 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
RUGGLES, THE SALVATIONIST
Nay, nobody converted me;
I was not struck down by a sermon,
And brought my evil way to see,
And on the better way determine.
I was not struck down by a sermon,
And brought my evil way to see,
And on the better way determine.
I did not drop by happy chance
Into some “Bethel” or “Little Salem,”
To be arrested all at once,
And get up in a pew, and tell 'em.
Into some “Bethel” or “Little Salem,”
To be arrested all at once,
And get up in a pew, and tell 'em.
Nor did some precious preacher meet
My arguments with words in season,
And bring me home in triumph sweet,
The trophy of his cogent reason.
My arguments with words in season,
And bring me home in triumph sweet,
The trophy of his cogent reason.
Good Christians did not sing nor say
Their joyful hallelujahs o'er me,
Nor did their magazines display
The work of grace that did restore me.
Their joyful hallelujahs o'er me,
Nor did their magazines display
The work of grace that did restore me.
I did not feel the sin of doubt,
Nor haunt, like daws, the church and steeple,
I did not turn me inside out
For pleasure of the pious people.
Nor haunt, like daws, the church and steeple,
I did not turn me inside out
For pleasure of the pious people.
I could not do it. Why should one,
With open wound, be fain to show it,
And spread his heart out in the sun,
That folk may stare, and flies may blow it?
With open wound, be fain to show it,
And spread his heart out in the sun,
That folk may stare, and flies may blow it?
I don't deny that some may find
Their sure way home in such a manner;
But I was never of a mind
To march beneath that kind of banner.
Their sure way home in such a manner;
But I was never of a mind
To march beneath that kind of banner.
536
I had not sinned the common way,
I never was a base deceiver,
I ne'er was in a drunken fray:
I simply was an unbeliever.
I never was a base deceiver,
I ne'er was in a drunken fray:
I simply was an unbeliever.
But look here; had you loved a maid,
Sweet-natured and sweet-nurtured, saintly,
Who lowly to the Father prayed,
And told Him all her troubles quaintly,
Sweet-natured and sweet-nurtured, saintly,
Who lowly to the Father prayed,
And told Him all her troubles quaintly,
And had you set yourself to sap
The faith by which she lived serenely,
And round her shrinking soul to wrap
Poor rags of doubt, that clothed her meanly,
The faith by which she lived serenely,
And round her shrinking soul to wrap
Poor rags of doubt, that clothed her meanly,
How would you feel, if one day she
Gave back your thoughts in harder fashion,
Of saintly things made mockery,
And fired your doubts with eager passion?
Gave back your thoughts in harder fashion,
Of saintly things made mockery,
And fired your doubts with eager passion?
Would it not give you pause, at least,
And make your faithless purpose falter,
If you should hear the white-robed priest
Break out blaspheming at the altar?
And make your faithless purpose falter,
If you should hear the white-robed priest
Break out blaspheming at the altar?
Yes, you had worked for that, perhaps;
Yet now 'tis come, you feel it shocking,
And shudder at so strange a lapse,
As if some fiend your soul were mocking.
Yet now 'tis come, you feel it shocking,
And shudder at so strange a lapse,
As if some fiend your soul were mocking.
I had not thought how much her faith
Had gone to make her perfect beauty,
Nor what a change would come by death
Of that which was her soul of duty.
Had gone to make her perfect beauty,
Nor what a change would come by death
Of that which was her soul of duty.
And I who loved her so, by way
Of mending, marred God's fairest daughter,
Who lately on His bosom lay
Like water-lily on its water.
Of mending, marred God's fairest daughter,
Who lately on His bosom lay
Like water-lily on its water.
She echoed now my thoughts, and I,
The more she spake them, shrank to hear them;
She thought to pleasure me thereby,
And made me only loathe, and fear them.
The more she spake them, shrank to hear them;
She thought to pleasure me thereby,
And made me only loathe, and fear them.
And then she sickened, and so died,
Without a word of better cheering,
As drifting on a sunless tide,
And in a black cloud disappearing.
Without a word of better cheering,
As drifting on a sunless tide,
And in a black cloud disappearing.
O God! what horror fell on me!
What anguish of a heart still aching,
Hidden by day that none might see,
But when the night came, like to breaking!
What anguish of a heart still aching,
Hidden by day that none might see,
But when the night came, like to breaking!
I knew what Hell was then, all night
As I lay sleepless, moaning, sighing,
And could not wish to dwell in light,
If she were in the darkness lying.
As I lay sleepless, moaning, sighing,
And could not wish to dwell in light,
If she were in the darkness lying.
And in that passion of grief I felt
What shallow thoughts I had been airing,
Seeing them now like snowflakes melt
In depths of infinite despairing.
