Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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The Mourner comforted.—1833.
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 | Ballads for the Times |  |
The Mourner comforted.—1833.
Brother, dear brother, weep no more for me!
My lot is blessedness,—an heritage
Of Praise, and Peace, and Immortality,
And Joy unspeakable! above me smiles
The Eye of tenderest love, and underneath
Sustain me safe the Everlasting Arms!
I am not dead,—my spirit is not dead,
But rests in Jesus, the dear hiding-place
Of ransom'd happy souls,—for I am His;—
My God hath wiped all sorrow from mine eye,
All sin from my fair soul; Eternal Love
For pain hath given me Peace,—for fear, fixt hope,
For Life's deceitful cup of bitterness,
Rivers of pleasantness and seas of joy.
Ah, who can speak it, who can think it, there,—
Where the frail prison of Mortality
Holds pent the slumbering soul? Earth hath no words,
And earthborn no ideas of infinite,
Unutterable, overwhelming bliss.
O blest exchange! O gain beyond compare!
O Glory, brighter for the foil of Time,
O deepest happiness, more exquisite
For a short Life's remember'd tale of sorrow!
Weep not, dear brother,—weep no more for me.
My lot is blessedness,—an heritage
Of Praise, and Peace, and Immortality,
And Joy unspeakable! above me smiles
The Eye of tenderest love, and underneath
Sustain me safe the Everlasting Arms!
I am not dead,—my spirit is not dead,
But rests in Jesus, the dear hiding-place
Of ransom'd happy souls,—for I am His;—
My God hath wiped all sorrow from mine eye,
386
For pain hath given me Peace,—for fear, fixt hope,
For Life's deceitful cup of bitterness,
Rivers of pleasantness and seas of joy.
Ah, who can speak it, who can think it, there,—
Where the frail prison of Mortality
Holds pent the slumbering soul? Earth hath no words,
And earthborn no ideas of infinite,
Unutterable, overwhelming bliss.
O blest exchange! O gain beyond compare!
O Glory, brighter for the foil of Time,
O deepest happiness, more exquisite
For a short Life's remember'd tale of sorrow!
Weep not, dear brother,—weep no more for me.
Yes,—from the dream of Time I woke in peace:
And one fierce struggle over, all was calm.
Awhile I lay entranced,—in that sweet rest
The Sabbath of the Soul, e'er yet it speeds
To choirs of perfect praise, and bliss intense.
And soon two infant cherubs on bright wings
—My sainted little brothers,—flew to me,
Kiss'd me, and wept for joy, as angels weep.
“For it is ours,” they said, “our great reward,
By His dear will preferr'd before all others,
On either hand to lead thee to our God.”
Wing'd with ecstatic hope upsprung my Soul,—
And through the glorious hosts of happy ones,
From bliss to bliss, from heav'n to heav'n, upsprung,
Catching swift echoes of melodious praise,
Till at the rapturous height of highest joy
I stood before the Throne! and there was He,
He, whom a brother's counsel bade me seek,
He, whom at midnight's hour a mother's ear
With tears and prayers had often heard me seek,—
O there was He! my Saviour and my Friend,—
My Sacrifice, my Heav'n, my All, my God!
—Brother, in earthly words and earthly thoughts
I cannot tell thee more: but would speak peace,
Peace to thy troubled soul,—where peace there is.
O climax to my joys,—strength to your hopes,
In the bright book of Life are written fair
The names of those I loved! Blest family,
Children of hope, and Heaven, and God! His love
With tears of chasten'd grief hath gemm'd your crowns,
That, by a Father's wisdom mingling well
Life's cup with sorrows, ye may deeper drink
Of grace on earth, of glory with our God.
Yes, there are crowns and mansions for you all,
Ye loved, and happy ones! a crown for thee,
Dear mother, who so tenderly hast led
Our infant steps to paths of pleasantness;—
Crowns for you both, my sisters;—and for thee,
Whom the dark storm of unbelieving fears
Hath sorely tost,—my brother,—even for thee
From deeper trouble rises higher bliss!
Peace to you all, for Jesus is your peace,
Your peace and mine: be comforted with me,
For we are one, as ever, one in Him.
And one fierce struggle over, all was calm.
Awhile I lay entranced,—in that sweet rest
The Sabbath of the Soul, e'er yet it speeds
To choirs of perfect praise, and bliss intense.
And soon two infant cherubs on bright wings
—My sainted little brothers,—flew to me,
Kiss'd me, and wept for joy, as angels weep.
“For it is ours,” they said, “our great reward,
By His dear will preferr'd before all others,
On either hand to lead thee to our God.”
Wing'd with ecstatic hope upsprung my Soul,—
And through the glorious hosts of happy ones,
From bliss to bliss, from heav'n to heav'n, upsprung,
Catching swift echoes of melodious praise,
Till at the rapturous height of highest joy
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He, whom a brother's counsel bade me seek,
He, whom at midnight's hour a mother's ear
With tears and prayers had often heard me seek,—
O there was He! my Saviour and my Friend,—
My Sacrifice, my Heav'n, my All, my God!
—Brother, in earthly words and earthly thoughts
I cannot tell thee more: but would speak peace,
Peace to thy troubled soul,—where peace there is.
O climax to my joys,—strength to your hopes,
In the bright book of Life are written fair
The names of those I loved! Blest family,
Children of hope, and Heaven, and God! His love
With tears of chasten'd grief hath gemm'd your crowns,
That, by a Father's wisdom mingling well
Life's cup with sorrows, ye may deeper drink
Of grace on earth, of glory with our God.
Yes, there are crowns and mansions for you all,
Ye loved, and happy ones! a crown for thee,
Dear mother, who so tenderly hast led
Our infant steps to paths of pleasantness;—
Crowns for you both, my sisters;—and for thee,
Whom the dark storm of unbelieving fears
Hath sorely tost,—my brother,—even for thee
From deeper trouble rises higher bliss!
Peace to you all, for Jesus is your peace,
Your peace and mine: be comforted with me,
For we are one, as ever, one in Him.
Though now ye see me not, I can see you;
Though ye hear not my praise, your groans I hear.
I watch'd, unwatch'd, and long'd to wipe away
The bitter tears that fell to weep my gain:
I watch'd, when on my prison-house of lead,
That held the alter'd form ye lately loved,
A mother's fondness wildly prest a kiss;
I watch'd the friend approved, on whom she leant;
And to their mournful homes in cot or hall
I watch'd the dark procession silent creep.
Then was I with you, and am with you still,
A free, unshackled spirit,—loving you,
And ministering grace to you from God!
Think not of what I was, but what I am,—
Gaze not on those “dear lineaments defaced,”
Nor brood on foul corruption's gloomy pit:
Rather look up;—I live!—O speed, blest hour,
When to the spirit made perfect the bright body,
Bursting the bars of Death, shall reunite,
And meet the King of Glory in the skies!
Though ye hear not my praise, your groans I hear.
388
The bitter tears that fell to weep my gain:
I watch'd, when on my prison-house of lead,
That held the alter'd form ye lately loved,
A mother's fondness wildly prest a kiss;
I watch'd the friend approved, on whom she leant;
And to their mournful homes in cot or hall
I watch'd the dark procession silent creep.
Then was I with you, and am with you still,
A free, unshackled spirit,—loving you,
And ministering grace to you from God!
Think not of what I was, but what I am,—
Gaze not on those “dear lineaments defaced,”
Nor brood on foul corruption's gloomy pit:
Rather look up;—I live!—O speed, blest hour,
When to the spirit made perfect the bright body,
Bursting the bars of Death, shall reunite,
And meet the King of Glory in the skies!
| Ballads for the Times | |