John Greenleaf Whittier and a Seasonal Poem

Born of a December 17, John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892). Whittier is the fourth of the so-called Fireside Poets I have treated of here, the others being Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, William Cullen Bryant, and Oliver Wendell Holmes (Sr). Longfellow was the most successful by far, and also the best remembered. There’s certainly a reason Whittier falls fourth. However, I had occasion to mention him the other day in connection with his best remembered poem “Barbara Frietchie”, so he does merit a place here, even if we keep it short and sweet.

Whittier was born and raised on a subsistence farm in Haverhill, Massachusetts. The homestead still exists and is today a museum. Frail and sickly, he devoted a lot of time reading his family’s small collection of books, in particular the poems of Robert Burns, and a half dozen books on Quakerism, the faith of his family. An idealized portrait of his youth is presented in Snowbound: A Winter Idyl (1866), one of his better known works, which sheds light on his lifelong love of stories and storytelling.

In 1826, William Lloyd Garrison published Whittier’s first poem and thereafter became a sort of mentor to him, securing several editorial positions for him, and encouraging his activities in the cause of Abolition. As early as 1830, Whittier was editor of the Hartford-based New England Weekly Review, the region’s most influential Whig paper, giving him national prominence. Anti-Slavery politics would remain a central focus of his life as long as it was an open question. He ran for Congress unsuccessfully in 1833, was one of the founders of the Liberty Party in 1839, as well as its successor the Free Soil Party in 1848. He wrote Anti-Slavery publications, and edited newspapers and magazines devoted to Abolitionism. And much of his poetry was on the same topic.

Today, Whittier’s Anti-Slavery writings are read only by scholars. The readership of his other writings isn’t much greater, but it is interesting to note that his literary works that did achieve a longer-lasting reach were upon other themes. These include “Moll Pitcher” (1832), about a local fortune teller (not the Revolutionary War heroine Molly Pitcher); “The Song of the Vermonters, 1779” (1833) for decades misattributed to Ethan Allen himself; and the romance “Maud Muller” (1856), which produced his most famous couplet: “For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!'” And the aforementioned poem “Barbara Frietchie” (1863), which enjoyed the longest popularity thanks to having been turned into a play by Clyde Fitch and adapted into several movies, as we wrote here.

Several of Whittier’s devotional poems were turned into hymns, especially ones with Quaker themes. Today when his name is uttered, chances are that the reference will have nothing to do with his writing. Richard Nixon’s hometown, Whittier, California, and his alma mater Whittier College, were named after the poet.

In honor of the season, we close this post with “The Mystic’s Christmas” (1882) and if is too openly devotional or specifically religious for your tastes, by all means, go curse something.

“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?” his brethren cried, “It is the blessed Christmas-tide; The Christmas lights are all aglow, The sacred lilies bud and blow. “Above our heads the joy-bells ring, Without the happy children sing, And all God’s creatures hail the morn On which the holy Christ was born. “Rejoice with us; no more rebuke Our gladness with thy quiet look.” The gray monk answered, “Keep, I pray, Even as ye list, the Lord’s birthday. “Let heathen Yule fires flicker red Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; With mystery-play and masque and mime And wait-songs speed the holy time! “The blindest faith may haply save; The Lord accepts the things we have; And reverence, howsoe’er it strays, May find at last the shining ways. “They needs must grope who cannot see, The blade before the ear must be; As ye are feeling I have felt, And where ye dwell I too have dwelt. “But now, beyond the things of sense, Beyond occasions and events, I know, through God’s exceeding grace, Release from form and time and space. “I listen, from no mortal tongue, To hear the song the angels sung; And wait within myself to know The Christmas lilies bud and blow. “The outward symbols disappear From him whose inward sight is clear; And small must be the choice of days To him who fills them all with praise! “Keep while you need it, brothers mine, With honest seal your Christmas sign, But judge not him who every morn Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!”