What shallow thoughts I had been airing,
Seeing them now like snowflakes melt
In depths of infinite despairing.
I had deserved this;—it was right;
A wrecker, I had served my Master,
And piled up high a blazing light
For luring souls on to disaster.
A wrecker, I had served my Master,
And piled up high a blazing light
For luring souls on to disaster.
For she whom I had loved so well,
For whom my life I would have given,
False-beaconed by that light of Hell,
Had lost the guiding star of Heaven.
For whom my life I would have given,
False-beaconed by that light of Hell,
Had lost the guiding star of Heaven.
Therefore I took my lonely way,
Through clouds of thunder-darkness groping,
And often like one dead I lay,
Alike unfeeling and unhoping.
Through clouds of thunder-darkness groping,
And often like one dead I lay,
Alike unfeeling and unhoping.
537
Some tried to comfort me and spake
Of healing for the chief of sinners;
Some fain my settled gloom would break,
By bidding me to balls and dinners.
Of healing for the chief of sinners;
Some fain my settled gloom would break,
By bidding me to balls and dinners.
What matter, whether false or true,
The word I heard from each new comer?
Their fleeces might be dank with dew,
But mine must be as dust in summer.
The word I heard from each new comer?
Their fleeces might be dank with dew,
But mine must be as dust in summer.
In vain they reasoned with my mood,
In vain a better hope unlifted,
On one thing only I could brood—
The soul that into darkness drifted.
In vain a better hope unlifted,
On one thing only I could brood—
The soul that into darkness drifted.
I clung unto my sharp remorse,
And would not have its anguish lighter,
But ever as it stung me worse,
I clasped it to my bosom tighter.
And would not have its anguish lighter,
But ever as it stung me worse,
I clasped it to my bosom tighter.
Still wrapt in dismal thought I stood,
And from its gloom my light would borrow;
It seemed my only sign of good,
That I could feel such bitter sorrow.
And from its gloom my light would borrow;
It seemed my only sign of good,
That I could feel such bitter sorrow.
And so I took my lonely way
In utter sadness and forsaking,
I could not hope, I could not pray,
I could not see a dim day-breaking.
In utter sadness and forsaking,
I could not hope, I could not pray,
I could not see a dim day-breaking.
How could I for my sin atone,
Except by suffering and dying?
How could I think of her, alone
And wretched, with the outcast lying?
Except by suffering and dying?
How could I think of her, alone
And wretched, with the outcast lying?
If she were there, there I must be,
And by her side my soul must languish,
Draining her cup of misery,
And wringing out its dregs of anguish.
And by her side my soul must languish,
Draining her cup of misery,
And wringing out its dregs of anguish.
I ought to die, and die in sin,
Without a gleam of light to cheer me,
My only hope that I might win
A place where she would still be near me.
Without a gleam of light to cheer me,
My only hope that I might win
A place where she would still be near me.
And one night, sitting by the hearth,
Which had no fire, but ashes only,
A wet wind wailing o'er the earth,
Eerie and dreary, and bleak and lonely,
Which had no fire, but ashes only,
A wet wind wailing o'er the earth,
Eerie and dreary, and bleak and lonely,
I thought to make an end of this,
And know the worst that could befall me;
When, lo! I seemed to feel her kiss,
And hear her fond voice softly call me:
And know the worst that could befall me;
When, lo! I seemed to feel her kiss,
And hear her fond voice softly call me:
“Be still, although thy heart may bleed,
Take up thy load of life and bear it,
Christ did not come to frame a creed,
But to reveal the Father's Spirit.”
Take up thy load of life and bear it,
Christ did not come to frame a creed,
But to reveal the Father's Spirit.”
And as I heard, that message dropt
Dewy and sweet on my heart's throbbing;
And ere its tender accents stopt,
I like a little child was sobbing.
Dewy and sweet on my heart's throbbing;
And ere its tender accents stopt,
I like a little child was sobbing.
I've not been deemed a saint since then,
Well found in orthodox opinion,
But I have loved my fellow-men,
And o'er my thoughts held strict dominion,
Well found in orthodox opinion,
But I have loved my fellow-men,
And o'er my thoughts held strict dominion,
And hope that somehow all is well,
That all will one day yet be righted,
That none in hopeless darkness dwell
Who may not yet with joy be lighted.
That all will one day yet be righted,
That none in hopeless darkness dwell
Who may not yet with joy be lighted.
For God is greater than His Word,
His love is like a flowing river,
His voice in all things good is heard,
His Mercy doth endure for ever.
His love is like a flowing river,
His voice in all things good is heard,
His Mercy doth endure for ever.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |