 | Airs of Palestine, and other poems |  |
177
V.
HYMNS AND ODES FOR TEMPERANCE OCCASIONS.
179
[I. Wake! wake! friends of your kind]
[_]
Written for the Anniversary of the Massachusetts Society for the Suppression of Intemperance, in Boston, May 23d, 1832.
Wake! wake! friends of your kind!
There's a Demon, a Demon, abroad!
Ye'll scent him in every breath of the wind;—
Around him is woe;—Death and Hell are behind!—
The foe of man and of God.
The Prince of the devils is it,
Escaped from the bottomless pit,—
Escaped, in his wrath or his mirth,
To put out the lights of the earth.
There's a Demon, a Demon, abroad!
Ye'll scent him in every breath of the wind;—
Around him is woe;—Death and Hell are behind!—
The foe of man and of God.
The Prince of the devils is it,
Escaped from the bottomless pit,—
Escaped, in his wrath or his mirth,
To put out the lights of the earth.
Watch! watch!—Creeping by stealth,
Like the serpent through Eden's shades,
The mansions of peace, and of worth, and of wealth,
Assuming the form of “a spirit of health,”
This “goblin damned” invades.
He claims,—and his claim is allowed!—
The young, and the fair, and the proud;
He claims, and he brands them as slaves,
And drags them all down to their graves!
Like the serpent through Eden's shades,
The mansions of peace, and of worth, and of wealth,
Assuming the form of “a spirit of health,”
This “goblin damned” invades.
He claims,—and his claim is allowed!—
The young, and the fair, and the proud;
He claims, and he brands them as slaves,
And drags them all down to their graves!
180
Hark! hark! Hear ye the chain,
That is clanking in yonder cell?
The Demon is there with the felon insane;
He is tearing a heart,—he is burning a brain!—
That shriek is a maniac's yell!
That long, heart-rending moan
Is a wife's,—she is sitting alone;
The man, on whose arm she has leaned,
Has left her, to worship the Fiend!
That is clanking in yonder cell?
The Demon is there with the felon insane;
He is tearing a heart,—he is burning a brain!—
That shriek is a maniac's yell!
That long, heart-rending moan
Is a wife's,—she is sitting alone;
The man, on whose arm she has leaned,
Has left her, to worship the Fiend!
Arm! arm! good men and bold!
'T is a question of life or death;
His banners are floating! beneath are enrolled
Your brothers, your fathers, your children,—all sold,
(Bear witness their tainted breath!)
As victims that soon shall expire
In the flames of unquenchable fire,—
Expire on his altar accursed,
In the fire of unquenchable thirst!
On! on! The fall is decreed
'T is a question of life or death;
His banners are floating! beneath are enrolled
Your brothers, your fathers, your children,—all sold,
(Bear witness their tainted breath!)
As victims that soon shall expire
In the flames of unquenchable fire,—
Expire on his altar accursed,
In the fire of unquenchable thirst!
On! on! The fall is decreed
On! on! The fall is decreed
Of the throne of the Evil One.
At his feet shall immortals by hecatombs bleed?
His vassals already cry out to be freed,—
Resolve! and the work is done.
Resolve! and the pits that yawn,
From dewy eve till dawn,
That spirits infernal may rise,
No more shall insult the skies.
Of the throne of the Evil One.
At his feet shall immortals by hecatombs bleed?
His vassals already cry out to be freed,—
Resolve! and the work is done.
Resolve! and the pits that yawn,
From dewy eve till dawn,
That spirits infernal may rise,
No more shall insult the skies.
181
II.
LICENSE LAWS.
“We license thee, for so much gold,”
Says Congress,—they're our servants there,—
“To keep a pen where men are sold
Of sable skin and woolly hair;
For ‘public good’ requires the toil
Of slaves on Freedom's sacred soil.”
Says Congress,—they're our servants there,—
“To keep a pen where men are sold
Of sable skin and woolly hair;
For ‘public good’ requires the toil
Of slaves on Freedom's sacred soil.”
“For so much gold we license thee,”
So say our laws, “a draught to sell,
That bows the strong, enslaves the free,
And opens wide the gates of hell;
For ‘public good’ requires that some
Should live, since many die, by rum.”
So say our laws, “a draught to sell,
That bows the strong, enslaves the free,
And opens wide the gates of hell;
For ‘public good’ requires that some
Should live, since many die, by rum.”
182
Ye civil fathers! while the foes
Of this destroyer seize their swords,
And Heaven's own hail is in the blows
They're dealing,—will YE cut the cords
That round the falling fiend they draw,
And o'er him hold your shield of law?
Of this destroyer seize their swords,
And Heaven's own hail is in the blows
They're dealing,—will YE cut the cords
That round the falling fiend they draw,
And o'er him hold your shield of law?
And will ye give to man a bill
Divorcing him from Heaven's high sway,
And, while God says, “Thou shalt not kill,”—
Say ye, for gold, “Ye may,—ye may”?
Compare the body with the soul!
Compare the bullet with the bowl!
Divorcing him from Heaven's high sway,
And, while God says, “Thou shalt not kill,”—
Say ye, for gold, “Ye may,—ye may”?
Compare the body with the soul!
Compare the bullet with the bowl!
In which is felt the fiercer blast
Of the destroying angel's breath?
Which binds its victim the more fast?
Which kills him with the deadlier death?
Will ye the felon fox restrain,
And yet take off the tiger's chain?
Of the destroying angel's breath?
Which binds its victim the more fast?
Which kills him with the deadlier death?
Will ye the felon fox restrain,
And yet take off the tiger's chain?
The living to the rotting dead
The God-contemning Tuscan tied,
Till, by the way, or on his bed,
The poor corpse-carrier drooped and died,—
Lashed hand to hand, and face to face,
In fatal and in loathed embrace.
The God-contemning Tuscan tied,
Till, by the way, or on his bed,
The poor corpse-carrier drooped and died,—
Lashed hand to hand, and face to face,
In fatal and in loathed embrace.
183
Less cutting, think ye, is the thong
That to a breathing corpse, for life,
Lashes, in torture loathed and long,
The drunkard's child,—the drunkard's wife?
To clasp that clay,—to breathe that breath,—
And no escape! O, that is death!
That to a breathing corpse, for life,
Lashes, in torture loathed and long,
The drunkard's child,—the drunkard's wife?
To clasp that clay,—to breathe that breath,—
And no escape! O, that is death!
Are ye not fathers? When your sons
Look to you for their daily bread,
Dare ye, in mockery, load with stones
The table that for them ye spread?
How can ye hope your sons will live,
If ye, for fish, a serpent give?
Look to you for their daily bread,
Dare ye, in mockery, load with stones
The table that for them ye spread?
How can ye hope your sons will live,
If ye, for fish, a serpent give?
O, Holy God! let light divine
Break forth more broadly from above,
Till we conform our laws to thine,
The perfect law of truth and love;
For truth and love alone can save
Thy children from a hopeless grave.
Break forth more broadly from above,
Till we conform our laws to thine,
The perfect law of truth and love;
For truth and love alone can save
Thy children from a hopeless grave.
Four hundred dollars is the sum, prescribed by Congress,— the local legislature of the District of Columbia,—for a license to keep a prison-house and market, for the sale of men, women, and children. See Jay's “View of the Action of the Federal Government in behalf of Slavery,” p. 87.
Whether the sin of slavery, or “the slavery of sin,” is the more proper object of legislative protection, it is for our rulers in the State House and the City Hall to determine. To their consciences the question is respectfully referred. The time is coming when they must answer it.
184
[III. Thou sparkling bowl! thou sparkling bowl]
[_]
Written for the Simultaneous Temperance Meeting, in the Old South Church in Boston, February 24th, 1835.
Thou sparkling bowl! thou sparkling bowl!
Though lips of bards thy brim may press,
And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll,
And song and dance thy power confess,
I will not touch thee; for there clings
A scorpion to thy side, that stings!
Though lips of bards thy brim may press,
And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll,
And song and dance thy power confess,
I will not touch thee; for there clings
A scorpion to thy side, that stings!
Thou crystal glass! like Eden's tree,
Thy melted ruby tempts the eye,
And, as from that, there comes from thee
The voice, “Thou shalt not surely die.”
I dare not lift thy liquid gem;—
A snake is twisted round thy stem!
Thy melted ruby tempts the eye,
And, as from that, there comes from thee
The voice, “Thou shalt not surely die.”
I dare not lift thy liquid gem;—
A snake is twisted round thy stem!
Thou liquid fire! like that which glowed
On Melita's surf-beaten shore,
Thou'st been upon my guests bestowed,
But thou shalt warm my house no more.
For, wheresoe'er thy radiance falls,
Forth, from thy heat, a viper crawls!
On Melita's surf-beaten shore,
Thou'st been upon my guests bestowed,
But thou shalt warm my house no more.
For, wheresoe'er thy radiance falls,
Forth, from thy heat, a viper crawls!
185
What, though of gold the goblet be,
Embossed with branches of the vine,
Beneath whose burnished leaves we see
Such clusters as poured out the wine?
Among those leaves an adder hangs!
I fear him;—for I've felt his fangs.
Embossed with branches of the vine,
Beneath whose burnished leaves we see
Such clusters as poured out the wine?
Among those leaves an adder hangs!
I fear him;—for I've felt his fangs.
The Hebrew, who the desert trod,
And felt the fiery serpent's bite,
Looked up to that ordained of God,
And found that life was in the sight.
So, the worm-bitten's fiery veins
Cool, when he drinks what God ordains.
And felt the fiery serpent's bite,
Looked up to that ordained of God,
And found that life was in the sight.
So, the worm-bitten's fiery veins
Cool, when he drinks what God ordains.
Ye gracious clouds! ye deep, cold wells!
Ye gems, from mossy rocks that drip!
Springs, that from Earth's mysterious cells
Gush o'er your granite basin's lip!
To you I look;—your largess give,
And I will drink of you, and live.
Ye gems, from mossy rocks that drip!
Springs, that from Earth's mysterious cells
Gush o'er your granite basin's lip!
To you I look;—your largess give,
And I will drink of you, and live.
186
[IV. How long, O God, how long]
How long, O God, how long
Must thy pure eyes behold
This fair world blasted by the wrong,
Man does to man for gold?
How long shall Reason be cast down,
And a fierce demon wear her crown?
Must thy pure eyes behold
This fair world blasted by the wrong,
Man does to man for gold?
How long shall Reason be cast down,
And a fierce demon wear her crown?
The prisoner's cell, that all
Life's blessed light bedims,
The lash that cuts, the links that gall,
The poor slaves' festering limbs,—
What is this thraldom, to the chain
That binds and burns the drunkard's brain?
Life's blessed light bedims,
The lash that cuts, the links that gall,
The poor slaves' festering limbs,—
What is this thraldom, to the chain
That binds and burns the drunkard's brain?
If, then, thy frown is felt,
O God, by those who bind
The body,—what must be the guilt
Of such as chain the mind,
Drag to the pit, and plunge it in!
O have not these “the greater sin”?
O God, by those who bind
The body,—what must be the guilt
Of such as chain the mind,
Drag to the pit, and plunge it in!
O have not these “the greater sin”?
187
The mother of our race,
Whose sin brought death and woe,
Yet, in her weakness, found thy grace;—
The Tempter's curse we know.
Doth he who drinks, wrong most the soul?
Or he who tempts him to the bowl?
Whose sin brought death and woe,
Yet, in her weakness, found thy grace;—
The Tempter's curse we know.
Doth he who drinks, wrong most the soul?
Or he who tempts him to the bowl?
Help us, O God, to weigh
Our deeds as in thy scales;
Nor let gold dust the balance sway;—
For good o'er gold prevails
At that dread bar where all must look
Upon the record in THY Book.
Our deeds as in thy scales;
Nor let gold dust the balance sway;—
For good o'er gold prevails
At that dread bar where all must look
Upon the record in THY Book.
[V. In Eden's green retreats]
In Eden's green retreats,
A water-brook,—that played
Between soft, mossy seats,
Beneath a plane-tree's shade,
Whose rustling leaves
Danced o'er its brink,—
Was Adam's drink,
And also Eve's.
A water-brook,—that played
Between soft, mossy seats,
Beneath a plane-tree's shade,
Whose rustling leaves
Danced o'er its brink,—
Was Adam's drink,
And also Eve's.
188
Beside the parent spring
Of that young brook, the pair
Their morning chant would sing;
And Eve, to dress her hair,
Kneel on the grass
That fringed its side,
And make its tide
Her looking-glass.
Of that young brook, the pair
Their morning chant would sing;
And Eve, to dress her hair,
Kneel on the grass
That fringed its side,
And make its tide
Her looking-glass.
And, when the man of God
From Egypt led his flock,
They thirsted, and his rod
Smote the Arabian rock,
And forth a rill
Of water gushed,
And on they rushed,
And drank their fill.
From Egypt led his flock,
They thirsted, and his rod
Smote the Arabian rock,
And forth a rill
Of water gushed,
And on they rushed,
And drank their fill.
Would Eden thus have smiled,
Had wine to Eden come?
Would Horeb's parching wild
Have been refreshed with rum?
And had Eve's hair
Been dressed in gin,
Would she have been
Reflected fair?
Had wine to Eden come?
Would Horeb's parching wild
Have been refreshed with rum?
And had Eve's hair
Been dressed in gin,
Would she have been
Reflected fair?
Had Moses built a still,
And dealt out to that host,
To every man his gill,
And pledged him in a toast,
Would cooler brains,
Or stronger hands,
Have braved the sands
Of those hot plains?
And dealt out to that host,
To every man his gill,
And pledged him in a toast,
189
Or stronger hands,
Have braved the sands
Of those hot plains?
“Sweet fields, beyond” death's flood
“Stand dressed in living green;”
For, from the throne of God,
To freshen all the scene,
A river rolls,
Where all who will
May come and fill
Their crystal bowls.
“Stand dressed in living green;”
For, from the throne of God,
To freshen all the scene,
A river rolls,
Where all who will
May come and fill
Their crystal bowls.
If Eden's strength and bloom
Cold Water thus hath given,
If, even beyond the tomb,
It is the drink of heaven,
Are not good wells
And crystal springs
The very things
For our Hotels?
Cold Water thus hath given,
If, even beyond the tomb,
It is the drink of heaven,
Are not good wells
And crystal springs
The very things
For our Hotels?
190
[VI. Dash to the floor that bowl]
[_]
Written for the Ninth Anniversary of the New York State Temperance Society, in Albany, February 8th, 1838.
Dash to the floor that bowl!
Dare not its sweets to sip!
There's peril to the soul,
If once it touch the lip.
Why will ye drown
The God within?
Avoid the sin!
Ay, dash it down!
Dare not its sweets to sip!
There's peril to the soul,
If once it touch the lip.
Why will ye drown
The God within?
Avoid the sin!
Ay, dash it down!
Once, to the exiled John
A poisoned cup was brought.
The bearer had withdrawn;—
The saint, by angels taught,
Saw, o'er its brim,
An asp's head rise,
Whose burning eyes
Were fixed on him.
A poisoned cup was brought.
The bearer had withdrawn;—
The saint, by angels taught,
Saw, o'er its brim,
An asp's head rise,
Whose burning eyes
Were fixed on him.
So Truth, by whose bright blaze
Is many a secret sin
Revealed, in these our days
Hath taught us, that, within
That narrow span,
The wine-cup's grasp,
There lives an asp,
There dies a man!
Is many a secret sin
Revealed, in these our days
Hath taught us, that, within
191
The wine-cup's grasp,
There lives an asp,
There dies a man!
Then let no fire be brought,
In goblet, glass, or bowl,
Within “the dome of thought,
The palace of the soul;”
Lest, in that fire
Of burning drink,
That palace sink,
That soul expire.
In goblet, glass, or bowl,
Within “the dome of thought,
The palace of the soul;”
Lest, in that fire
Of burning drink,
That palace sink,
That soul expire.
Should God, in wrath, ordain
A universal dearth,
What need he do, but rain
On all this green, glad earth,
From cloudy urns,
The curse that fills
Our vats and stills,
That blights and burns?
A universal dearth,
What need he do, but rain
On all this green, glad earth,
From cloudy urns,
The curse that fills
Our vats and stills,
That blights and burns?
Save us from such a shower,
God of the eastern bow!
That pledge, of love and power,
What bends, what paints it so?
That bow in air
'T is light that bends,
Heaven's light, that blends
With water there.
God of the eastern bow!
That pledge, of love and power,
What bends, what paints it so?
That bow in air
'T is light that bends,
Heaven's light, that blends
With water there.
192
Let light on water shine,—
The light of love and truth!
Then shall that drink divine
Be quaffed by Age and Youth;
And, as that bow
Doth heavenward bend,
Shall heavenward tend
The way they go.
The light of love and truth!
Then shall that drink divine
Be quaffed by Age and Youth;
And, as that bow
Doth heavenward bend,
Shall heavenward tend
The way they go.
[VII. We sing the praise of Water]
[_]
Written for the Juvenile Celebration of the Simultaneous Meeting of the Friends of Temperance, throughout the World, at the Odeon in Boston, February 27th, 1838.
We sing the praise of Water;
Come, every son and daughter
Of Freedom's land!
With such a theme before us,
With God's great shield held o'er us,
Who will not join the chorus
Of our young band?
Come, every son and daughter
Of Freedom's land!
With such a theme before us,
With God's great shield held o'er us,
Who will not join the chorus
Of our young band?
Yon silver fountain's basin,
'T is sweet to see thy face in,
Fair harvest moon!
And, when the sun has shone in,
On the white pebbles thrown in,
'T is sweet to see our own in,
At sultry noon.
'T is sweet to see thy face in,
Fair harvest moon!
And, when the sun has shone in,
On the white pebbles thrown in,
'T is sweet to see our own in,
At sultry noon.
193
Sweet is the light that quivers
On water brooks and rivers;
Fresh are the trees
Whose feet the wave caresses,
And fresh the bloom that dresses
Their loose and fragrant tresses
For evening's breeze.
On water brooks and rivers;
Fresh are the trees
Whose feet the wave caresses,
And fresh the bloom that dresses
Their loose and fragrant tresses
For evening's breeze.
Grateful the cloud that over
Wide fields of blooming clover
Swims, charged with rain;
Grateful the rill that gushes
From heights where day first blushes,
And down the hill-side rushes
To bless the plain.
Wide fields of blooming clover
Swims, charged with rain;
Grateful the rill that gushes
From heights where day first blushes,
And down the hill-side rushes
To bless the plain.
Streams of the wood-crowned mountain,
Children of cloud and fountain,
Who dance and sing
O'er snow-beds iced and glossy,
O'er rocks with green tufts bossy,
Down paths all clean and mossy!
Your tribute bring.
Children of cloud and fountain,
Who dance and sing
O'er snow-beds iced and glossy,
O'er rocks with green tufts bossy,
Down paths all clean and mossy!
Your tribute bring.
To all earth's sons and daughters
“The circuit of the waters”
Gives joy and health;
Floats the gay barge of pleasure,
And, without stint or measure,
Wafts on that heavenly treasure,
True Wisdom's Wealth.
“The circuit of the waters”
Gives joy and health;
Floats the gay barge of pleasure,
And, without stint or measure,
Wafts on that heavenly treasure,
True Wisdom's Wealth.
194
[VIII. Let the trump of Fame]
[_]
Written for the Celebration of National Independence on Temperance Principles, in Fanueil Hall, Boston, July 4th, 1839.
Let the trump of Fame
Now to their memory swell,
Who, in Freedom's name,
Fought and bravely fell!
On the heroes moved,
With death on every side;—
For the land they loved
They died,—they died.
Round the names of all,
Shall honor's chaplets green,
Here, in Freedom's Hall,
Freshly wreathed be seen,
Till all the nations raise
The shout, like ocean's roar,
That Right our sceptre sways,
And “Slavery reigns no more.”
Now to their memory swell,
Who, in Freedom's name,
Fought and bravely fell!
On the heroes moved,
With death on every side;—
For the land they loved
They died,—they died.
Round the names of all,
Shall honor's chaplets green,
Here, in Freedom's Hall,
Freshly wreathed be seen,
Till all the nations raise
The shout, like ocean's roar,
That Right our sceptre sways,
And “Slavery reigns no more.”
When the patriot dead,
Who, in their glory rest,
From their lowly bed,
In ghostly garments drest,
Come up, and, at our call,
This festive board surround,—
Shall they see this Hall
In wassail drowned?
Can man, to Freedom true,
Prove false to Virtue's laws?—
In our fathers' view
Come, pledge the Temperance Cause!
Wine is Freedom's foe!
Hence let the recreant fly,
Lest, by the traitor's blow,
She, in HER CRADLE, die!
Who, in their glory rest,
From their lowly bed,
In ghostly garments drest,
195
This festive board surround,—
Shall they see this Hall
In wassail drowned?
Can man, to Freedom true,
Prove false to Virtue's laws?—
In our fathers' view
Come, pledge the Temperance Cause!
Wine is Freedom's foe!
Hence let the recreant fly,
Lest, by the traitor's blow,
She, in HER CRADLE, die!
[IX. Lift up, lift up the standard]
Lift up, lift up the standard,
And plant it near the well!
And, gathered underneath its folds,
A choral anthem swell!
The anthem that is set in praise
Of brooks and cisterns sing!
Give one strain to the rain,
Give another to the spring;—
Yea, give a chorus loud and long
To aqueduct and spring.
And plant it near the well!
And, gathered underneath its folds,
A choral anthem swell!
The anthem that is set in praise
Of brooks and cisterns sing!
Give one strain to the rain,
Give another to the spring;—
Yea, give a chorus loud and long
To aqueduct and spring.
196
Green hills and smiling valleys!
Ye once were red with gore,
When Freedom's thunders o'er you rolled,
And broke along our shore.
The holy skies have poured their rains,
And sifted down their snows,
Till the stain of the slain,
That beneath your turf repose,
Is washed away, and the sods are clean,
Where the martyred brave repose.
Ye once were red with gore,
When Freedom's thunders o'er you rolled,
And broke along our shore.
The holy skies have poured their rains,
And sifted down their snows,
Till the stain of the slain,
That beneath your turf repose,
Is washed away, and the sods are clean,
Where the martyred brave repose.
Even so will ice and water
Make clean our living clay;—
Then let them grace our festive board
On Independence day;—
The day that tells us of the blood
That was, like water, poured
From their veins, on the plains
Where our fathers grasped the sword,
Where the cumbrous sheath was thrown away,
And flashed the freeman's sword.
Make clean our living clay;—
Then let them grace our festive board
On Independence day;—
The day that tells us of the blood
That was, like water, poured
From their veins, on the plains
Where our fathers grasped the sword,
Where the cumbrous sheath was thrown away,
And flashed the freeman's sword.
Ye heroes of the bottle,
Who “bumper” every toast,
Who keep your wine in cobwebs wrapped,
And make its age your boast,
The oldest wine your vaults have known
From press or vat to flow,
Is new to the dew
That six thousand years ago
Came down to fill our cups, one night,
Six thousand years ago.
Who “bumper” every toast,
Who keep your wine in cobwebs wrapped,
And make its age your boast,
The oldest wine your vaults have known
From press or vat to flow,
Is new to the dew
That six thousand years ago
Came down to fill our cups, one night,
Six thousand years ago.
197
Ye champions of cold water,
Who quaff that drink divine,
Who 've given your rum and brandy o'er,
And bid adieu to wine,
The bottles that ye crack to-day,
By God's own hand are given;
Some in earth have their birth,
And some are made in heaven;
The granite rock and spring are those,
And these the clouds of heaven.
Who quaff that drink divine,
Who 've given your rum and brandy o'er,
And bid adieu to wine,
The bottles that ye crack to-day,
By God's own hand are given;
Some in earth have their birth,
And some are made in heaven;
The granite rock and spring are those,
And these the clouds of heaven.
Then, UP the Temperance standard!
And plant it by the well,
And, shaded by its waving folds,
A choral anthem swell!
The anthem that is set to chime
With babbling waters sing,
Give one strain to the rain,
Give another to the spring,
Yea, give a chorus loud and long,
To aqueduct and spring!
And plant it by the well,
And, shaded by its waving folds,
A choral anthem swell!
The anthem that is set to chime
With babbling waters sing,
Give one strain to the rain,
Give another to the spring,
Yea, give a chorus loud and long,
To aqueduct and spring!
198
[X. Says Jonathan, says he, “To-day]
Says Jonathan, says he, “To-day
I will be independent,
And so my grog I'll throw away,
And that shall be the end on't.
Clear the house! the 'tarnal stuff
Shan't be here so handy;
Wife has given the winds her snuff,
So now here goes my brandy!
I will be independent,
And so my grog I'll throw away,
And that shall be the end on't.
Clear the house! the 'tarnal stuff
Shan't be here so handy;
Wife has given the winds her snuff,
So now here goes my brandy!
Chorus.
Clear the house, &c.
“Our fathers, though a sturdy folk,
Were sometimes rayther skittish;
And so they wouldn't wear the yoke
Brought over by the British.
Yonder, on old Bunker's head,
From their necks they shook it;
There they fired off all their lead,
And then they had to hook it.
Were sometimes rayther skittish;
And so they wouldn't wear the yoke
Brought over by the British.
Yonder, on old Bunker's head,
From their necks they shook it;
There they fired off all their lead,
And then they had to hook it.
Chorus.
Yonder, on, &c.
“But though they fit and run away,
They warn't a bit o' cowards;
They lived to fight another day,
When lookin' Gin'ral Howe-wards.
What could then the Gin'ral do
For his own salvation?
Why, he ‘cussed and quit’ the u-
nivarsal Yankee nation.
They warn't a bit o' cowards;
They lived to fight another day,
When lookin' Gin'ral Howe-wards.
199
For his own salvation?
Why, he ‘cussed and quit’ the u-
nivarsal Yankee nation.
Chorus.
What could then, &c.
“The tyrant that our fathers smoked
Lay skulkin' in a tea-pot;
There's now ‘a worser’ to be choked,
In bottle, jug, or wee pot;
Often in a glass he shows
What he calls his ‘body’;
And often wades, up to his nose,
In a bowl of toddy.
Lay skulkin' in a tea-pot;
There's now ‘a worser’ to be choked,
In bottle, jug, or wee pot;
Often in a glass he shows
What he calls his ‘body’;
And often wades, up to his nose,
In a bowl of toddy.
Chorus.
Often in a glass, &c.
“Sometimes he creeps up, through the slim
Stem of a very fine pipe;
And sometimes plunges, for a swim,
All over in a wine-pipe;
But, he's tickled, most of all,
When he hears the summons
Down his favorite pipes to crawl,—
The wind-pipes of the rum-uns.
Stem of a very fine pipe;
And sometimes plunges, for a swim,
All over in a wine-pipe;
But, he's tickled, most of all,
When he hears the summons
Down his favorite pipes to crawl,—
The wind-pipes of the rum-uns.
Chorus.
But, he's tickled, &c.
“And when he gets the upper hand,—
This tyrant, base and scurvy,—
He strips a man of house and land,
And turns him topsy-turvy.
Neck and heels he binds him fast,
And says that he is his'n;
But lets him have, rent free, at last,
A poor-house or a prison.
This tyrant, base and scurvy,—
He strips a man of house and land,
And turns him topsy-turvy.
200
And says that he is his'n;
But lets him have, rent free, at last,
A poor-house or a prison.
Chorus.
Neck and heels, &c.
“And now,” says Jonathan, “towards Rum
I'm desperate unforgivin';
The tyrant, never more, shall come
Into ‘the house I live in.’
Kindred spirits, too, shall in-
to outer darkness go forth;
Whisky, Toddy, Julep, Gin,
Brandy, Beer, and so forth.
I'm desperate unforgivin';
The tyrant, never more, shall come
Into ‘the house I live in.’
Kindred spirits, too, shall in-
to outer darkness go forth;
Whisky, Toddy, Julep, Gin,
Brandy, Beer, and so forth.
Chorus.
Kindred spirits, &c.
“While this COLD WATER fills my cup,
Duns dare not assail me;
Sheriffs shall not lock me up,
Nor my neighbours bail me;
Lawyers will I never let
‘Choose me as defendant’;
Till to death I pay my debt,
I will be independent.”
Duns dare not assail me;
Sheriffs shall not lock me up,
Nor my neighbours bail me;
Lawyers will I never let
‘Choose me as defendant’;
Till to death I pay my debt,
I will be independent.”
Chorus.
Lawyers will I never let, &c.201
[XI. Let the trump of Fame]
Let the trump of Fame
Be blown in praise of all,
Who, in Virtue's name,
Fight or bravely fall!
On the heroes move,
Though hosts their march impede;
For the land they love
They plead, they plead.
Who hath ears to hear
Let him hear their plea,
And with holy fear
From the Tempter flee;
Till brew-house, vat, and still
Are swept from all our shore,
And hill shall shout to hill,
“Their slavery is no more!”
Be blown in praise of all,
Who, in Virtue's name,
Fight or bravely fall!
On the heroes move,
Though hosts their march impede;
For the land they love
They plead, they plead.
Who hath ears to hear
Let him hear their plea,
And with holy fear
From the Tempter flee;
Till brew-house, vat, and still
Are swept from all our shore,
And hill shall shout to hill,
“Their slavery is no more!”
Cheer the patriot band,
Who, for their country, draw
The sword of God's right hand,
The sword of Right and Law!
They in His strength are strong,
Who dare encounter loss,
While bearing thus along
The cross, the cross.
Grasp, every man, his shield,—
The shield of faith,—and come
On to the battle-field,
Against the powers of Rum.
Those powers are shaken, even now!
Of Heaven they're not the powers!
Then on, with dauntless brow!
The Victory is ours!
Who, for their country, draw
The sword of God's right hand,
The sword of Right and Law!
202
Who dare encounter loss,
While bearing thus along
The cross, the cross.
Grasp, every man, his shield,—
The shield of faith,—and come
On to the battle-field,
Against the powers of Rum.
Those powers are shaken, even now!
Of Heaven they're not the powers!
Then on, with dauntless brow!
The Victory is ours!
[XII. Source of being, Holy Father]
Source of being, Holy Father,
With the day's returning light,
Round our board with thanks we gather,
For the mercies of the night:
With the day's returning light,
Round our board with thanks we gather,
For the mercies of the night:
Mercies that the stars outnumber,
Which their silent courses keep,—
Angel guards that never slumber,—
While we lie and safely sleep.
Which their silent courses keep,—
Angel guards that never slumber,—
While we lie and safely sleep.
203
Pillows, wet with tears of anguish,
Couches, pressed in sleepless woe,
Where the sons of Belial languish,
Father, may we never know!
Couches, pressed in sleepless woe,
Where the sons of Belial languish,
Father, may we never know!
For, the maddening cup shall never
To our thirsting lips be pressed,
But, our draft shall be, for ever,
The cold water thou hast blessed.
To our thirsting lips be pressed,
But, our draft shall be, for ever,
The cold water thou hast blessed.
This shall give us strength to labor,
This, make all our stores increase;
This, with thee and with our neighbour,
Bind us in the bonds of peace.
This, make all our stores increase;
This, with thee and with our neighbour,
Bind us in the bonds of peace.
For the lake, the well, the river,
Water-brook, and crystal spring,
Do we now, to thee, the Giver,
Thanks, our daily tribute, bring.
Water-brook, and crystal spring,
Do we now, to thee, the Giver,
Thanks, our daily tribute, bring.
1840.
[XIII. This day, O God, thy blessed hand]
This day, O God, thy blessed hand
Hath thrown wide open all thy stores,
And filled with bounty every land,
The sea, and all its sounding shores.
Hath thrown wide open all thy stores,
And filled with bounty every land,
The sea, and all its sounding shores.
204
Beast, bird, fish, insect, hast thou fed
With fish or flesh, with grass or grain;—
For man a table hast thou spread
From field, flood, air, or roaring main.
With fish or flesh, with grass or grain;—
For man a table hast thou spread
From field, flood, air, or roaring main.
But, for all things o'er earth that move,
In air or ocean soar or sink,
One thing hath thine unbounded love,
And only one, prepared for drink.
In air or ocean soar or sink,
One thing hath thine unbounded love,
And only one, prepared for drink.
'T is water! In the living spring
It gusheth up to meet our lip;
In brooks we hear it murmuring,
From mossy rocks we see it drip.
It gusheth up to meet our lip;
In brooks we hear it murmuring,
From mossy rocks we see it drip.
It filleth Health and Beauty's cup,
And wrath and sorrow doth it drown,
As from our wells it cometh up,
As from thy clouds it cometh down.
And wrath and sorrow doth it drown,
As from our wells it cometh up,
As from thy clouds it cometh down.
For the cool water we have quaffed,
Source of all good! we owe thee much;
Our lips have touched no burning draught
This day, nor shall they ever touch.
Source of all good! we owe thee much;
Our lips have touched no burning draught
This day, nor shall they ever touch.
When we retire to our repose,
And Night's dark curtains round us draw,
O guard us, as thou guardest those
Who trust thy care, and keep thy law!
And Night's dark curtains round us draw,
O guard us, as thou guardest those
Who trust thy care, and keep thy law!
1840.
205
XIV.
THE DRUNKARD'S FUNERAL.
There was, some eighteen years or more ago,
A young man, a parishioner of mine,
Whose name was Willard. There are Willards many,
As there are many Lords and many Smiths.
This Willard was a butcher;—and my meats
I often bought of him, in Boylston Market.
A young man, a parishioner of mine,
Whose name was Willard. There are Willards many,
As there are many Lords and many Smiths.
This Willard was a butcher;—and my meats
I often bought of him, in Boylston Market.
He was a man of about five feet ten;
Upright, of ample chest and well-knit frame.
His eyes were black; and, on his healthy cheeks,
The rose and lily met and kissed each other.
Had he, instead of Boston, dwelt in Rome,
The sculptors there, Thorwaldsen and Canova,
Might have pulled caps to see whose studio
Willard should grace by standing as a model,
When those magicians were about to call
A young Apollo from Carrara's marble.
Upright, of ample chest and well-knit frame.
His eyes were black; and, on his healthy cheeks,
The rose and lily met and kissed each other.
Had he, instead of Boston, dwelt in Rome,
The sculptors there, Thorwaldsen and Canova,
Might have pulled caps to see whose studio
Willard should grace by standing as a model,
When those magicians were about to call
A young Apollo from Carrara's marble.
His young wife, in her comfortable home,
I visited, in my parochial walks;—
And, for a year or two, his pew, I saw,
Was never empty on the Sabbath day.
But, after that, both from his pew and stall
He was an absentee; and then I learned
That he'd become a drover; and, as such,
Went up and down the earth, and to and fro,
And dealt in bullocks, as he'd dealt in beef.
I visited, in my parochial walks;—
And, for a year or two, his pew, I saw,
Was never empty on the Sabbath day.
But, after that, both from his pew and stall
He was an absentee; and then I learned
That he'd become a drover; and, as such,
206
And dealt in bullocks, as he'd dealt in beef.
Still later,—and, meanwhile, his face no more
Was seen with those who, in the holy place,
“Came to present themselves before the Lord;”
And, therefore, knew I him or his no more;—
I sometimes saw him, in the business streets,
Acting, it seemed to me, as owner, first,
And, last, as only driver, of a dray.
And then, for years, he was to me as lost.
His comely figure sometimes swam along
Before the closing eye of Memory;
And I would ask myself what had become
Of Willard; he had seemed like one on whom
The eye of Fortune had not turned with smiles;—
Like one who, on the ladder of affairs,
Had been, for some time, stepping,—like a man
Descending from a roof with empty hod,—
Backwards and downwards. But years rolled away;
The places he had filled were filled by others;—
Another, in the market, had his stall;
And, to his pew, another family
“Came, to present themselves before the Lord.”
Such is the mutability of life!
Was seen with those who, in the holy place,
“Came to present themselves before the Lord;”
And, therefore, knew I him or his no more;—
I sometimes saw him, in the business streets,
Acting, it seemed to me, as owner, first,
And, last, as only driver, of a dray.
And then, for years, he was to me as lost.
His comely figure sometimes swam along
Before the closing eye of Memory;
And I would ask myself what had become
Of Willard; he had seemed like one on whom
The eye of Fortune had not turned with smiles;—
Like one who, on the ladder of affairs,
Had been, for some time, stepping,—like a man
Descending from a roof with empty hod,—
Backwards and downwards. But years rolled away;
The places he had filled were filled by others;—
Another, in the market, had his stall;
And, to his pew, another family
“Came, to present themselves before the Lord.”
Such is the mutability of life!
Years passed;—and, late one Saturday, there came
A neighbour, to request that I would go,
And offer prayer with a poor family
Whose head was taken away. The tenement,
The cold brick tenement, where the poor wife
Sat with her children, shrouded in coarse weeds,
Appeared almost as chill and desolate
As did the cold, white tenement of clay,
That lay o'erthrown before me. There appeared,
Around the mourners, not a single thing
That spoke of comfort past, or good to come;—
Nothing,—save what the bowels of the law
Deny its harpy fingers. I saw then,—
What I'd surmised,—that these poor, desolate ones
Must be,—they were!—a drunkard's family.
A neighbour, to request that I would go,
And offer prayer with a poor family
Whose head was taken away. The tenement,
The cold brick tenement, where the poor wife
Sat with her children, shrouded in coarse weeds,
207
As did the cold, white tenement of clay,
That lay o'erthrown before me. There appeared,
Around the mourners, not a single thing
That spoke of comfort past, or good to come;—
Nothing,—save what the bowels of the law
Deny its harpy fingers. I saw then,—
What I'd surmised,—that these poor, desolate ones
Must be,—they were!—a drunkard's family.
To pray with those from whom the hand of death
Hath taken away the reverend and the wise,
Or, “in its infant innocence,” removed
The babe, the budding child,—meet type of heaven!—
Is a delightful office. Then the eye
Of Christian faith follows the soul, set free
From sensual chains and lures, and sees it wing
Its upward way;—and sees the gates of bliss
Swing open wide, to let the white dove in.
Hath taken away the reverend and the wise,
Or, “in its infant innocence,” removed
The babe, the budding child,—meet type of heaven!—
Is a delightful office. Then the eye
Of Christian faith follows the soul, set free
From sensual chains and lures, and sees it wing
Its upward way;—and sees the gates of bliss
Swing open wide, to let the white dove in.
How full of comfort is the Holy Book,
For such as mourn the righteous and the pure!
How full of consolation then may be
The voice of him, whose office 't is to give
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!” But, oh!
If thou'st a heart that pity e'er hath touched,
Pity him, who the sacrifice of prayer
Must offer at a drunkard's funeral!
For such as mourn the righteous and the pure!
How full of consolation then may be
The voice of him, whose office 't is to give
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust!” But, oh!
If thou'st a heart that pity e'er hath touched,
Pity him, who the sacrifice of prayer
Must offer at a drunkard's funeral!
The brothers of the man, o'er whose remains
Prayer must be made, had from the country come
To take the body back,—now that the town
Had wrought its work upon it,—and to lay
What was once beautiful and full of life,
Into the kind arms of its mother, Earth.
Prayer must be made, had from the country come
To take the body back,—now that the town
208
What was once beautiful and full of life,
Into the kind arms of its mother, Earth.
The coffin's lid was closed. Before I prayed,
I stepped up by its side, to read the name
Cut on the metal plate;—for though the shades
Of evening were descending, there was light
Enough thrown off from its reflecting face
For me to see that “Willard” was the name!
I stepped up by its side, to read the name
Cut on the metal plate;—for though the shades
Of evening were descending, there was light
Enough thrown off from its reflecting face
For me to see that “Willard” was the name!
Ere I withdrew, I took the widow's hand,
Dropped what poor words of comfort I could find,
And said, “On Monday I will visit you.”
Dropped what poor words of comfort I could find,
And said, “On Monday I will visit you.”
I did so. On the corner of her hearth,
On which were burning a few coals and brands,
I found her sitting. She was bending o'er
Her youngest child,—an infant, in her lap,—
On which she seemed to gaze in speechless woe.
Deep o'er her eyes, concealing all her face,
Fell the wide ruffle of her cap of crape.
A little barefoot girl, some ten years old,
Was taxing all her strength, o'er the poor fire
To hang an iron kettle;—not for tea,
Nor yet to cleanse the dishes, to be used
At an approaching dinner; but, to wash,
As it appeared, the few and tattered shreds
That death and infancy had lately worn.
On which were burning a few coals and brands,
I found her sitting. She was bending o'er
Her youngest child,—an infant, in her lap,—
On which she seemed to gaze in speechless woe.
Deep o'er her eyes, concealing all her face,
Fell the wide ruffle of her cap of crape.
A little barefoot girl, some ten years old,
Was taxing all her strength, o'er the poor fire
To hang an iron kettle;—not for tea,
Nor yet to cleanse the dishes, to be used
At an approaching dinner; but, to wash,
As it appeared, the few and tattered shreds
That death and infancy had lately worn.
I sat down by the desolate one, and strove
By words of soothing to dissolve the spell
That sorrow seemed to have thrown over her.
But, she was dumb,—she opened not her mouth.
My heart for her apologized, and said
“A hopeless, tearless, voiceless grief is this,”—
(For, all this while, no tear dropped on her babe!)
“And well it may be such! for, what a scene
Is this around her! What sad memories come
Up, from the past, to greet her! And, before,
O, what a dark and dreary prospect opens!
What can she say to me,—or I to her?”
Thus pleaded my heart for her. Then I spake,—
For something must be spoken,—of a trust
With which a Christian woman should resign
Her loved and lost ones,—even though they'd fallen,
As her poor husband fell,—to His high call,
Who knoweth well how feeble is our frame,
And “who remembereth that we are dust.”
Then spake I of her children, who had now
No earthly father their young feet to guide,
And who on her sole arm must therefore lean
For care and culture. To a mother's hand,
And now to hers alone, they'd look for bread.
“Shouldst thou not, then, for these, thy children's sake,
With all the strength thy God hath given thee,
Bear up the burden that His mighty hand
Hath laid upon thy spirit? Shouldst thou not
Lift up thine eyes and heart to Him, and say,
‘Lord, here am I, and those whom thou hast given me!
Help me, who feel thy rod, ne'er to complain
Of Him who hath appointed it! O, lead
Me, and these little ones of mine, to Thee;
And may we all, in Thee, a Father find,
Since he who was their earthly father's gone!’
Yea, widowed mourner, though bereft of him
On whose kind arm thou leanedst in thy youth,
Be not disconsolate, or overcome
By a too deep affliction. Lift thy heart,—
Lift up thine eyes!” And she did lift them up!
Then, for the first time, lifted she her eyes,—
They were the maudlin eyes of drunkenness!
She was, indeed, “o'ercome,”—but not with grief!
Rum was the “rod” that she was bowing under!
Yes! that poor widowed one, who, two days since,—
Nay, not two days!—had seen her husband borne
To the low house appointed for all living,—
A victim and a trophy of “the trade,”—
Her little children hungering for the bread
That only she could give them,—one of them,
Even then, receiving its whole stream of life
From her own bosom!—at the very hour
When he, who had commended her to God,
Yea, and would yet commend her, was to come,
To weep with them who wept, and kneel beside
The robbed and wounded,—come to stanch the blood,
And pour in oil and wine,—that woman, then,
Was so profoundly steeped in what men make,
And what the law of e'en this Christian land
Allows expressly to be sold, and borne
From house to house, and drunk in families,—
And all this, as it says, “for public good,”—
That, while I sat beside her, from her breast,
Her lap, her drunken arms, she let her babe
Upon the hearth-stone fall!
By words of soothing to dissolve the spell
209
But, she was dumb,—she opened not her mouth.
My heart for her apologized, and said
“A hopeless, tearless, voiceless grief is this,”—
(For, all this while, no tear dropped on her babe!)
“And well it may be such! for, what a scene
Is this around her! What sad memories come
Up, from the past, to greet her! And, before,
O, what a dark and dreary prospect opens!
What can she say to me,—or I to her?”
Thus pleaded my heart for her. Then I spake,—
For something must be spoken,—of a trust
With which a Christian woman should resign
Her loved and lost ones,—even though they'd fallen,
As her poor husband fell,—to His high call,
Who knoweth well how feeble is our frame,
And “who remembereth that we are dust.”
Then spake I of her children, who had now
No earthly father their young feet to guide,
And who on her sole arm must therefore lean
For care and culture. To a mother's hand,
And now to hers alone, they'd look for bread.
“Shouldst thou not, then, for these, thy children's sake,
With all the strength thy God hath given thee,
Bear up the burden that His mighty hand
Hath laid upon thy spirit? Shouldst thou not
Lift up thine eyes and heart to Him, and say,
‘Lord, here am I, and those whom thou hast given me!
Help me, who feel thy rod, ne'er to complain
Of Him who hath appointed it! O, lead
Me, and these little ones of mine, to Thee;
210
Since he who was their earthly father's gone!’
Yea, widowed mourner, though bereft of him
On whose kind arm thou leanedst in thy youth,
Be not disconsolate, or overcome
By a too deep affliction. Lift thy heart,—
Lift up thine eyes!” And she did lift them up!
Then, for the first time, lifted she her eyes,—
They were the maudlin eyes of drunkenness!
She was, indeed, “o'ercome,”—but not with grief!
Rum was the “rod” that she was bowing under!
Yes! that poor widowed one, who, two days since,—
Nay, not two days!—had seen her husband borne
To the low house appointed for all living,—
A victim and a trophy of “the trade,”—
Her little children hungering for the bread
That only she could give them,—one of them,
Even then, receiving its whole stream of life
From her own bosom!—at the very hour
When he, who had commended her to God,
Yea, and would yet commend her, was to come,
To weep with them who wept, and kneel beside
The robbed and wounded,—come to stanch the blood,
And pour in oil and wine,—that woman, then,
Was so profoundly steeped in what men make,
And what the law of e'en this Christian land
Allows expressly to be sold, and borne
From house to house, and drunk in families,—
And all this, as it says, “for public good,”—
That, while I sat beside her, from her breast,
Her lap, her drunken arms, she let her babe
Upon the hearth-stone fall!
211
Now, in all this, there is no poetry;—
The tale is simple fact, and simply told.
The hand of God,—that painteth evening's clouds,
The gloom of midnight, and the morning's glory,
Who poureth round the death-bed of the just
A light that prompteth him with dying voice
To cry, “O grave, where is thy victory?”—
Hath painted, with the pencil of events,
This gloomy picture, and hath hung it up
Within the chamber of my memory.
I cannot copy it stronger than it is,
Nay, nor yet as it is! Yet there are those,
To whom this tale of real life,—and death,—
Thus simply told, without a single word
Of denunciation, censure, or rebuke
Towards those who made, or sold, or drank the death
To soul and body that hath here been seen,
Will give offence. Then spread it out, O God,
My Judge, and his and hers, of whom 't is told,
Yea, and the Judge of all who saw the man
Go down into his grave, and led him down,
By reaching forth their hand, with that in it
Which he knew, and which they knew, would be death,—
Spread out the tale, O God, as here it is,
Upon that record from which all, at last,—
I, and all those for whom I live and labor,
My family, my flock, my age, my race,—
Shall “in that day” be judged,—spread it all out,
As I have written it,—as it hath lain
For years, beneath thine own all-seeing eye,
And let thy judgment, then, between me pass
And those to whom I may have given offence,
Whether I write in hatred or in love,
Whether they read in charity or not!
But, so do unto me, and to my house,
And more,—if more than this of earthly woe
Thou hast in store for one who fears thee not,—
If I be let, by this world's fears or hopes,
From speaking, while thou keep'st me in thy service,
The word which thou commandest me to speak!
The tale is simple fact, and simply told.
The hand of God,—that painteth evening's clouds,
The gloom of midnight, and the morning's glory,
Who poureth round the death-bed of the just
A light that prompteth him with dying voice
To cry, “O grave, where is thy victory?”—
Hath painted, with the pencil of events,
This gloomy picture, and hath hung it up
Within the chamber of my memory.
I cannot copy it stronger than it is,
Nay, nor yet as it is! Yet there are those,
To whom this tale of real life,—and death,—
Thus simply told, without a single word
Of denunciation, censure, or rebuke
Towards those who made, or sold, or drank the death
To soul and body that hath here been seen,
Will give offence. Then spread it out, O God,
My Judge, and his and hers, of whom 't is told,
Yea, and the Judge of all who saw the man
Go down into his grave, and led him down,
By reaching forth their hand, with that in it
Which he knew, and which they knew, would be death,—
Spread out the tale, O God, as here it is,
Upon that record from which all, at last,—
I, and all those for whom I live and labor,
My family, my flock, my age, my race,—
Shall “in that day” be judged,—spread it all out,
As I have written it,—as it hath lain
For years, beneath thine own all-seeing eye,
And let thy judgment, then, between me pass
And those to whom I may have given offence,
212
Whether they read in charity or not!
But, so do unto me, and to my house,
And more,—if more than this of earthly woe
Thou hast in store for one who fears thee not,—
If I be let, by this world's fears or hopes,
From speaking, while thou keep'st me in thy service,
The word which thou commandest me to speak!
But give me, God of wisdom and of grace,
Give me the wisdom, all thy words of truth
And grace, with grace to speak. What is severe
In manner, tone, or spirit,—help me soften,
Till all my words become like his who spake
For Thee as never man before had spoken,—
In some good measure worthy of thy truth,—
Thy truth that sanctifies and saves the soul!
But, to that truth,—while I've a tongue to speak,
A pen to write it, or a heart to feel
Its beauty and its power,—O, let me ne'er
Prove faithless! To thy guiding hand, my God,
I give this simple tale. While writing it,
I've been drawn nearer to thee. In thy courts,
This day, I could not serve thee;—for thy hand
Hath gently touched me with infirmity;—
Upon thine altar, in my house, I lay
This little offering. Accept it, Lord,
With those that have been made thee in thine own!
Give me the wisdom, all thy words of truth
And grace, with grace to speak. What is severe
In manner, tone, or spirit,—help me soften,
Till all my words become like his who spake
For Thee as never man before had spoken,—
In some good measure worthy of thy truth,—
Thy truth that sanctifies and saves the soul!
But, to that truth,—while I've a tongue to speak,
A pen to write it, or a heart to feel
Its beauty and its power,—O, let me ne'er
Prove faithless! To thy guiding hand, my God,
I give this simple tale. While writing it,
I've been drawn nearer to thee. In thy courts,
This day, I could not serve thee;—for thy hand
Hath gently touched me with infirmity;—
Upon thine altar, in my house, I lay
This little offering. Accept it, Lord,
With those that have been made thee in thine own!
Sunday, February 24th, 1839.
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