upon a flitting summer day.

The forest skirted to the edge
Of Capon river, Hampshire's gem,
Which, bathing many a primrose ledge,
Oft sparkled like a diadem.

At length a silvery spring I spied,
Gurgling through moss and fern along,
Waiting to bless with cooling tide
All who were gladdened by its song.

Oh, who would pass with thirsting lip
And burning brow, this limpid wave?
Who would not pause with joy and sip?
Its crystal depths who would not crave?

This query woke a voice within
Why slight the spri...

Nancy Campbell Glass

To E. C. S.

Poet and friend of poets, if thy glass
Detects no flower in winter's tuft of grass,
Let this slight token of the debt I owe
Outlive for thee December's frozen day,
And, like the arbutus budding under snow,
Take bloom and fragrance from some morn of May
When he who gives it shall have gone the way
Where faith shall see and reverent trust shall know.

John Greenleaf Whittier