The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie ::

My God! would that, from earthly trammels free,
My thoughts could win their upward way to Thee,
And there awhile in lofty regions prove
The purifying glow of holy love!

The solemn dome of night is o'er my head,
Where countless stars in grand array are spread—
Thy mighty host, that to our wond'ring eyes
One maze of glory is; while sombre lies
Beneath its vasty span the darken'd face
Of many a land, where many a motley race,
With all their worldly care, in sleep are lapt.
O, might my soul, in adoration rapt,
Her high concentred thoughts still raise to Thee,
With steady power! Alas, this may not be!
My thoughts are twilight birds, in seasons rare,
That skim, and rise, and flit in nether air;
That wheel, and turn, and cross, and soar, and swoop,
With seeming bootless speed, then feebly droop
Their weary wings, which may no more sustain
Such flight, and hie to murky haunts again.

My God, who knowst the creature thou hast made,
Pity my weakness, nor as sin be laid
Upon my head, this feebleness of mind;
And if sublimer thoughts I may not bind,
As the abiding treasure of my heart—
Inmates, who rarely from their cell depart;
Vouchsafe such grace, that many a transient notion
May oft within me kindle true devotion;
And, moving as a meteor of the night,
Be for a passing, glorious moment bright,—
A moment, uttering in words of fire,
“Thou art our Mighty Lord, our good and bounteous Sire!”

HYMN.

The frith is cross'd, the previous warfare past,
Through swampy plains, dark woods and deserts vast,
O'er heaths and flowery slopes, and valleys fair,
And gloomy mountain passes, steep and bare,—
All disembark'd the pilgrims stand
On the unknown and beauteous land,
While Hope, who needs support no more,
Hath dropp'd her anchor by the shore,
A strangely mingled band!

And lo, with many a lofty dome,
Before them stands that ample home,
Of many mansions, halls of rest,
And heavenly converse for the blest,
Where charity and love abide;
While through its precincts, fair and wide,
Research, and knowledge, and devotion,
Together wend with onward motion,—
A home to which, the entrance free,
Come from all tribes of each degree,
And from all lands, the lord, and slave,
The firm, the timid, and the brave;

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The nursling from its mother's arms,
The maid in all her early charms,
The stately dame, the weary drudge,
The priest, the penitent, the panel, and the judge,—
The learn'd philosopher, historian sage,
And he who could not scan a letter'd page,
Who look with wonderment, yet look with love,
On their companions, and most sweetly prove
The new-born fellowship of blessed souls above.
Yea, there do enemies and rivals meet,
And with a strange good-will each other greet,
Like urchins who in feign'd array,
Of war, on school-tide holiday,
Have sparr'd and jostled on the green,
And for a moment angry been,
Yea, feel such presence hath within them given
A quicken'd zest even for the joys of heaven;
For o'er them charity, like unseen air,
Diffusing balmy sweetness every where,
Shall softly brood; and minds of every hue,
From rosy paleness to empurpled blue,
Like the fair rainbow's mingled harmony,
Give soften'd splendour to the mental eye.
For wisdom, as the generous Saviour said,
When peevish censure reckless charges made—
Wisdom, unshackled, works on every side,
And is of all her children justified.

The pilgrim crowds advance. But O, that sight
Before them opening, beautiful and bright,
As lessening distance gives to view
Their Father's house, while they pursue
Their onward path,—No! nor by word nor thought,
To man's imagination can be brought,
That awful glory: cease, vain muser! cease!
Bless God in humble hope, and be at peace!

HYMN.

Almighty God, from whom our being came,
To whom it tends, blest be Thy holy name!
Blest when through pillar'd aisles we roam,
Or kneel beneath the lofty dome,
As full o'er-head, and all around,
Swell harmonies of long-drawn sound,
While storied windows with deep tinctured beam,
On chisell'd forms and graven pavements gleam!

Blest in the low-brow'd house of prayer,
Where homely pews and rafters bare
Encompass those, who meekly look
Upon the cherish'd, holy book!
Blest in the cot where, on the ground,
The patriarch peasant kneels with all his family round!

But oh! most blest where Thy adorer stands,
Within a temple not uprear'd by hands!
O'er-canopied by pure ethereal blue,
On which fair clouds, of white and silvery hue,
In wide array with slow progression range,
And varied forms assume in endless change;
The granite peak, by storms of ages beat,
The pavement is on which he sets his feet,
And there a goodly scope surveys,
Enlighten'd by the morning rays.
Below, distinctly mark'd, are seen,
Fields, hamlets, towns, and woodlands green;
And then beyond, but less defined,
A sweep of hills and vales combined,
Where brooding vapours scarce betray
Some river winding on its way;
And far beyond, by distance made,
A fainter line of light and shade,
While further still, in distance lost,
Lie sea, and shore, and clifted coast,—
A vasty circle, dim and pale,
Of mortal ken the closing veil.

In this Thy Temple, fair and grand,
Doth Thine adoring creature stand,
His eyes in ecstacy of wonder raising,
His glowing, throbbing heart Thy goodness praising,
Till tears run coursing down his cheeks,
And every thrilling member speaks
The one absorbing thought his soul containeth,
Of love and awe composed, “the Lord omnipotent reigneth.”

HYMN.

What thoughts come to the Christian's aid,
Upon a bed of sickness laid,
While nightly watchers silence keep,
Or close their weary eyes to sleep,
When lamp and fagots waste away,
As dimly dawns approaching day?

“Though here this frame of dust may end,
My spirit shall to God ascend,
And, for His sake who died to save
Poor sinners from a hopeless grave,
With all its sins and faults forgiven,
A peaceful shelter find in heaven;
A Father's house, a home of love:
Praised be His name, all praise above!
Who, even in ruin, loved us still,
And would not soul and body kill!
And blessed be His generous Son,
Who has for us such mercy won!
His gospel sheds a cheering light
Upon our darkling way, through dreary night.
A gleam falls from a sever'd cloud,
Upon the coffin, and the shroud;
While, high in air, with buoyant swell,
Sounds like a friendly call, the passing bell.”

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HYMN.

My soul! and dost thou faintly shrink,
Thus trembling on an awful brink?
Or rough, or smooth, but one step more,
And thy long pilgrimage is o'er.
Thy pilgrim's cloak that clipp'd thee round,
Like a sear'd leaf, dropp'd on the ground,
A base and mouldering thing shall lie,
Its form and uses all gone by.
Behind thee, closing darkness all
Shall cover, like a midnight pall;
Before thee—No! I may not dare
To think, or fancy, what lies there.—

Doth the unbodied spirit take its flight,
Unto its destined, distant, sphere of light,
Upon the buoyant wings of morn,
All conscious of its glory borne:
Or with an instant transit, make
The awful change, and then awake,
As from a slumber, sound and deep,
A wakes an infant from its sleep,
With limbs refresh'd and vigour new
A gradual progress to pursue;
Allied to infancy, with earthly charms,
Once fondled in an elder brother's arms,
Who said to men, by worldly passions driven,
“Lo! such as these possess the realms of heaven.”

Or shall it powerful, and at once
Start up as from a gloomy trance,
With sudden, glorious light astounded,
By the blest brotherhood of saints surrounded,
Where those, who have been loved and lost, appear
With kindred looks of greeting and of cheer?

Away, ye pictured thoughts that pass
Like figures on a magic glass,
Or fitful light with arrowy rays
That on the northern welkin plays!
A steady gleam that will not flit,
Comes from the words of Holy Writ.

“Eye hath not seen, and ear hath never heard,
Nor heart conceived the things by God prepared,
For those who love Him.”—O such love impart,
Repentant, fervent, and adoring,
From every taint of sin restoring,
My Father and my God! to this poor heart!

HYMN FOR THE SCOTCH KIRK.

O God! who madest earth, sea, air,
And living creatures, free and fair,
Thy hallow'd praise is every where,
Hallelujah!

All blended in the swelling song,
Are wise and simple, weak and strong,
Sweet woman's voice and infant's tongue,
Hallelujah!

Yea, woods, and winds, and waves convey
To the rapt ear a hymn, and say
“Him who hath made us we obey,
Hallelujah!”

A SECOND HYMN FOR THE KIRK.

Be heaven's almighty King adored,
Of all good things the Giver!
Sing Hallelujah to the Lord
For ever, and for ever!

Let closed lips, moved at the word,
With glowing accents sever!
O Hallelujah to the Lord
For ever, and for ever!

Can other strains such sounds afford,
Of ecstasy? O never!
Sing Hallelujah to the Lord,
For ever, and for ever!

A THIRD HYMN FOR THE KIRK.

Up, sluggard soul! awake, and raise
To thy blest Lord a song of praise,
Who lifts thee from the gloomy grave,
When low on earth thou liest,—
To Him who lived and died to save,
Hosanna in the highest!

To Him, thy friend of friends, whose love
Invites thee to a home above,
When thou, the world's poor outcast slave,
In grief and anguish criest,—
To Him who lived and died to save,
Hosanna in the highest!

His love a living stream hath found
For pilgrims faint, on barren ground,
Their parch'd and languid souls to lave,
When earthly streams are dryest,—
To Him who lived and died to save,
Hosanna in the highest!

ST. MATTHEW, v. 9.

“Blessed are the peace-makers, for they
God's children shall be called!”—so spake
The Prince of Peace, in mortal clay,
Who veil'd His glory, for our sake.

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The stormy passions of the mind,
The boastful tongue and brow of pride,
Their soothing counsels, wise and kind,
Make to a gentle calm subside.

That eye upon the ground is cast,
Which glanced with restless angry glare,
That heart to hostile heart is prest,
Which thought to place a scorpion there.

Contentious tribes upon the ground
Cast bow and spear at their charm'd voice,
And, link'd in many a friendly round,
Will o'er the pledge of peace rejoice.

Then flourish fields and gardens gay,
Where leaders charged with martial train;
And infants 'mid the herbage play,
Where lately lay the ghastly slain.

Blest are the peace-makers! for they
To God's blest family belong;
Honour'd in this our earthly lay,
And in a sweeter, loftier song.

ST.LUKE, XVIII. 16.

“Let little children come to me,”
Our Lord and Saviour said,
As on a humble, harmless brow
His gentle hand was laid.

The teachable and simple heart
Fears not to be beguiled;
Who enters heaven must love and trust,
E'en as a little child.

The mightiest king, the wisest sage,
Who knows his God aright,
Himself a helpless infant feels
In the Almighty's sight.

A nursling at his lesson set,
Who hopes at last to know,
Is the most learn'd of Adam's race,
In this our home below.

An urchin with his borrow'd rod,
Who smites with guided hand,
Earth's greatest conqueror hath been
The lord of many a land.

“Let little children come to me!”
A cheering welcome given
To all with guileless, humble hearts,
Who seek the way to heaven.

ST.JOHN, XXI. 1.

Toil-worn upon their wavy sea,
With empty nets and wasted store,
The fishermen of Galilee
Are steering cheerless to the shore.
But lo! upon the shelving strand,
A form like one of Abraham's race,
Beckons with friendly outstretch'd hand,
Yet moves with more than mortal grace.

And words came wafted on the wind,—
“Friends, have ye meat?” they answer'd “None.”
“Cast to the right and ye shall find,”
And to the right their nets were thrown:
When all the treasures of the deep
Into their meshy cells were pour'd.
Who may it may be? within them leap
Their yearning hearts—“it is the Lord.”

So he, traversing life's broad main,
Who long hath toil'd and nothing won,
Will feel how profitless and vain
A worldling's task when it is done!
His hands hang listless by his side,
With languid eye and gather'd brow,
He wanders, hope no more his guide,
For what hath she to offer now?

But hark, a voice! he turns his head;
A treasure rich before him lies;
And rays of light from heaven are shed,
To gleam the fair unfolded prize.
Who doth this better gift impart,
Than earth or ocean can afford?
O, feel and rouse thee, grateful heart!
And gladly own it is the Lord.

ST. LUKE, VII. 12.

In silent sorrow from the gates of Nain,
Bearing their dead, the widow's only son,
A band of friends went forth; and with that train
E'en she, the most bereft, moved sadly on.

But when the Lord beheld the piteous sight,
He had compassion on her; from Him broke
Soft tenderness of soul, with saving might,
And “Weep not” were the gracious words He spoke.

In deep affliction 'tis that voice we hear,
When pitying, helpless friends keep silence round:
Weep not! there's saving power, there's comfort near,
That will e'en in the darkest hour be found.

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It is an hour of darkest, deepest woe,
When those we love are sever'd from our side,
Yet weep not, for we soon and surely go
Upon their steps, led by the same blest Guide.

It is a darken'd hour, when evil fame
And evil fortune mingle in our lot;
Yet weep not; He, who scorn, rebuke, and shame
Bore for our worthless sakes, deserts us not.

It is an hour of darkness, when the soul,
She knows not why, dreads an impending doom,
While heaven and earth seem one black, formless scroll,
But weep not, light will yet break through the gloom.

Poor soul! He who beheld the widow's grief,
And touch'd the bier, and from death's bands set free
Her only son, hath for all woes relief,
And “Weep not” are the words He speaks to thee.

JOB, XIII. 15.

O God, who by Thy boundless might,
This earth, heaven's dome and stars of light,
Hast form'd in wisdom and in love!
Let every human bosom move
With grateful thoughts, and gladly raise
In swelling notes a psalm of praise!
Let high and low, and bond and free,
Bless Thy great name, and trust in Thee!

This is our strong and steadfast stay,
When health and wealth have flown away;
When every joy of life is past,
Our greatest comfort and our last.
When laid upon the bed of death,
These thoughts will join our latest breath.
“I will, O Lord, though crush'd and spent I be,
Yea, though Thou slay me, trust in Thee.”

A generous virtue, nobly sprung,
Faith towers our inward powers among,
Like armed chief, like warrior true,
Whose courage nothing can subdue,
But bravely combats to the last,
Then says with looks high-heavenward cast,
“I will, O Lord, in this extremity,
E'en though thou slay me, trust in thee.”

HYMN.

Those Lord, who raise their souls to Thee,
Not always sink on bended knee.
On earth's vast space of sea and land—
Thy sky-coped temple wide and grand,
Swift passing thoughts of praise and prayer
To Thee are wafted every where,
From grateful hearts, who feel, and love
To feel, that 'tis in Thee they live and move.

In hours of triumph or of woe;
On fortune's sunny heights, or low
In gloomy deeps of mortal doom,
The quickening thought will swiftly come,
As from veil'd heaven the lightning keen
Doth pass the sever'd clouds between,
And penetrates with equal power
The humble cottage or the lordly tower.

The marching soldier, stern and stark,—
The seaman in his wave-toss'd ark,—
The king on guarded throne sustain'd,—
The prisoner fetter'd and arraign'd,—
Will feel, like links of living fire,
Their kindred to a Heavenly Sire,
And in their bosoms' secret core,
With speechless praise, His mighty name adore.

The guileless youth, in halls of pleasure,
Whose light feet time the tuneful measure,
May, with thrill'd heart and flashing eye,
Blend holy thanks with revelry;
The very child, at gambols seen
With play-mates on the sunny green,
Who feels it bliss to be alive,
Will to life's Lord a transient worship give.

These nature's inward Hallelujahs are,
Warm, though with words unclothed; here let them wear
Thy robe of woven sounds, sweet harmony,
And wend in floating beauty to the sky!

A HYMN FOR THE KIRK.

O Lord of earth and heaven,
Whose love and power have given
The solid ground, and floating air,
And circling ocean, regions fair,
To be the home of moving life,
The busy seats of joy and strife,—
To Thee with fear and love we raise
A song of praise.

How many links there be
To bind man's heart to Thee;
Affections of the human breast
For children, kindred, friend, and guest;

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Yea, those in generous minds that flow
From virtues of a noble foe!
All form a woven mystic cord,—
Thy bands, O Lord;

Thy streaming rays of love,
That glow in heaven above,
And draw the ransom'd soul to Thee,
And set it from low thraldom free!
As the snared bird, when loosen'd, flies
On outspread pinions to the skies,
With love that conquers fear, we raise
Our song of praise.

A HYMN.

O Lord supreme, whose works so fair,
Sublime and varied, every where
The gazing eye delight!
Thy wisdom, power, and love, the day
Doth in its splendid course display,
As doth the glorious night.

We look upon the ocean wide,
Where ships upon the billows ride,
And sea-birds wing the air,
And feel, as o'er the blue expanse
Soft shadows pass and sunbeams glance,
Thy power and love are there:

And also on the checker'd land,
Where mountain peaks, and forests grand,
With peopled plains between,
And rising slow from man's abode
The grey smoke on its heavenward road,
In fair array are seen.

Thus day and night, and land, and sea,
Each in its turn, O Lord! of thee
Speaks to the mental ear:
And still the thoughts that they impart
Are, to the Christian Pilgrim's heart,
Most cherish'd and most dear.

SELECT VERSES FROM THE 147TH PSALM.

Praise ye the Lord with cheerful voice,
In swelling strains His praises sing,
It makes the grateful heart rejoice,
It is a blest and pleasant thing.

He who the broken heart doth brace,
And bindeth up the wounded frame,
Numbers the host through heaven's vast space,
And gives to every star its name.

With fleecy clouds he clothes the sky,
He stores the moisten'd earth with good,
From him the ravens when they cry,
And savage beasts receive their food.

He sends afar His high behests,
Which sea and land with blessings fill;
Swift flies His word, no power arrests
The course of His almighty will.

THOUGHTS TAKEN FROM THE 93RD PSALM.

Clothed in majesty sublime,
And girt with strength th' Almighty reigns;
And, through the wreckful course of time,
His hand the steadfast world sustains.

Wide doth the mighty thunder fill
The darken'd earth with dread dismay,
But mightier far is He whose will
The lightning and the storm obey.

Deep, heaving under land and sea,
The earthquake uttereth his sound,
Awful though low; more awful He
Who holds its rage in prison bound.

The powerful billows, huge and grand,
Rise swelling from the troubled main,
More powerful is the powerful hand
That doth their threatening rage restrain.

O Lord, adored! from race to race,
Men shall thy righteous laws proclaim,
And holiness become the place
Call'd by Thy great and glorious name.

University of Virginia Library

VERSES ON SACRED SUBJECTS.

HYMN.

HYMN.

HYMN.

HYMN.

HYMN.

HYMN FOR THE SCOTCH KIRK.

A SECOND HYMN FOR THE KIRK.

A THIRD HYMN FOR THE KIRK.

ST. MATTHEW, v. 9.

ST.LUKE, XVIII. 16.

ST.JOHN, XXI. 1.

ST. LUKE, VII. 12.

JOB, XIII. 15.

HYMN.

A HYMN FOR THE KIRK.

A HYMN.

SELECT VERSES FROM THE 147TH PSALM.

THOUGHTS TAKEN FROM THE 93RD PSALM.