Behind the cloud the starlight lurks, Through showers the sunbeams fall; For — John Greenleaf Whittier
The Fates are just: they give us but our own; Nemesis ripens what our hands have sown. — John Greenleaf Whittier
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells. — John Greenleaf Whittier