Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

At length they slumber sweetly,—
The mother and her child;
And all their pains completely
Are now to rest beguiled.
Thank God, who to our prayers
Hath sent this blest reply,
To soothe awhile my anxious cares,
And calm my wakeful eye.

II

Our maid, with watching weary,
To late repose is gone;
And, in this chamber dreary,
I sit and muse alone.
O joy! that, for a space,
My heart to muse is free
From my sweet boy's imploring face,
And moans of agony.

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III

And joy! that his dear mother,
Beside him close reclined,
Doth in oblivion smother
The sorrows of her mind;
And that her body's pangs,
Which she so meekly bore,
Relax awhile their piercing fangs,
And vex her frame no more.

IV

Who would not share my anguish,
To see that suffering pair
Condemn'd to pine and languish
In pain and sickness there?
Two gentle souls, like those,
So pure from guilt within,
Doom'd haply to these bitter woes
For my unpardon'd sin?

V

For oh! in this dark season,
What tales doth conscience tell!
How doth awaken'd reason
Reveal the bosom's hell!
What shapes before me start,
Too frightful to express,
Of sins long cherish'd in my heart,
And old unfaithfulness!

VI

Full many a wild transgression,
In reckless boyhood wrought,
Comes forth to make confession
In this sad hour of thought;
And headstrong courses run,
Through paths of vice and wrong;

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And deeds not done, which should be done,
And talents buried long.

VII

They stand reveal'd before me,—
A black and hideous crowd;
And wail dire warnings o'er me,
And threatenings deep and loud.
The sensual days of youth,
And manhood's sloth are there;
And service slack perform'd to truth,
And much neglect of prayer.

VIII

Ah! little think my neighbours
How weak a thing is he,
Who thus among them labours
With pastoral ministry:
They know not, when they hear
My speech so blunt and bold,
How oft my heart, with doubt and fear,
Is comfortless and cold.

IX

And is it then to chasten
These grievous faults in me,
That pain and sickness fasten
Their fangs, my child, on thee?
Is it for sins of mine,
My own beloved wife,
That all these fiery pangs of thine
Embitter thy dear life?

X

Oh, then, with deep repentance
Let me avert the blow,

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And disannul the sentence
Which dooms my house to woe.
Let tears of contrite love
My soul's pollution wash,
And more devout obedience prove
How I have felt the lash.

XI

It may be God will hear me,
With loving mercy mild,
And send sweet hope to cheer me
For thee and for our child.
I felt his hand just now—
Methought its heat was gone,
And on his late so feverish brow
A blessed moisture shone.

XII

He utter'd not, at waking,
Those piteous cries of pain;
His head's perpetual aching
Hath sunk to rest again.
And thou art slumbering still—
I hear thee breathing deep;
God save thee from all threaten'd ill
By this refreshing sleep!

XIII

Two sufferers meek and lowly
Have ye together been;
Thy heart, with patience holy
And humble faith, serene:
His pains so sweetly borne
Could ne'er have been, I guess,
Had God not soothed his heart forlorn
With his own tenderness.

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XIV

The dawn at length is breaking
In yon clear, frosty skies;
Our servants now are shaking
The slumber from their eyes.
O may the coming day
Bring health and peace to you,
And summon me stern duty's way
More straightly to pursue.