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The Past, Present, and Future

In Prose and Poetry.
Clark, Benjamin Cutler

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POETRY.
 I. 
I. ETHIOPIA.
 II. 
II. AN ACROSTIC.
 III. 
III. SING UNTO GOD.
 IV. 
IV. IN MEMORIAM, On the late Right Reverend Richard Allen, first Bishop of the A. M. E. Church.
 V. 
V. HYMN.
 VI. 
VI. HAMAN.
 VII. 
VII. LABOR.
 VIII. 
VIII. WINDS.
 IX. 
IX. THE EMIGRANT.
 X. 
X. FRIENDSHIP.
 XI. 
XI. ON SEEING A SNOW-BIRD.
 XII. 
XII. AN ACROSTIC.
 XIII. 
XIII. TO SPRING.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE SLAVE-CATCHER.
 XV. 
XV. LINES Inscribed to Benjamin Lundy, Esq.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE SLAVE-HOLDER'S APOLOGY.
 XVII. 
XVII. WHAT IS TRUTH?
 XVIII. 
XVIII. PRAYER.
 XIX. 
XIX. ON THE FUGITIVE LAW.
 XX. 
XX. ACROSTIC.
 XXI. 
XXI. THE SEMINOLÉ.
 XXII. 
XXII. TO MY MOTHER—LETTY WALLACE.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. THE TWO FUGITIVES.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. PARAPHRASE, Luke XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV. ON JEALOUSY.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. I'VE SEEN.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. NO ENEMIES.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. WHAT IS A SLAVE?
 XXIX. 
XXIX. ON PREJUDICE.
 XXX. 
XXX. ON BUBBLES.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. BRING FLOWERS.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. THE CAPTIVE.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. LINES On hearing of the Burning of the Steamer “Lexington.”
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. LIFE'S STRUGGLE.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. THE TREE.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. ON DEATH.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. THE SLAVE'S LAMENT.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. ACROSTIC.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. HYMN, On the Celebration of the Freedom of the West Indies.
 XL. 
XL. AUTUMN.
 XLI. 
XLI. ODE TO DEITY.
 XLII. 
XLII. GOD SPEED.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. ODE.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. THE REAPER.
 XLV. 
XLV. ODE.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. FORGET THEE.
 XLVII. 
XLVII. TO WRITE.
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. LINES On the Death of a Child, J. W., aged 11 years.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. WHO HATH COURAGE?
 L. 
L. YEARS.
 LI. 
LI. CHEER UP.
 LII. 
LII. THE PAUPER'S GRAVE.
 LIII. 
LIII. THE CRISIS.
 LIV. 
LIV. AN ACROSTIC.
 LV. 
LV. REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
 LVI. 
LVI. PILGRIM.
 LVII. 
LVII. NO ENERGY.
 LVIII. 
LVIII. ACROSTIC, A. C. C.
 LIX. 
LIX. AN EPITAPH ON MY DOG TURK.
 LX. 
LX. DO THEY MISS ME?
 LXI. 
LXI. GOSSIP!
 LXII. 
LXII. LOVE.
 LXIII. 
LXIII. ON THE TIMES.
 LXIV. 
LXIV. MEET IN HEAVEN.
 LXV. 
LXV. BE JOYFUL!

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89

XXV. ON JEALOUSY.

What wretched thoughts disturb my breast;
Deprive me of my daily rest;
Destroy my equanimity!
“Tell me, can this be jealousy?”
Why is it that I hate to see
My neighbours in prosperity?
Why am I fill'd with misery?
“Tell me, can this be jealousy?”
Does this incline me to traduce,
To envy, slander, and abuse?
Make mountains, when they mole-hills be?
“Tell me, is not this jealousy?”
90

To e'en suspect, to e'en believe,
That ev'ry person will deceive,
And do some secret injury—
“Tell me, is this not jealousy?”
By inuendoes stab, beguile
A friend, yet meet him with a smile,
And make him think I'm open, free—
“Tell me, is this not jealousy?”
Oh! cruel monster, I'm thy slave—
The more I have, the more I crave;
I envy ev'ry one I see—
This—this is surely “jealousy.”
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