The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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THE SAVING ANGEL. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
238
THE SAVING ANGEL.
How fair is England in her lofty state!
Great in her conquests, in her commerce great,
Great in her science and industrial arts,
Strong in her ready hands and willing hearts;
Rich in her means of fructifying good,
Prompt in each purpose rightly understood;
Fair, wise, magnificent, and mighty she,
And bearing the proud title “Country of the Free!”
Great in her conquests, in her commerce great,
Great in her science and industrial arts,
Strong in her ready hands and willing hearts;
Rich in her means of fructifying good,
Prompt in each purpose rightly understood;
Fair, wise, magnificent, and mighty she,
And bearing the proud title “Country of the Free!”
But, oh! how nobler were my native land,
If she could banish from her sea-girt strand
The Fiend which, roaming through this realm of ours,
Wastes her best strength, and weakens all her powers;
The nightmare of the nation, which weighs down
Her labouring breast; the blot on her renown;
The Fiend which paralyses heart and limb,
Makes virtue's star and reason's lamp grow dim;
Robs child and mother of their common right,
Home wants, home rectitude, and home delight;
Makes the frail father reckless and sin-worn,
Madman to-day, an idiot on the morn;
Makes the poor boasted freeman worse than slave;
And with unnumbered victims gluts a dishonoured grave.
If she could banish from her sea-girt strand
The Fiend which, roaming through this realm of ours,
Wastes her best strength, and weakens all her powers;
The nightmare of the nation, which weighs down
Her labouring breast; the blot on her renown;
The Fiend which paralyses heart and limb,
Makes virtue's star and reason's lamp grow dim;
Robs child and mother of their common right,
Home wants, home rectitude, and home delight;
Makes the frail father reckless and sin-worn,
Madman to-day, an idiot on the morn;
Makes the poor boasted freeman worse than slave;
And with unnumbered victims gluts a dishonoured grave.
239
Know ye the Demon? Hear him in the street,
As ye pass onward with home-seeking feet;
Ye hear his voice from many a noisome den,
Where he deludes—degrades the minds of men;
Ye hear him in his temple, gaily dight,
All gaud and glitter in a blaze of light,
Where congregated bacchanals adore,
From beardless boyhood unto frail fourscore;
Ye hear him in the curses flung about,
In the wild song and the obstreperous shout;
Ye see his looks in many a face and eye,
Maudlin or vicious, as ye hurry by;
Ye see him in the havoc he has made,
And in the bane of his abhorrent trade;
Ye feel him in the rudeness and the strife
Which shock you in the by-way paths of life;
Ye feel him in the sordidness and woe
That smite your senses as ye come and go:
Ye feel,—but how much less ye feel, than they
Who suffer hour by hour, and perish day by day.
As ye pass onward with home-seeking feet;
Ye hear his voice from many a noisome den,
Where he deludes—degrades the minds of men;
Ye hear him in his temple, gaily dight,
All gaud and glitter in a blaze of light,
Where congregated bacchanals adore,
From beardless boyhood unto frail fourscore;
Ye hear him in the curses flung about,
In the wild song and the obstreperous shout;
Ye see his looks in many a face and eye,
Maudlin or vicious, as ye hurry by;
Ye see him in the havoc he has made,
And in the bane of his abhorrent trade;
Ye feel him in the rudeness and the strife
Which shock you in the by-way paths of life;
Ye feel him in the sordidness and woe
That smite your senses as ye come and go:
Ye feel,—but how much less ye feel, than they
Who suffer hour by hour, and perish day by day.
Look on this picture (many more there be
As sad and sombre in their misery);—
Mark the cold aspect of this lowly place,
Devoid of comfort, cleanliness, and grace,
Where the pale mother sits beside the grate
With listless looks, as gloomy as her fate;
While her rude children, dirt-begrimed and lean,
With noisy squabbles fill the wretched scene;
Half slattern and half lunatic she seems,
Now loud in wrath, now lapsing into dreams;
Waiting for him who should be duly there
To rule his household with a parent's care.
As sad and sombre in their misery);—
Mark the cold aspect of this lowly place,
Devoid of comfort, cleanliness, and grace,
Where the pale mother sits beside the grate
With listless looks, as gloomy as her fate;
While her rude children, dirt-begrimed and lean,
With noisy squabbles fill the wretched scene;
Half slattern and half lunatic she seems,
Now loud in wrath, now lapsing into dreams;
Waiting for him who should be duly there
To rule his household with a parent's care.
240
He comes at length,—a curse is at the door,
And his scared offspring, starting from the floor,
Shrink into corners with a mute dismay,
Fearing the voice they learn to disobey.
He enters in, that man without control,
With the dread Demon sitting on his soul;
Raves and blasphemes, drinks deep, and calls for more,
Making the place more hideous than before.
And his scared offspring, starting from the floor,
Shrink into corners with a mute dismay,
Fearing the voice they learn to disobey.
He enters in, that man without control,
With the dread Demon sitting on his soul;
Raves and blasphemes, drinks deep, and calls for more,
Making the place more hideous than before.
Alas! no sunshine cheers that narrow spot;
There knowledge, peace, and rectitude are not;
No single bosom is divinely stirred,
No song of praise, no voice of prayer is heard;
No gentle accents of confiding love,
No gracious thoughts that wing their way above;
But sin and squalor, hopelessness and dread,
Surround the daily board, and haunt the nightly bed.
There knowledge, peace, and rectitude are not;
No single bosom is divinely stirred,
No song of praise, no voice of prayer is heard;
No gentle accents of confiding love,
No gracious thoughts that wing their way above;
But sin and squalor, hopelessness and dread,
Surround the daily board, and haunt the nightly bed.
But who is this, meandering down the street,
With brain beclouded, and with wavering feet,
Wild in his manner, with a glance of eye
Half brave, half bashful, as he hurries by?
That man is gifted; but the mental dower
Lies in abeyance to the Demon's power;
That man has commerced with the farthest skies,
And looked on Nature with a poet's eyes;
Has painted Virtue with a pen of grace,
Revered her, too, and loved the human race;
Panted for peaceful happiness and fame,
And had half won them when the tempter came,
Crossed the noon brightness of his hopeful pride,
And scared his better angel from his side.
Come back, sweet spirit of his joy and trust,
And exorcise the Fiend that bows him to the dust!
With brain beclouded, and with wavering feet,
Wild in his manner, with a glance of eye
Half brave, half bashful, as he hurries by?
That man is gifted; but the mental dower
Lies in abeyance to the Demon's power;
That man has commerced with the farthest skies,
And looked on Nature with a poet's eyes;
Has painted Virtue with a pen of grace,
Revered her, too, and loved the human race;
Panted for peaceful happiness and fame,
And had half won them when the tempter came,
Crossed the noon brightness of his hopeful pride,
And scared his better angel from his side.
Come back, sweet spirit of his joy and trust,
And exorcise the Fiend that bows him to the dust!
241
Such, and so harrowing, are the ills that flow
From this dark type of sinfulness and woe!
Such, and more awful, are the things that lie
Hid from the notice of the public eye.
From this dark type of sinfulness and woe!
Such, and more awful, are the things that lie
Hid from the notice of the public eye.
Despair not yet, ye Christian souls,—for hark!
A sound of solace cometh from the dark;
A bright form issues from the heavy gloom,
And as she passes on makes ampler room:
It is the angel Temperance;—rejoice!
And hail her advent with a thankful voice!
She comes to drive the Demon from his lair,
To cleanse from crime, and mitigate despair,—
Comes with her handmaid Charity, to bless
The soul-bowed slaves of loathsome drunkenness.
Faces once shadowed, shall grow bright with peace;
Hearts once enthralled, shall find a glad release;
Minds once eclipsed, shall glow with purer fire,
Greatly expand, and gloriously aspire;
And home, once filled with sorrow and annoy,
Shall be a peaceful place of virtue and of joy.
A sound of solace cometh from the dark;
A bright form issues from the heavy gloom,
And as she passes on makes ampler room:
It is the angel Temperance;—rejoice!
And hail her advent with a thankful voice!
She comes to drive the Demon from his lair,
To cleanse from crime, and mitigate despair,—
Comes with her handmaid Charity, to bless
The soul-bowed slaves of loathsome drunkenness.
Faces once shadowed, shall grow bright with peace;
Hearts once enthralled, shall find a glad release;
Minds once eclipsed, shall glow with purer fire,
Greatly expand, and gloriously aspire;
And home, once filled with sorrow and annoy,
Shall be a peaceful place of virtue and of joy.
Come to her banner, ye upgrowing youth,
Strengthen her phalanx, men of nerve and truth,
Add to her numbers, ye of suasive tongues,
Swell her glad music, Poets, with your songs;
Together breathe her hallowed atmosphere,
And help her in her glorious mission here.
The day will come—let hope believe it so—
When we shall see the Demon's overthrow;
See the sweet Angel's standard wide unfurled,
And her white wings embrace all children of the world.
Strengthen her phalanx, men of nerve and truth,
Add to her numbers, ye of suasive tongues,
Swell her glad music, Poets, with your songs;
Together breathe her hallowed atmosphere,
And help her in her glorious mission here.
The day will come—let hope believe it so—
When we shall see the Demon's overthrow;
See the sweet Angel's standard wide unfurled,
And her white wings embrace all children of the world.
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |