Harriet Beecher Stowe
Harriet Beecher Stowe was an American abolitionist and author. Her novel Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852) was a depiction of life for African-Americans under slavery; it reached millions as a novel and play, and became influential in the United States and United Kingdom. It energized anti-slavery forces in the American North, while provoking widespread anger in the South. She wrote more than 20 books, including novels, three travel memoirs, and collections of articles and letters. She was influential both for her writings and her public stands on social issues of the day.
Harriet Elisabeth Beecher was born in Litchfield, Connecticut on June 14, 1811. She was the seventh of 13 children, ... more »
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Harriet Beecher Stowe Poems
Mary At The Cross
'Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother.' O wondrous mother! since the dawn of time Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?
Eliza Crossing The River
From her resting-place by the trader chased, Through the winter evening cold, Eliza came with her boy at last, Where a broad deep river rolled.
Arrival In The Land Of Freedom
Look on the travellers kneeling, In thankful gladness, here, As the boat that brought them o'er the lake, Goes steaming from the pier.
The Other World
It lies around us like a cloud, A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be.
Only A Year
One year ago,--a ringing voice, A clear blue eye, And clustering curls of sunny hair, Too fair to die. Only a year,--no voice, no smile, No gl ...
The Mystery Of Life
Life's mystery - deep, restless as the ocean - Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro; Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion,
'Behold, I stand at the door and knock.' Knocking, knocking, ever knocking? Who is there?
Beneath the sunny autumn sky, With gold leaves dropping round, We sought, my little friend and I,
All dark! - no light, no ray! Sun, moon, and stars, all gone! Dimness of anguish! - utter void! -
Not of the earth that music! all things fade; Vanish the pictured walls! and, one by one, The starry candles silently expire!
In the fair garden of celestial Peace Walketh a Gardener in meekness clad; Fair are the flowers that wreathe his dewy locks,
Ah, many-voiced and angry! how the waves Beat turbulent with terrible uproar! Is there no rest from tossing, - no repose?
The Old Psalm Tune
You asked, dear friend, the other day, Why still my charmed ear Rejoiceth in uncultured tone That old psalm tune to hear?
Quotationsmore quotations »
''A woman's health is her capital.''Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896), U.S. author. Household Papers and Stories, part 2, ch. 5 (1864).
''Whatever offices of life are performed by women of culture and refinement are thenceforth elevated; they cease to be mere servile toils, and become expressions of the ideas of superior beings.''Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896), U.S. author. Household Papers and Stories, part 2, ch. 4 (1864).
''...care and labor are as much correlated to human existence as shadow is to light ...''Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896), U.S. author. Household Papers and Stories, part 2, ch. 4 (1864).
''True love ennobles and dignifies the material labors of life; and homely services rendered for love's sake have in them a poetry that is immortal.''Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896), U.S. author. Household Papers and Stories, part 2, ch. 4 (1864).
''All places where women are excluded tend downward to barbarism; but the moment she is introduced, there come in with her courtesy, cleanliness, sobriety, and order.''Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896), U.S. author. Household Papers and Stories, part 2, ch. 2 (1864).
Comments about Harriet Beecher Stowe
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Mary At The Cross
'Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother.'
O wondrous mother! since the dawn of time
Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine?
O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,
And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!
Poor was that home in simple Nazareth
Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower,
Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly,
O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.
The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,
Who through deep loving years so silent grew,
Full of high thought and holy aspiration,
Which the ...