 | Poems and prose writings |  |
110
FRAGMENT OF AN EPISTLE.
WRITTEN WHILE RECOVERING FROM SEVERE ILLNESS.
— No more, my friend,
A weary ear I urge you lend
My tale of sickness, aches I've borne
From closing day to breaking morn —
Long wintry nights and days of pain —
Sharp pain. 'T is past; and I would fain
My languor cheer with grateful thought
On Him who to this frame has brought
Soothing and rest; who, when there rose
Within my bosom's dull repose
A troubled memory of wrong
Done in health's day, when passions strong
Swayed me, — repentance spoke and peace,
Hope, and from dark remorse release.
Lonely, in thought, I travelled o'er
Days past, and joys to come no more;
Sat watching the low beating fire,
And saw its flames shoot up, expire,
A weary ear I urge you lend
My tale of sickness, aches I've borne
From closing day to breaking morn —
Long wintry nights and days of pain —
Sharp pain. 'T is past; and I would fain
My languor cheer with grateful thought
On Him who to this frame has brought
Soothing and rest; who, when there rose
Within my bosom's dull repose
A troubled memory of wrong
Done in health's day, when passions strong
Swayed me, — repentance spoke and peace,
Hope, and from dark remorse release.
Lonely, in thought, I travelled o'er
Days past, and joys to come no more;
Sat watching the low beating fire,
And saw its flames shoot up, expire,
111
Like cheerful thoughts that glance their light
Athwart the mind, and then 't is night.
For ever night? — The Eternal One,
With sacred fire from forth his throne,
Has touched my heart. O! fail it not
When days of health shall be my lot.
Beside me, Patience, suffering's child,
With gentle voice, and aspect mild,
Sat chanting to me song so holy,
A song to soothe my melancholy;
Won me to learn of her to bear
Sorrows, and pains, and all that wear
Our hearts — me, chained by sickness, taught,
“Prisoner to none the free of thought:”
A truth sublime, but slowly learned
By one who for earth's freshness yearned.
From open air and ample sky
Pent up — thus doomed for days to lie,
Was trial hard to me, a stranger
To long confinement, me, a ranger
Through bare or leafy wood, o'er hill,
O'er field, by shore, or by the rill
When taking hues from bending flowers,
Or stealing dark by crystal bowers
Built up by Winter on its bank,
Of branches shot from vapor dank:
And hard to sit, and see boys slide
O'er crusted plain stretched smooth and wide,
Athwart the mind, and then 't is night.
For ever night? — The Eternal One,
With sacred fire from forth his throne,
Has touched my heart. O! fail it not
When days of health shall be my lot.
Beside me, Patience, suffering's child,
With gentle voice, and aspect mild,
Sat chanting to me song so holy,
A song to soothe my melancholy;
Won me to learn of her to bear
Sorrows, and pains, and all that wear
Our hearts — me, chained by sickness, taught,
“Prisoner to none the free of thought:”
A truth sublime, but slowly learned
By one who for earth's freshness yearned.
From open air and ample sky
Pent up — thus doomed for days to lie,
Was trial hard to me, a stranger
To long confinement, me, a ranger
Through bare or leafy wood, o'er hill,
O'er field, by shore, or by the rill
When taking hues from bending flowers,
Or stealing dark by crystal bowers
Built up by Winter on its bank,
Of branches shot from vapor dank:
And hard to sit, and see boys slide
O'er crusted plain stretched smooth and wide,
112
Or down the steep and shining drift,
With shout and call, shoot light and swift.
But I could stand at set of sun,
And see the snow he shone upon
Change to a path of glory, — see
The rainbow hues 'twixt him and me —
Orange, and green, and golden light:
I thought on that celestial sight,
That city seen by aged John,
City with walls of precious stone.
Brighter and brighter grew the road
'Twixt me and the descending God;
And while I yearned to tread its length,
Down went the Sun, in all his strength.
And gone's his path like the steps of light
By angels trod at dead of night,
While Jacob slept. Around my room
The shadows deepen; while the gloom
Visits my soul, in converse high
Lifted but now, when heaven was nigh.
Why could not I, in spirit, raise
Pillar of Bethel to his praise
Who blessed me, and free worship pay,
Like Isaac's son upon his way?
Are holy thoughts but happy dreams
Chased by despair, as starry gleams
By clouds? — Nay, turn, and read thy mind;
Nay, look on Nature's face and find
With shout and call, shoot light and swift.
But I could stand at set of sun,
And see the snow he shone upon
Change to a path of glory, — see
The rainbow hues 'twixt him and me —
Orange, and green, and golden light:
I thought on that celestial sight,
That city seen by aged John,
City with walls of precious stone.
Brighter and brighter grew the road
'Twixt me and the descending God;
And while I yearned to tread its length,
Down went the Sun, in all his strength.
And gone's his path like the steps of light
By angels trod at dead of night,
While Jacob slept. Around my room
The shadows deepen; while the gloom
Visits my soul, in converse high
Lifted but now, when heaven was nigh.
Why could not I, in spirit, raise
Pillar of Bethel to his praise
Who blessed me, and free worship pay,
Like Isaac's son upon his way?
Are holy thoughts but happy dreams
Chased by despair, as starry gleams
By clouds? — Nay, turn, and read thy mind;
Nay, look on Nature's face and find
113
Kind, gentle graces, thoughts to raise
The tired spirit — hope and praise.
O, kind to me, in darkest hour
She led me forth with gentle power,
From lonely thought, from sad unrest,
To peace of mind, and to her breast
The son, who always loved her, prest;
Called up the moon to cheer me; laid
Its silver light on bank and glade,
And bade it throw mysterious beams
O'er ice-clad hill — which steely gleams
Sent back — a knight who took his rest,
His burnished shield above his breast.
The fence of long, rough rails, that went
O'er trackless snows, a beauty lent;
Glittered each cold and icy bar
Beneath the moon like shafts of war.
And there a lovely tracery
Of branch and twig that naked tree
Of shadows soft and dim has wove,
And spread so gently, that above
The pure white snow it seems to float
Lighter than that celestial boat,
The silver-beaked moon, on air, —
Lighter than feathery gossamer;
As if its darkening touch, through fear,
It held from thing so saintly clear.
The tired spirit — hope and praise.
O, kind to me, in darkest hour
She led me forth with gentle power,
From lonely thought, from sad unrest,
To peace of mind, and to her breast
The son, who always loved her, prest;
Called up the moon to cheer me; laid
Its silver light on bank and glade,
And bade it throw mysterious beams
O'er ice-clad hill — which steely gleams
Sent back — a knight who took his rest,
His burnished shield above his breast.
The fence of long, rough rails, that went
O'er trackless snows, a beauty lent;
Glittered each cold and icy bar
Beneath the moon like shafts of war.
And there a lovely tracery
Of branch and twig that naked tree
Of shadows soft and dim has wove,
And spread so gently, that above
The pure white snow it seems to float
Lighter than that celestial boat,
The silver-beaked moon, on air, —
Lighter than feathery gossamer;
As if its darkening touch, through fear,
It held from thing so saintly clear.
114
Thus nature threw her beauties round me;
Thus from the gloom in which she found me,
She won me by her simple graces,
She wooed me with her happy faces.
The day is closed; and I refrain
From further talk. But if of pain
It has beguiled a weary hour,
If to my desert mind, like shower,
That wets the parching earth, has come
A cheerful thought, and made its home
With me awhile, I'd have you share,
Who feel for me in ills I bear.
Thus from the gloom in which she found me,
She won me by her simple graces,
She wooed me with her happy faces.
The day is closed; and I refrain
From further talk. But if of pain
It has beguiled a weary hour,
If to my desert mind, like shower,
That wets the parching earth, has come
A cheerful thought, and made its home
With me awhile, I'd have you share,
Who feel for me in ills I bear.
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