 | The Pleasures and other Miscellaneous Poems |  |
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THE PLEASURES.
Long hast thou slumber'd, O my sounding Lyre!
Now Muses wake thee, now thy song inspire;
Now will they tune each soft melodious string,
And in thy lay their sweetest numbers fling.
O lift thy voice on high, and start the soul!
From sinful Pleasure's dark and foul control,
Point her to those whose holy breath imparts
The life of joy to men of virtuous hearts.
Paint thou, the One in colors dark and dire,
Against her charms, the youthful mind inspire;
With holy hate, the Other then portray
In robes celestial, such as Prophets say
The angels wore when from the courts above,
They came to men with messages of Love.
Now Muses wake thee, now thy song inspire;
Now will they tune each soft melodious string,
And in thy lay their sweetest numbers fling.
O lift thy voice on high, and start the soul!
From sinful Pleasure's dark and foul control,
Point her to those whose holy breath imparts
The life of joy to men of virtuous hearts.
Paint thou, the One in colors dark and dire,
Against her charms, the youthful mind inspire;
With holy hate, the Other then portray
In robes celestial, such as Prophets say
The angels wore when from the courts above,
They came to men with messages of Love.
Wilt thou my thoughts dictate, O holy One!
Who tun'd the harp of Jesse's royal son:
Him didst thou teach in melting strains to pour
His sacred songs o'er Zion's hallowed shore.
O that, like his, my humble notes may rise,
With sweet acceptance to the list'ning skies!
Show how the paths of Vice in ruin end,
While Virtue's footsteps up to glory tend.
Pleasures of Vice are those which most pursue,
Regarding all their promis'd joys as true;
Nor will they heed the warning thrice that cries,
The soul which sins, that soul in misery lies
But, like the headlong horse or stubborn mule,
Despise all truth, contemn all righteous rule,
Delight in sin as swine delight in mire,
Till hell itself entomb their souls in fire!
Thus does the Drunkard, in the sparkling bowl,
Pursue the joys which charm his brutish soul;
But soon he feels the serpent's fang is there,
The gall of wo, the demon's awful stare:
For in the visions of his crazied soul,
The furies dance and horrid monsters roll.
Who tun'd the harp of Jesse's royal son:
Him didst thou teach in melting strains to pour
His sacred songs o'er Zion's hallowed shore.
O that, like his, my humble notes may rise,
With sweet acceptance to the list'ning skies!
Show how the paths of Vice in ruin end,
While Virtue's footsteps up to glory tend.
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Regarding all their promis'd joys as true;
Nor will they heed the warning thrice that cries,
The soul which sins, that soul in misery lies
But, like the headlong horse or stubborn mule,
Despise all truth, contemn all righteous rule,
Delight in sin as swine delight in mire,
Till hell itself entomb their souls in fire!
Thus does the Drunkard, in the sparkling bowl,
Pursue the joys which charm his brutish soul;
But soon he feels the serpent's fang is there,
The gall of wo, the demon's awful stare:
For in the visions of his crazied soul,
The furies dance and horrid monsters roll.
Some find their pleasure in tobacco wads,
Delight in them as goats in chewing cuds;
Others believe they find it quite enough,
In smoking cigars, or in taking snuff.
The glutton and the greasy epicure
Believe they have it—for they tell us so—
In eating venison, turtle-soup and clams,
Beef a la mode and lobsters, ducks and hams;
In puddings, pound-cakes, pies and cold ice cream;
In black-strap, brandy, claret, and champagne.
O who could think that men, to whom is given
Such souls as will outlive the stars of heaven,
Could hope to find in such a low employ,
The sweet pulsations of a real joy!
Delight in them as goats in chewing cuds;
Others believe they find it quite enough,
In smoking cigars, or in taking snuff.
The glutton and the greasy epicure
Believe they have it—for they tell us so—
In eating venison, turtle-soup and clams,
Beef a la mode and lobsters, ducks and hams;
In puddings, pound-cakes, pies and cold ice cream;
In black-strap, brandy, claret, and champagne.
O who could think that men, to whom is given
Such souls as will outlive the stars of heaven,
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The sweet pulsations of a real joy!
But dandies find it in their curled hair,
Greas'd with pomatum or the oil of bear;
In fine mustaches, breast-pins, golden chains;
In brass-capt boot-heels, or in walking canes.
Some ladies find it in their boas and muffs,
In silks and satins, laces, muslin-stuffs
Made into dresses, pointed, long and wide,
With flounces deep, and bran-bustles beside,
All neat and flowing in Parisian grace;
With small sunshades to screen their smiling face;
Then up the streets, like pea-fowls bright and gay,
They promenade on every sunny day.
Greas'd with pomatum or the oil of bear;
In fine mustaches, breast-pins, golden chains;
In brass-capt boot-heels, or in walking canes.
Some ladies find it in their boas and muffs,
In silks and satins, laces, muslin-stuffs
Made into dresses, pointed, long and wide,
With flounces deep, and bran-bustles beside,
All neat and flowing in Parisian grace;
With small sunshades to screen their smiling face;
Then up the streets, like pea-fowls bright and gay,
They promenade on every sunny day.
Some seek for pleasure in the giddy dance,
Where Fashion smiles, and Beauty's siren glance
The soul delights, and fills light bounding hearts
With dreams of love,—such dreams as sin imparts;
Not the pure streams that flow, my God, from thee:
The streams of bliss—the love of purity.
In cock-fights others find it; some, in dice;
Some in the chambers of lascivious vice.
The vile blasphemer seeks it in his shame,
Who sport like devils with the Holy Name.
O hapless wretches! fool'd and self deceiv'd!
Angel's weep o'er you! God himself is griev'd!
Ye act more silly than the man at noon,
Who should mistake a razor for a spoon!
Where Fashion smiles, and Beauty's siren glance
The soul delights, and fills light bounding hearts
With dreams of love,—such dreams as sin imparts;
Not the pure streams that flow, my God, from thee:
The streams of bliss—the love of purity.
In cock-fights others find it; some, in dice;
Some in the chambers of lascivious vice.
The vile blasphemer seeks it in his shame,
Who sport like devils with the Holy Name.
O hapless wretches! fool'd and self deceiv'd!
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Ye act more silly than the man at noon,
Who should mistake a razor for a spoon!
Vile pleasures are the shadows of a cloud
Pregnant with thunderbolts! the spangled shroud
Of infamy and vice! the garnish'd tomb
Of guilt! Alas! alas! the swelling womb
Of the undying worm!—whose dreadful fangs,
Will pierce the bosom with eternal pangs!
Oh! how deceptive is Sin's magic form!
Her smiles are zephyrs, but her wrath are storms!
She wears a mask of beauty, but beneath,
Are the dread features of eternal death!
She, like the ripples on the gentle sea,
Is small, but rolling onwards soon will be
A mountain wave, foaming and breaking on the shores
Of dark eternity, in agonies and woes!
Pregnant with thunderbolts! the spangled shroud
Of infamy and vice! the garnish'd tomb
Of guilt! Alas! alas! the swelling womb
Of the undying worm!—whose dreadful fangs,
Will pierce the bosom with eternal pangs!
Oh! how deceptive is Sin's magic form!
Her smiles are zephyrs, but her wrath are storms!
She wears a mask of beauty, but beneath,
Are the dread features of eternal death!
She, like the ripples on the gentle sea,
Is small, but rolling onwards soon will be
A mountain wave, foaming and breaking on the shores
Of dark eternity, in agonies and woes!
Repent, ye fools! and listen while we sing
Of pleasures sweeter than the flow'rs of Spring—
Like the pure stream that gush'd from Horeb's side,
It flows in currents, limpid, deep and wide,
Through the parch'd deserts of this sin-curs'd vale.
Who wills, may come and ev'ry sense regale;
May quench his thirst; may drink and ne'er be dry,
Nor lack a good beneath the bending sky;
Weave for himself a crown of endless life—
A crown! a throne! beyond the world of strife.
'Tis wisdom speaks—O hear her god-like voice!
Its melting tones will make the heart rejoice.
Of pleasures sweeter than the flow'rs of Spring—
Like the pure stream that gush'd from Horeb's side,
It flows in currents, limpid, deep and wide,
Through the parch'd deserts of this sin-curs'd vale.
Who wills, may come and ev'ry sense regale;
May quench his thirst; may drink and ne'er be dry,
Nor lack a good beneath the bending sky;
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A crown! a throne! beyond the world of strife.
'Tis wisdom speaks—O hear her god-like voice!
Its melting tones will make the heart rejoice.
Immortal man, be wise! and know thou this:
Pleasure in God alone, is perfect bliss;
'Tis Virtue—holy Virtue! Child of Love!
With the pure spirit of the peaceful dove—
That nymph of light! in whose bright face divine,
All the sweet graces of God's Spirit shine.
'Tis she who can a charm of joy bestow
On all the pleasures man can find below;
Her potent fiat, from the womb of night,
Starts into being the beauteous forms of light;
Turns ill to good, and anguish into joy;
With god-like thoughts the mind of man employ;
In earth's dark vale, by angry thunders riven,
Creates the fruits, and sheds the light of heaven!
Pleasure in God alone, is perfect bliss;
'Tis Virtue—holy Virtue! Child of Love!
With the pure spirit of the peaceful dove—
That nymph of light! in whose bright face divine,
All the sweet graces of God's Spirit shine.
'Tis she who can a charm of joy bestow
On all the pleasures man can find below;
Her potent fiat, from the womb of night,
Starts into being the beauteous forms of light;
Turns ill to good, and anguish into joy;
With god-like thoughts the mind of man employ;
In earth's dark vale, by angry thunders riven,
Creates the fruits, and sheds the light of heaven!
O bask me in the sunbeams of her face!
Her smiles are beauty, and her form is grace:
Inhale her breath,—'tis life—'tis perfect love!
'Tis food which angels eat in worlds above;
'Tis God's own self evolved in forms of light,
To ransom man, made visible to sight.
To teach him how to live and how to die,
This form of God descended from the sky.
This form of God, all perfect and divine,
On heaven's high throne for ever too shall shine.
Her smiles are beauty, and her form is grace:
Inhale her breath,—'tis life—'tis perfect love!
'Tis food which angels eat in worlds above;
'Tis God's own self evolved in forms of light,
To ransom man, made visible to sight.
To teach him how to live and how to die,
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This form of God, all perfect and divine,
On heaven's high throne for ever too shall shine.
I sing of Pleasure flowing now from God,
Pleasure derived from all his works abroad;
Streaming thro' earth, and air, thro' boundless skies;
In birds and beasts, and flowers of softest dies.
'Tis felt whene'er the eyes survey the fields,
In verdant Spring, or when bright summer yields
Her fragrant flowers, and her shady groves
Are vocal with the moans of turtle-doves,
The notes of soaring larks or mimic jays—
The mocking-bird's inimitable lays.
Sweetest of songsters! O, whene'er she sings,
The heart of man doth bound—the welkin rings
With bliss,—the feather'd minstrels, mute with joy,
Feel that deep silence is their best employ.
E'en Philomel herself must yield the palm,
In silent homage to superior charm.
Pleasure derived from all his works abroad;
Streaming thro' earth, and air, thro' boundless skies;
In birds and beasts, and flowers of softest dies.
'Tis felt whene'er the eyes survey the fields,
In verdant Spring, or when bright summer yields
Her fragrant flowers, and her shady groves
Are vocal with the moans of turtle-doves,
The notes of soaring larks or mimic jays—
The mocking-bird's inimitable lays.
Sweetest of songsters! O, whene'er she sings,
The heart of man doth bound—the welkin rings
With bliss,—the feather'd minstrels, mute with joy,
Feel that deep silence is their best employ.
E'en Philomel herself must yield the palm,
In silent homage to superior charm.
'Tis felt in scenes where hills and mountains rise,
Like rugged columns, to the bending skies,
While murm'ring fountains gushing from their sides,
Roll towards the seas, in deep'ning, wid'ning tides,
Or rushing on o'er beds of jutting rocks,
Dash down the abyss in thund'ring cataracts—
With glitt'ring sprays impregn the humid air,
And paint the bow of smiling heaven there.
Like rugged columns, to the bending skies,
While murm'ring fountains gushing from their sides,
Roll towards the seas, in deep'ning, wid'ning tides,
Or rushing on o'er beds of jutting rocks,
Dash down the abyss in thund'ring cataracts—
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And paint the bow of smiling heaven there.
When sweet Aurora opes her eyelids wide,
And pours her sunbeams like a lucid tide
O'er hills and valleys, plains and mountains high,
A thousand beauties hail the thoughtful eye.
Go in the garden, where the roses bloom
And fill the dancing breezes with perfume;
On ev'ry leaf the trembling dew-drops gleam,
And like bright pearls or glittering diamonds seem;
While every hue of heaven's resplendent bow,
A thousand flow'rs in graceful petals show.
In bold relief, by shades of deepest green,
These beauteous pictures, blushing, may be seen,
And show how Nature's glowing pencil paints
To please the eye of angels, men, or saints.
There, buzzing insects drink the sunny rays—
There, feeding, bask and terminate their days.
While gentlest zephyrs, whisp'ring through the air,
Breathe the pure joys of sinless pleasure there.
And pours her sunbeams like a lucid tide
O'er hills and valleys, plains and mountains high,
A thousand beauties hail the thoughtful eye.
Go in the garden, where the roses bloom
And fill the dancing breezes with perfume;
On ev'ry leaf the trembling dew-drops gleam,
And like bright pearls or glittering diamonds seem;
While every hue of heaven's resplendent bow,
A thousand flow'rs in graceful petals show.
In bold relief, by shades of deepest green,
These beauteous pictures, blushing, may be seen,
And show how Nature's glowing pencil paints
To please the eye of angels, men, or saints.
There, buzzing insects drink the sunny rays—
There, feeding, bask and terminate their days.
While gentlest zephyrs, whisp'ring through the air,
Breathe the pure joys of sinless pleasure there.
There, on the bosom of the swelling sea,
Where Nature walks in trembling majesty,
When no fierce storm awakes the slumb'ring deep,
And toss its waves in billows vast and steep—
But a sweet calm o'erspreads its azure breast,
And ships like swans upon its bosom rest;
The graceful dolphin, clad in richest hues,
From wave to wave the flying-fish pursues;
And many a native of the briny tide
Upon the surface may be seen to ride—
The swelling ocean seems itself to be
A boundless mirror of eternity.
Where Nature walks in trembling majesty,
When no fierce storm awakes the slumb'ring deep,
And toss its waves in billows vast and steep—
But a sweet calm o'erspreads its azure breast,
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The graceful dolphin, clad in richest hues,
From wave to wave the flying-fish pursues;
And many a native of the briny tide
Upon the surface may be seen to ride—
The swelling ocean seems itself to be
A boundless mirror of eternity.
Let frowning clouds o'ercast the shiv'ring air,
And forked lightnings fill the heart with fear,
Whilst echoing thunders raise their awful song,
And howling tempests fiercely sweep along,
As when a deer, pursu'd by gaping hounds,
O'er brakes, and streams, and tow'ring fences bounds,
Each nerve is stretch'd, each sinew quakes with fear
Till safely lodg'd within his secret lair—
So flies the ship before the pelting storm,
O'er mountain waves and yawning chasms borne—
The riven sails, the snapping masts unite
To increase the terror of the dreadful sight.
And forked lightnings fill the heart with fear,
Whilst echoing thunders raise their awful song,
And howling tempests fiercely sweep along,
As when a deer, pursu'd by gaping hounds,
O'er brakes, and streams, and tow'ring fences bounds,
Each nerve is stretch'd, each sinew quakes with fear
Till safely lodg'd within his secret lair—
So flies the ship before the pelting storm,
O'er mountain waves and yawning chasms borne—
The riven sails, the snapping masts unite
To increase the terror of the dreadful sight.
But God commands, and roaring thunders cease,
The winds are hush'd, the Ocean lull'd to peace—
Then like an infant on its mother's breast,
Each foaming billow sweetly sinks to rest.
Amid such scenes of fear and dark dismay,
Where the fierce spirits of the storm do play—
Or on the wings of whirlwinds drag abroad
The flaming chariots of the living God!—
There is a pleasure which the soul may feel.
That human language never can reveal.
The winds are hush'd, the Ocean lull'd to peace—
Then like an infant on its mother's breast,
Each foaming billow sweetly sinks to rest.
Amid such scenes of fear and dark dismay,
Where the fierce spirits of the storm do play—
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The flaming chariots of the living God!—
There is a pleasure which the soul may feel.
That human language never can reveal.
When does the blushing moon in glory stride
Fairer, more lovely, than an eastern bride,
The modest stars, retiring, own her sway
As sovereign rival of the king of day!
Through heaven's blue vault she makes her radiant flight,
Whilst clouds and darkness vanish from the sight;
Or if, in chambers of the azure deep,
From human eyes she takes her queenly sleep,
Stars glitter on the ebon brow of night,
In single worlds or constellations bright—
Then may th' aspiring soul mount up on high,
Like a bright seraph through the op'ning sky:
From orb to orb its upward flight pursue,
'Till heaven itself shall burst upon the view,
And through the ages of eternity
The endless forms of holy pleasure see!
Fairer, more lovely, than an eastern bride,
The modest stars, retiring, own her sway
As sovereign rival of the king of day!
Through heaven's blue vault she makes her radiant flight,
Whilst clouds and darkness vanish from the sight;
Or if, in chambers of the azure deep,
From human eyes she takes her queenly sleep,
Stars glitter on the ebon brow of night,
In single worlds or constellations bright—
Then may th' aspiring soul mount up on high,
Like a bright seraph through the op'ning sky:
From orb to orb its upward flight pursue,
'Till heaven itself shall burst upon the view,
And through the ages of eternity
The endless forms of holy pleasure see!
Muse! hast thou ever sigh'd to banquet there?
Where forms of beauty, rob'd in virtue fair,
Adorns the land. Nor ardent wish nor thought
But is a thought of beauty, or a wish of love,
Where virtue gives her robes of light, unbought,
But by the blood divine. And round, above,
Each form is beauty and each voice is love.
Where forms of beauty, rob'd in virtue fair,
Adorns the land. Nor ardent wish nor thought
But is a thought of beauty, or a wish of love,
Where virtue gives her robes of light, unbought,
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Each form is beauty and each voice is love.
When Music pours her dulcet strains around,
And woman's voice commingles with the sound,
Sweet as the notes that did the Orphean lyre,
With tenderness, the cruel brutes inspire;
And mountains, vales and rocks, and radiant plains,
Were vocal with the minstrel's melting strains.
O then we feel a pleasure quite divine,
Pour'd in the heart, by each harmonious line.
Wrapt in a flame of pure desire, we burn,
Like holy incense in a golden urn;
And sigh and wish, with feelings keen and strong,
To hear the sonnets of an angel's tongue!
And woman's voice commingles with the sound,
Sweet as the notes that did the Orphean lyre,
With tenderness, the cruel brutes inspire;
And mountains, vales and rocks, and radiant plains,
Were vocal with the minstrel's melting strains.
O then we feel a pleasure quite divine,
Pour'd in the heart, by each harmonious line.
Wrapt in a flame of pure desire, we burn,
Like holy incense in a golden urn;
And sigh and wish, with feelings keen and strong,
To hear the sonnets of an angel's tongue!
Men talk of Love! But few do ever feel
The speechless raptures which its joys reveal.
They mistake Love, that pure celestial thing,
Whose end is God, and in Him has its spring,
For grovelling lust, that vile, that filthy dame,
Whose bosom ne'er can feel the sacred flame—
Hence when they look'd for peace, fierce strife arose,
And for the loving kiss, gave cruel blows.
The hearth domestic is the field of blood—
The smile of joy, dark sorrow's bitter flood.
The speechless raptures which its joys reveal.
They mistake Love, that pure celestial thing,
Whose end is God, and in Him has its spring,
For grovelling lust, that vile, that filthy dame,
Whose bosom ne'er can feel the sacred flame—
Hence when they look'd for peace, fierce strife arose,
And for the loving kiss, gave cruel blows.
The hearth domestic is the field of blood—
The smile of joy, dark sorrow's bitter flood.
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But they who seek the nymph that came from heav'n—
Which only can to chasten'd hearts be given—
Shall find in her embrace a fount of joy,
Like heaven's pure nectar, free from each alloy;
Thought meeting thought, and love returning love,
As the sweet fondlings of the peaceful dove;
In smiling children, like the roses sweet,
The virtuous wife her husband's wishes meet,
And from the altars of their sacred home,
Their sweet devotions scale the starry dome.
Which only can to chasten'd hearts be given—
Shall find in her embrace a fount of joy,
Like heaven's pure nectar, free from each alloy;
Thought meeting thought, and love returning love,
As the sweet fondlings of the peaceful dove;
In smiling children, like the roses sweet,
The virtuous wife her husband's wishes meet,
And from the altars of their sacred home,
Their sweet devotions scale the starry dome.
The new-born ideas of the infant mind,
Is plum'd with light, and soaring, taught to find,
In God, its guide, its life, its bliss, its pow'r,
Its certain vict'ry in the trying hour.
Here is the school of Virtue; here the youth,
Is brought in contact with eternal Truth—
The laws of God. That rule of changeless right;
That speaking mirror of unclouded light;
Where God himself is seen, and seeing, man
Becomes like God; to feel, to love, to scan
Whate'er is bright in thought, in morals fine,
Lofty in action and in truth divine.
Is plum'd with light, and soaring, taught to find,
In God, its guide, its life, its bliss, its pow'r,
Its certain vict'ry in the trying hour.
Here is the school of Virtue; here the youth,
Is brought in contact with eternal Truth—
The laws of God. That rule of changeless right;
That speaking mirror of unclouded light;
Where God himself is seen, and seeing, man
Becomes like God; to feel, to love, to scan
Whate'er is bright in thought, in morals fine,
Lofty in action and in truth divine.
Here Science brings her treasures, more than gold;
Here Hist'ry tells her mighty deeds of old,
And Poetry, that child of love and song,
Whose angel-mind to worlds of light belong,
Attunes his harp—and with his tongue of fire,
The youthful ones with wisdom does inspire.
Religion, too, that goddess from the skies,
From whose bright visage every evil flies,
She sheds her hallowing influence all around,
And makes each heart with pure emotions bound.
Here Hist'ry tells her mighty deeds of old,
And Poetry, that child of love and song,
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Attunes his harp—and with his tongue of fire,
The youthful ones with wisdom does inspire.
Religion, too, that goddess from the skies,
From whose bright visage every evil flies,
She sheds her hallowing influence all around,
And makes each heart with pure emotions bound.
Here love is seen in forms divinely sweet;
Here husband, wife, and brothers, sisters, meet
As angels do, to bless each one, and guide
Where saving Faith and holy Love preside.
O! where's the scene below which pictures heav'n?
A bright oasis in Earth's desert giv'n,
Where angels, looking from the skies, descend
And with man's joy, heav'n's sacred raptures blend?
'Tis here! 'tis here! a family whose love
Are the sweet fetters of the world above!
Here husband, wife, and brothers, sisters, meet
As angels do, to bless each one, and guide
Where saving Faith and holy Love preside.
O! where's the scene below which pictures heav'n?
A bright oasis in Earth's desert giv'n,
Where angels, looking from the skies, descend
And with man's joy, heav'n's sacred raptures blend?
'Tis here! 'tis here! a family whose love
Are the sweet fetters of the world above!
O save me from the home whence Christ is driv'n!
Where the bright bonds of peace are spurn'd and riv'n!
The Holy Ghost despis'd, the Bible scorn'd,
And pure Religion into laughter turn'd,
Nor less from that where Fashion is the god,
The Wife, her joy and solace find abroad—
The children's morals, like a barren field,
No luscious fruits nor flow'rs of virtue yield,
Where novels, romance, gossip, hold their sway,
And vile theatres close the sinful day.
The fell miasma which from fens arise,
Like fumes of vengeance 'neath the torrid skies,
I dread far less than such a home as this,
Where prayer is banish'd and each form of bliss.
O save me from the wife whose pleasures tell
Her final doom must be the flames of hell!
Where the bright bonds of peace are spurn'd and riv'n!
The Holy Ghost despis'd, the Bible scorn'd,
And pure Religion into laughter turn'd,
Nor less from that where Fashion is the god,
The Wife, her joy and solace find abroad—
The children's morals, like a barren field,
No luscious fruits nor flow'rs of virtue yield,
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And vile theatres close the sinful day.
The fell miasma which from fens arise,
Like fumes of vengeance 'neath the torrid skies,
I dread far less than such a home as this,
Where prayer is banish'd and each form of bliss.
O save me from the wife whose pleasures tell
Her final doom must be the flames of hell!
But one I had, O rapturous thought!
The sweetest, dearest that was ever bought
By Love's own treasure—brightest, best of all
The gems and diamonds of this jewel'd ball.
I mean Love's self—for naught can purchase love
But Love, in this fair world, or fairer ones above.
The sweetest, dearest that was ever bought
By Love's own treasure—brightest, best of all
The gems and diamonds of this jewel'd ball.
I mean Love's self—for naught can purchase love
But Love, in this fair world, or fairer ones above.
Her form was graceful, and her eyes were bright,
Like morning stars, when rob'd in cloudless light!
A queenly dignity sat on her mien—
With pride I speak it—and 'twas plainly seen!
Her God she lov'd the most, her husband next,
From duty naught could turn her; no pretext,
Urg'd by a friend, could lead her from the truth.
Pure as a sunbeam from her very youth!
Who did not love her?—who did see her face,
But saw a mirror full of light and grace?
Hers was an angel's heart, as pure and high
As the bright sun that gilds the noon-day sky!
Oft as I went in haste, from door to door,
To cheer the cottage of the dying poor,
She, by my side, stood like a spirit fair,
And urg'd me on my work of love and prayer!
How oft, when press'd by many a vexing care,
Harass'd and driven almost to despair,
Around my neck her arms were gently thrown;
Then press'd her husband's bosom to her own,
And with a voice, sweet as Apollo's lyre,
With joy and hope my spirit did inspire!
O Julia! Julia! thou art gone, my love,
To see the glories of the world above!
Like morning stars, when rob'd in cloudless light!
A queenly dignity sat on her mien—
With pride I speak it—and 'twas plainly seen!
Her God she lov'd the most, her husband next,
From duty naught could turn her; no pretext,
Urg'd by a friend, could lead her from the truth.
Pure as a sunbeam from her very youth!
Who did not love her?—who did see her face,
But saw a mirror full of light and grace?
Hers was an angel's heart, as pure and high
20
Oft as I went in haste, from door to door,
To cheer the cottage of the dying poor,
She, by my side, stood like a spirit fair,
And urg'd me on my work of love and prayer!
How oft, when press'd by many a vexing care,
Harass'd and driven almost to despair,
Around my neck her arms were gently thrown;
Then press'd her husband's bosom to her own,
And with a voice, sweet as Apollo's lyre,
With joy and hope my spirit did inspire!
O Julia! Julia! thou art gone, my love,
To see the glories of the world above!
There's pleasure in the culture of the mind,
Sweet as the drops of honey bees do find
Hid in the nectaries of smiling flow'rs
That grace the meadows or the fragrant bow'rs.
You may discern it in the sparkling eyes
Of the glad school-boy, as the class he spies,
Circling its teacher, who explains the page
Which has been written for his tender age:
Lo! as his soul perceives the beams of light,
His throbbing bosom swells with great delight.
Sweet as the drops of honey bees do find
Hid in the nectaries of smiling flow'rs
That grace the meadows or the fragrant bow'rs.
You may discern it in the sparkling eyes
Of the glad school-boy, as the class he spies,
Circling its teacher, who explains the page
Which has been written for his tender age:
Lo! as his soul perceives the beams of light,
His throbbing bosom swells with great delight.
So does the language of a student's cheek,
The pleasure which his prying soul bespeak,
When having solv'd some question, dark, profound,
He quits his studies with a lion's bound,
Shouting for joy, he sends his thanks to heav'n,
For all the knowledge which his God has giv'n:
And quick returning to his books again,
Grasps the bright conquests of the sapient pen.
Enter the study of the mighty Sage,
Who scans the wisdom of the former age,
And takes within his comprehensive mind
All modern knowledge;—round his brow to bind,
As wreaths of glory ever fair and bright,
Shining with gems, delightful to the sight,
The gems of thought, which cherubims might boast
As the rich treasures of their sinless host.
O see him, as his eagle spirit flies
On wings of Science to the lofty skies:
There 'midst the wonders of creative pow'r
His soul exults, his god-like ideas tow'r,
His pleasures gush from fountains deep and clear,
In the bright regions of a deathless air.
The pleasure which his prying soul bespeak,
21
He quits his studies with a lion's bound,
Shouting for joy, he sends his thanks to heav'n,
For all the knowledge which his God has giv'n:
And quick returning to his books again,
Grasps the bright conquests of the sapient pen.
Enter the study of the mighty Sage,
Who scans the wisdom of the former age,
And takes within his comprehensive mind
All modern knowledge;—round his brow to bind,
As wreaths of glory ever fair and bright,
Shining with gems, delightful to the sight,
The gems of thought, which cherubims might boast
As the rich treasures of their sinless host.
O see him, as his eagle spirit flies
On wings of Science to the lofty skies:
There 'midst the wonders of creative pow'r
His soul exults, his god-like ideas tow'r,
His pleasures gush from fountains deep and clear,
In the bright regions of a deathless air.
Peep in the chamber of the man of prayer,
Where heaven's great King in mercy stoops to hear,
Just as a river pours its flowing tide
Into the bosom of the ocean wide,
And thence receives a rich supply again
Of limpid waters from the bounteous main,
In showers descending from the dropping skies—
So does he empty all his fervent soul,
In God's own heart, where streams of rapture roll
Into his breast, and bear his mind away,
To see the glories of an endless day.
'Tis prayer, 'tis prayer that purifies the heart!
Prayer does a ceaseless stream of joy impart;
Prayer gives the soul an angel's wings to fly
To the bright world where pleasures never die!
Where heaven's great King in mercy stoops to hear,
Just as a river pours its flowing tide
Into the bosom of the ocean wide,
And thence receives a rich supply again
Of limpid waters from the bounteous main,
In showers descending from the dropping skies—
22
In God's own heart, where streams of rapture roll
Into his breast, and bear his mind away,
To see the glories of an endless day.
'Tis prayer, 'tis prayer that purifies the heart!
Prayer does a ceaseless stream of joy impart;
Prayer gives the soul an angel's wings to fly
To the bright world where pleasures never die!
Such men, like heralds from the courts divine,
On works of mercy sent, in virtue shine;
They soothe the sorrows of the broken heart,
To mourning spirits sacred joys impart;
Behold them, as they go from dome to dome,
Diffusing comforts in the poor man's home;
They clothe the naked, light the darken'd mind
With beams of knowledge; ever seek to find
Some child of sorrow, from whose bleeding heart
They pluck the barb of Sin's envenom'd dart,
Its aching wound, with balm of Gilead ply,
And wipe the tears that dim the orphan's eye.
On works of mercy sent, in virtue shine;
They soothe the sorrows of the broken heart,
To mourning spirits sacred joys impart;
Behold them, as they go from dome to dome,
Diffusing comforts in the poor man's home;
They clothe the naked, light the darken'd mind
With beams of knowledge; ever seek to find
Some child of sorrow, from whose bleeding heart
They pluck the barb of Sin's envenom'd dart,
Its aching wound, with balm of Gilead ply,
And wipe the tears that dim the orphan's eye.
Where'er they go, Sin hides her guilty head,
Their god-like visage strikes the fiend with dread,
And sends her trembling to the dens of night
To find a refuge from their dazzling sight.
Around their footsteps fadeless roses spring,
And wond'ring angels pause upon the wing,
As from the earth to kingdoms far on high,
They bid the dying sons of men to fly!
Great men! and good! what pleasures do they prove,
In all their works of purity and love!
Like sainted Howard, earth shall bless their name,
And heaven itself proclaim their deathless fame!
Their god-like visage strikes the fiend with dread,
And sends her trembling to the dens of night
To find a refuge from their dazzling sight.
Around their footsteps fadeless roses spring,
And wond'ring angels pause upon the wing,
23
They bid the dying sons of men to fly!
Great men! and good! what pleasures do they prove,
In all their works of purity and love!
Like sainted Howard, earth shall bless their name,
And heaven itself proclaim their deathless fame!
O holy Virtue! such thy Pleasures are!
They banish sorrow and they banish fear.
Thy gifts are crowns! Thy palaces are gold!
Rising in grandeur, glorious to behold;
Thy gates are precious stones! thy rivers, love!
Thy fruits, the glories of the climes above.
No fang of asp—no scorpion's sting is there—
No breath of sin pollutes the limpid air.
There is not heard the voice of stormy strife,
And Death ne'er treads that land of endless Life!
They banish sorrow and they banish fear.
Thy gifts are crowns! Thy palaces are gold!
Rising in grandeur, glorious to behold;
Thy gates are precious stones! thy rivers, love!
Thy fruits, the glories of the climes above.
No fang of asp—no scorpion's sting is there—
No breath of sin pollutes the limpid air.
There is not heard the voice of stormy strife,
And Death ne'er treads that land of endless Life!
Thy paths are paths of peace, whose tow'ring height
Leads up to regions of unclouded light!
Beyond the stars that gild the realms above,
In the bright Eden of eternal love!
There the sweet voices of the Cherubim,
In notes melodious, chant the immortal hymn;
There life-crown'd Saints attune their golden lyres
To such sweet songs as God himself inspires,
And in thy grace, O Saviour of mankind!
Their life—their love—their sinless pleasures find!
Leads up to regions of unclouded light!
Beyond the stars that gild the realms above,
In the bright Eden of eternal love!
There the sweet voices of the Cherubim,
In notes melodious, chant the immortal hymn;
There life-crown'd Saints attune their golden lyres
To such sweet songs as God himself inspires,
And in thy grace, O Saviour of mankind!
Their life—their love—their sinless pleasures find!
24
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
THE HOUR OF PRAYER.
Haste thee! haste thee! hour divine!
Joys ecstatic—bliss is thine!
And raptures from the throne above—
Sweeter thou, than life to me,
When the world and cares do flee,
And Jesus speaks in tones of love,
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
Joys ecstatic—bliss is thine!
And raptures from the throne above—
Sweeter thou, than life to me,
When the world and cares do flee,
And Jesus speaks in tones of love,
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
Brighter thou, than sunny rays:
Holiest time of all my days:
O hour of love and joy draw nigh!
Spread my faith thy eagle wings:
Speed thee, where each angel sings—
Where Jesus pleads thy cause on high—
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
Holiest time of all my days:
O hour of love and joy draw nigh!
Spread my faith thy eagle wings:
Speed thee, where each angel sings—
Where Jesus pleads thy cause on high—
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
Now is come the hour of prayer,
Gracious, loving Saviour hear;
Stoop thee from thy throne above,
Bless me, bless me, Son of God!
Shed thou, in my heart abroad,
Thy saving grace, thy dying love.
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
Gracious, loving Saviour hear;
Stoop thee from thy throne above,
25
Shed thou, in my heart abroad,
Thy saving grace, thy dying love.
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
O Jesus! thou, my portion art—
Sun of my life—joy of my heart:
O raptures! bliss! O God of Love!
Exalt my thoughts—my hopes—my soul
Higher than where the planets roll—
Quite to thy dazzling throne above!
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
Sun of my life—joy of my heart:
O raptures! bliss! O God of Love!
Exalt my thoughts—my hopes—my soul
Higher than where the planets roll—
Quite to thy dazzling throne above!
O time of prayer! O hour divine!
Ecstatic joys and peace are thine.
THE DEATH OF CHRIST.
Mourn! mourn ye highest heavens! your Maker dies!
Hear ye his groans! attend his dreadful cries!
Which pierce the shrinking sun—the quiv'ring skies!
And strike, with anguish deep, the trembling earth!
O weep, ye sable clouds! Ye angels, weep!
And thou, rebellious man! in sorrow deep!
Weep thou! Thy God expires on yonder steep,
Thy Ransom—He, of matchless strength and worth.
Hear ye his groans! attend his dreadful cries!
Which pierce the shrinking sun—the quiv'ring skies!
And strike, with anguish deep, the trembling earth!
O weep, ye sable clouds! Ye angels, weep!
And thou, rebellious man! in sorrow deep!
Weep thou! Thy God expires on yonder steep,
Thy Ransom—He, of matchless strength and worth.
He bleeds! his blood redeems the fallen soul,
From angry Justice, and foul Sin's control,
Refines the base, and makes the leprous whole—
For Worms! vile Worms, the mighty God is slain!
O Man! proud man! thy crimes have hung him there,
Clench'd fast the nails, plung'd in the cruel spear,
And torn his breast with agonies severe!
Say, shall he suffer thus for thee in vain!
From angry Justice, and foul Sin's control,
Refines the base, and makes the leprous whole—
26
O Man! proud man! thy crimes have hung him there,
Clench'd fast the nails, plung'd in the cruel spear,
And torn his breast with agonies severe!
Say, shall he suffer thus for thee in vain!
“'Tis finish'd!” now he cries, and yields the ghost!
Behold! behold him now, ye starry host!
While the bright Sun, in darkest shade is lost,
Hell shouts for joy, and her deep caves resound
With cries of vict'ry, as though heav'n had fail'd
To ransom Man, and Satan had prevail'd.
But lo! the tomb opes wide—and through the air
The risen Saviour flies beyond the azure bounds.
Behold! behold him now, ye starry host!
While the bright Sun, in darkest shade is lost,
Hell shouts for joy, and her deep caves resound
With cries of vict'ry, as though heav'n had fail'd
To ransom Man, and Satan had prevail'd.
But lo! the tomb opes wide—and through the air
The risen Saviour flies beyond the azure bounds.
Archangel guards escort him through the sky;
There shall the God-man live no more to die,
Above all thrones and kingdoms, tow'ring high,
And crown'd with light, he mounts his own bright throne,
Legions of angels tune their harps and sing,
Heaven's countless tongues their sweetest praises bring,
And crown our Jesus their immortal King:
All hearts should love him, for he reigns above.
There shall the God-man live no more to die,
Above all thrones and kingdoms, tow'ring high,
And crown'd with light, he mounts his own bright throne,
Legions of angels tune their harps and sing,
Heaven's countless tongues their sweetest praises bring,
And crown our Jesus their immortal King:
All hearts should love him, for he reigns above.
27
“THE CARRIER DOVE.”
[_]
The following lines were composed for a Grand Soiree of Sacred Music, given for the relief of the A. M. E. Church in Saratoga street, and dedicated to Mrs. Georgeanna Hilliard, who sung it in solo, with the Guitar accompaniment, to the air of
Turn away from the charming world, sweet one,
Turn away from its siren glance—
Turn away from the fading world, sweet one,
Turn away from the giddy dance.
'Tis the blandishment of the shining throng:
'Tis the winning smiles of the gay
Like a wid'ning stream, with a current strong,
That carries the spirit away.
Turn away from its siren glance—
Turn away from the fading world, sweet one,
Turn away from the giddy dance.
'Tis the blandishment of the shining throng:
'Tis the winning smiles of the gay
Like a wid'ning stream, with a current strong,
That carries the spirit away.
Tell me not they delight the wearied soul,
Tell me not they regale the eye,
Tell me not that their sweet and soft control,
Give raptures that never can die:
For they fade like flow'rs, they sting like an asp,
When grief rends the bleeding heart,
Like dreams of a night, they elude the grasp!
Like shadows they quickly depart!
Tell me not they regale the eye,
Tell me not that their sweet and soft control,
Give raptures that never can die:
For they fade like flow'rs, they sting like an asp,
When grief rends the bleeding heart,
Like dreams of a night, they elude the grasp!
Like shadows they quickly depart!
Fly away from earth to thy native heav'n,
Where the smile, the song and the glee—
The nectar of life, the crown that's given
By the Lord will be given to thee.
Fly away from earth, to thy native heav'n!
Fly away to the op'ning sky!
O fly like a bird, when the snare is brok'n!
Away to the glories on high!
Where the smile, the song and the glee—
The nectar of life, the crown that's given
By the Lord will be given to thee.
28
Fly away to the op'ning sky!
O fly like a bird, when the snare is brok'n!
Away to the glories on high!
WHOM SHALL I LOVE?
I asked the earth with all her verdant fields,
Whose fruitful bosom countless blessings yields
Ungrateful Man!
Her voice replied from every mountain height,
Responding vales, and rosy bowers bright,
Love God! love God!
'Tis he, who strews my breast with fruits of gold,
And gave the beauties which your eyes behold.
Whose fruitful bosom countless blessings yields
Ungrateful Man!
Her voice replied from every mountain height,
Responding vales, and rosy bowers bright,
Love God! love God!
'Tis he, who strews my breast with fruits of gold,
And gave the beauties which your eyes behold.
The Ocean next I ask'd, whose throbbing heart
Pours scaly dainties in the crowded mart
For thankless Man,
His roaring lungs replied in notes so loud,
That his smooth bosom heav'd in billows proud,
Love God! love God!
To bear your ships with foreign riches home,
From shore to shore he makes my waves to roam.
Pours scaly dainties in the crowded mart
For thankless Man,
His roaring lungs replied in notes so loud,
That his smooth bosom heav'd in billows proud,
Love God! love God!
To bear your ships with foreign riches home,
From shore to shore he makes my waves to roam.
Next, did I ask the ambient atmosphere,
Whose lab'ring womb gives healthy, vig'rous air
To breathing Man.
Forth from her lips the viewless zephyrs ran,
And softly whisper'd, O thou son of Man!
Love God! love God!
Through me he makes the noxious vapors rise,
And then in dew-drops leave the weeping skies.
Whose lab'ring womb gives healthy, vig'rous air
To breathing Man.
29
And softly whisper'd, O thou son of Man!
Love God! love God!
Through me he makes the noxious vapors rise,
And then in dew-drops leave the weeping skies.
I ask'd the legions of the azure way,
Whose radiant beams the pow'r of God display
To gazing Man.
Thus spoke the regent of the starry sky,
Thus did the constellations all reply,
Love God, love God.
For he, whose shadow is our robes of light,
Should be to you the source of pure delight,
Whose radiant beams the pow'r of God display
To gazing Man.
Thus spoke the regent of the starry sky,
Thus did the constellations all reply,
Love God, love God.
For he, whose shadow is our robes of light,
Should be to you the source of pure delight,
To hell I turned me next, where all the lost
On flaming billows are for ever tost!
I stood, and heard,
From every burning tongue of damned ghost,
And gnashing fiends, who throng the fiery coast,
Love God, love God!
And Wrath, and black Despair, and Vengeance cried,
And utter Wo and deep Damnation sigh'd
Love God! love God!
On flaming billows are for ever tost!
I stood, and heard,
From every burning tongue of damned ghost,
And gnashing fiends, who throng the fiery coast,
Love God, love God!
And Wrath, and black Despair, and Vengeance cried,
And utter Wo and deep Damnation sigh'd
Love God! love God!
The heaven of heavens I ask'd, whose harps resound,
Jehovah's praise through all the regions round,
From all the tongues,
And tuneful lyres of light-rob'd Seraphim,
Of crowned Saints, and star-eyed Cherubim,
The holy strains
Flow'd sweetly, loudly, through the realms of bliss,
In streams of perfect ecstasies,
Love God! love God!
Jehovah's praise through all the regions round,
From all the tongues,
30
Of crowned Saints, and star-eyed Cherubim,
The holy strains
Flow'd sweetly, loudly, through the realms of bliss,
In streams of perfect ecstasies,
Love God! love God!
THE INSPIRATION OF NATURE.
Father above the concave sky,
Enthron'd in light profound,
At thy command the lightnings fly
And thunders roar around!
Enthron'd in light profound,
At thy command the lightnings fly
And thunders roar around!
O who can see the beaming Sun!
The smiling Moon at night!
The snowy clouds! the countless stars!
Shedding their rays of light,
The smiling Moon at night!
The snowy clouds! the countless stars!
Shedding their rays of light,
And yet refuse to sing thy praise,
In sweetest notes of love?
Or echo to angelic lays,
Which fill the worlds above?
In sweetest notes of love?
Or echo to angelic lays,
Which fill the worlds above?
Whene'er I tread the blooming plains,
And pluck the fragrant flower,
The luscious fruits, the yellow grains,
I read thy matchless power.
And pluck the fragrant flower,
The luscious fruits, the yellow grains,
I read thy matchless power.
31
What moves on earth or wings the air,
Or swims the swelling sea,
Is but a ray of life to point
Immortal Man to thee.
Or swims the swelling sea,
Is but a ray of life to point
Immortal Man to thee.
The sapient thought, the lucid eye,
Give to my gazing soul,
To see in all beneath the sky,
Thy power and wise control.
Give to my gazing soul,
To see in all beneath the sky,
Thy power and wise control.
Then will my heart and tongue unite,
When Nature's works inspire,
Thy praise to sing at morn and night,
Upon the sacred lyre.
When Nature's works inspire,
Thy praise to sing at morn and night,
Upon the sacred lyre.
SACRED HOURS.
O sacred hours! how sweet are ye!
Nothing on earth so sweet can be:
Ye teach my humble faith to see
That God is present here.
Yes, sacred hours! I would not part
With the sweet peace ye bring my heart,
For all that riches can impart,
Or royal mansions bear.
Nothing on earth so sweet can be:
Ye teach my humble faith to see
That God is present here.
Yes, sacred hours! I would not part
With the sweet peace ye bring my heart,
For all that riches can impart,
Or royal mansions bear.
O sacred hours! like angels bright,
Ye come from heav'n enrob'd in light—
Then stay! O stay your rapid flight!
Ye blest ones from on high.
To you, sweet hours, 'tis wisely giv'n
To heal the hearts which sin hath riv'n,
To breathe in man the breath of heav'n,
And fit him for the sky.
Ye come from heav'n enrob'd in light—
Then stay! O stay your rapid flight!
Ye blest ones from on high.
32
To heal the hearts which sin hath riv'n,
To breathe in man the breath of heav'n,
And fit him for the sky.
O sacred hours! no tongue can tell
What raptures in my bosom swell,
Whilst o'er my soul ye cast your spell
And breathe the life of love!
Ye brightest gems of time to me!
Wing'd heralds of eternity!
That bring me near the Deity—
O burn me up with love!
What raptures in my bosom swell,
Whilst o'er my soul ye cast your spell
And breathe the life of love!
Ye brightest gems of time to me!
Wing'd heralds of eternity!
That bring me near the Deity—
O burn me up with love!
MY JULIA.
LINES Occasioned by the death of my beloved wife, Julia Ann Payne, November 6th, 1847.
Thou art gone to the land of the blest!
Art gone to the home of the pure!
Thou art gone to thy heavenly rest!
Thy Saviour and God to adore.
Art gone to the home of the pure!
Thou art gone to thy heavenly rest!
Thy Saviour and God to adore.
Thou art gone from this region of death,
Where sorrow and suff'rings are rife,
To the clime whose ethereal breath
Gives pleasure and rapture and life.
Where sorrow and suff'rings are rife,
To the clime whose ethereal breath
Gives pleasure and rapture and life.
33
Thou art gone from thy kindred below,
To join thy relations in heav'n,
Where the temper, the heart and the glow
Of friendship like dew-drops are giv'n.
To join thy relations in heav'n,
Where the temper, the heart and the glow
Of friendship like dew-drops are giv'n.
Thou art gone from the cross to the crown!
From works to thy glorious reward!
From the pris'ner's chain to the conq'rer's throne!
From my arms—to the bosom of God!
From works to thy glorious reward!
From the pris'ner's chain to the conq'rer's throne!
From my arms—to the bosom of God!
Thou art gone—not as dreams of the night,
Nor shadows that fly o'er the glebe—
For thine image, immortal and bright,
Is seen in my angelic babe.
Nor shadows that fly o'er the glebe—
For thine image, immortal and bright,
Is seen in my angelic babe.
Like the silk-worm that weaves its own shroud,
And dies to give birth to its fly—
So didst thou; then upon a bright cloud—
Thou art gone to the mansions on high.
And dies to give birth to its fly—
So didst thou; then upon a bright cloud—
Thou art gone to the mansions on high.
Where the seraphim's glorious voice,
And the harps of the saints do resound;
Thou art gone, O my love, to rejoice
With angels, in glory, life-crown'd.
And the harps of the saints do resound;
Thou art gone, O my love, to rejoice
With angels, in glory, life-crown'd.
34
LINES Occasioned by the death of my infant daughter, Julia Ann Payne, July 12, 1848. Aged 9 months, 6 days, 5 hours.
Another painful blow is struck,
The golden chain again is riv'n,
The link which bound my heart to earth
Is broke, and fasten'd now to heav'n.
The golden chain again is riv'n,
The link which bound my heart to earth
Is broke, and fasten'd now to heav'n.
Behold! my cherub child is gone!
On wings, whose plumes are beams of light,
Through yon blue sky my babe has flown
With angels fair and seraphs bright.
On wings, whose plumes are beams of light,
Through yon blue sky my babe has flown
With angels fair and seraphs bright.
They came at the eve of the day,
When the sheen of the sun is mild,
In cars of light they bore away
My beauteous daughter—cherub child!
When the sheen of the sun is mild,
In cars of light they bore away
My beauteous daughter—cherub child!
But she blooms in a brighter clime,
Where all is pure and sweet and green,
Where dark disease and storms of time
Are neither felt, nor heard, nor seen.
Where all is pure and sweet and green,
Where dark disease and storms of time
Are neither felt, nor heard, nor seen.
I mourn not for thee, sweetest one;
Thou wert loan'd, but never wert giv'n—
Bright gem from the land of the sun,
Go shine 'midst the jewels of heav'n!
Thou wert loan'd, but never wert giv'n—
Bright gem from the land of the sun,
Go shine 'midst the jewels of heav'n!
35
Thine eyes were like planets of light,
Thy locks like the raven's dark plume—
Like sumbeams that gleam'd on the sight,
Thou art lost in the star-spangled dome.
Thy locks like the raven's dark plume—
Like sumbeams that gleam'd on the sight,
Thou art lost in the star-spangled dome.
A vision of beauty she seem'd,
Where Love had breath'd her sweetest soul,
An angel! such as oft I dream'd
Was sent my spirit to console.
Where Love had breath'd her sweetest soul,
An angel! such as oft I dream'd
Was sent my spirit to console.
As sweet as the love-speaking rose,
So sweet were thy blushes given:
Thy forehead, thy lips and thy nose
Were form'd like an angel of heaven.
So sweet were thy blushes given:
Thy forehead, thy lips and thy nose
Were form'd like an angel of heaven.
O, thou wert too sweet for this earth,
Too sweet in its darkness to stay;
Too sweet for its sorrows or mirth—
Away then, my cherub, away!
Too sweet in its darkness to stay;
Too sweet for its sorrows or mirth—
Away then, my cherub, away!
Away to the Eden on high!
Away to thy Saviour and Lord!
Away to thy home in the sky!
Away to the bosom of God!
Away to thy Saviour and Lord!
Away to thy home in the sky!
Away to the bosom of God!
There deck thy brows with starry flow'rs;
There kiss the one who gave thee birth;
There roam in ever-blooming bow'rs;
There drink from nectar'd streams of mirth.
There kiss the one who gave thee birth;
There roam in ever-blooming bow'rs;
There drink from nectar'd streams of mirth.
36
And O! when this short life is o'er;
When this frail form is laid in dust;
Swift up to heav'n my soul shall soar
To meet thee!—angel child—I must!
When this frail form is laid in dust;
Swift up to heav'n my soul shall soar
To meet thee!—angel child—I must!
LINES Written on hearing of the West Indian Emancipation in 1838.
Shout ye islands of the Ocean!
Jehovah hath made you free;
Serve him with profound devotion,
O ye islands of the Sea!
Jehovah hath made you free;
Serve him with profound devotion,
O ye islands of the Sea!
Let your praise, like sweetest incense,
Fume the temple of the sky;
And your love, like seraphs, intense,
Hover round the throne on high.
Fume the temple of the sky;
And your love, like seraphs, intense,
Hover round the throne on high.
Rear in vales, on verdant mountains,
Where the spicy zephyrs be,
Round the rills and limpid fountains,
Temples to the Deity.
Where the spicy zephyrs be,
Round the rills and limpid fountains,
Temples to the Deity.
Let the hoary sire and matron,
Let the maiden and the youth,
Let the boy and lisping infant,
Praise the conqu'ring God of truth.
Let the maiden and the youth,
Let the boy and lisping infant,
Praise the conqu'ring God of truth.
37
Ransom'd Islands, lift your voices
Louder than the roaring sea;
While each bounding heart rejoices,
Praise the God of liberty.
Louder than the roaring sea;
While each bounding heart rejoices,
Praise the God of liberty.
Crown him, Islands of the Ocean!
Whose right arm hath made you free;
Crown him with your sweet devotion,
O ye islands of the Sea!
Whose right arm hath made you free;
Crown him with your sweet devotion,
O ye islands of the Sea!
[We come, friends, again to assist you]
[_]
Composed for the Sacred Soiree given in aid of Bethel, January 21, 1850. Set to Music and arranged for the Piano Forte by Dr. James H. Fleet, and sung by his splendid Quartette.
We come, friends, again to assist you,
With music we come to rejoice you,
Like angels, we bring blessings to you
From the Lord our heavenly king.
While zephyrs around us are flying,
While stars in their orbits are blazing,
And seraphs upon us are gazing,
Here we softly and sweetly do sing.
With music we come to rejoice you,
Like angels, we bring blessings to you
From the Lord our heavenly king.
While zephyrs around us are flying,
While stars in their orbits are blazing,
And seraphs upon us are gazing,
Here we softly and sweetly do sing.
O! thou from whose throne love is welling,
Like ocean-waves flowing and swelling,
Whose praises all Nature is telling,
With voices harmonious and sweet—
Inspire our sonnets, we pray thee,
With music and songs we adore thee—
Like incense, O may they rise to thee,
And bow ev'ry heart at thy feet.
Like ocean-waves flowing and swelling,
Whose praises all Nature is telling,
With voices harmonious and sweet—
38
With music and songs we adore thee—
Like incense, O may they rise to thee,
And bow ev'ry heart at thy feet.
As sweet as the roses of Sharon,
As bright as the mountains of Zion,
As great as the strength of a lion,
Are the people whose shield is the Lord:
Then, Bethel, attune thy harps quickly,
And sing to thy Saviour, sing sweetly—
O shout to the Lord, Bethel, loudly!
For thy sword and thy buckler is God.
As bright as the mountains of Zion,
As great as the strength of a lion,
Are the people whose shield is the Lord:
Then, Bethel, attune thy harps quickly,
And sing to thy Saviour, sing sweetly—
O shout to the Lord, Bethel, loudly!
For thy sword and thy buckler is God.
THE LAMENT FOR THE SLANDERED LOVED ONE.
I weep for thee! I weep for thee!
I weep for thee, my lovely one;
I weep for thee! I weep for thee!
I weep for thee, my injur'd one!
I weep for thee, my lovely one;
I weep for thee! I weep for thee!
I weep for thee, my injur'd one!
How keen the pangs that rend my heart!
How deep the grief that swells my soul!
O say! from thee shall I depart?
Thy lovely form no more behold?
How deep the grief that swells my soul!
O say! from thee shall I depart?
Thy lovely form no more behold?
39
Though duty calls me far away,
To mingle with the high and low—
'Midst matrons grave, and maidens gay,
Where wealth a thousand gifts bestow.
To mingle with the high and low—
'Midst matrons grave, and maidens gay,
Where wealth a thousand gifts bestow.
As doth the dove, whose helpless mate
Lies pierc'd and dying on the ground,
In speechless grief deplore her fate,
Or pour his mournful strains around;
Lies pierc'd and dying on the ground,
In speechless grief deplore her fate,
Or pour his mournful strains around;
When morn shall veil the milky-way,
O lov'd one, I will weep for thee!
Or when night shuts the eye of day,
I'll sadly sit, and grieve for thee!
O lov'd one, I will weep for thee!
Or when night shuts the eye of day,
I'll sadly sit, and grieve for thee!
They tell me that thy footsteps stray
Where guilt her crimson shadows fling,
They say meand'ring is thy way,
Thy heart is not a spotless thing!
Where guilt her crimson shadows fling,
They say meand'ring is thy way,
Thy heart is not a spotless thing!
Can this be true? Ye angels, tell!
That guard a Virgin's priceless heart—
With doubts and hopes this bosom swell,
O tell me ere I hence depart!
That guard a Virgin's priceless heart—
With doubts and hopes this bosom swell,
O tell me ere I hence depart!
Dark be the day! accurs'd the hour!
When woman from her throne descends;
That throne is virtue—'tis her power!
Her hope of bliss on this depends.
When woman from her throne descends;
That throne is virtue—'tis her power!
Her hope of bliss on this depends.
40
But has not injur'd Virtue bled
Beneath the Sland'rer's deadly blows?
A thousand wrongs have droop'd her head!
Her heart has felt a thousand woes!
Beneath the Sland'rer's deadly blows?
A thousand wrongs have droop'd her head!
Her heart has felt a thousand woes!
O Slander! foulest imp of hell!
Thy tongue is like the scorpion's sting!
Nor peace nor hope can near thee dwell;
Thy breath can blast the fairest thing!
Thy tongue is like the scorpion's sting!
Nor peace nor hope can near thee dwell;
Thy breath can blast the fairest thing!
O could I grasp the thunder-bolt!
I'd crush thee! limping fiend of hell!
From earth I'd chase thy serpent soul,
And chain thee where the furies dwell!
I'd crush thee! limping fiend of hell!
From earth I'd chase thy serpent soul,
And chain thee where the furies dwell!
O I would weep, thou injur'd one!
If weeping could restore thy fame,
'Till darkness veil'd the setting sun,
And glory shone around thy name!
If weeping could restore thy fame,
'Till darkness veil'd the setting sun,
And glory shone around thy name!
I'll weep for thee when Beauty smiles,
And sheds her angel-charms around;
I'd weep for thee in deserts wild,
Or where the blooming fields abound;
And sheds her angel-charms around;
I'd weep for thee in deserts wild,
Or where the blooming fields abound;
Where parlors glow with virgins fair,
And joys elate each bounding heart—
Where music thrills the vocal air,
And earth her purest bliss imparts.
And joys elate each bounding heart—
Where music thrills the vocal air,
And earth her purest bliss imparts.
41
I'd weep for thee, my lovely one!
As clouds do from the mourning heav'n;
In silence sad, I'd sit and mourn—
For O! to thee this heart was giv'n!
As clouds do from the mourning heav'n;
In silence sad, I'd sit and mourn—
For O! to thee this heart was giv'n!
MAY I NOT LOVE?
May I not love the beauteous flow'rs
That in the gardens grow?
Or those which deck wild Nature's bow'rs
Upon the mountain's brow?
That in the gardens grow?
Or those which deck wild Nature's bow'rs
Upon the mountain's brow?
May I not love the brightest gem
Upon a monarch's crown?
Or that still brighter diadem,
Which Gabriel's head adorn?
Upon a monarch's crown?
Or that still brighter diadem,
Which Gabriel's head adorn?
May I not love to gaze upon
The starry robes of Night?
Watch as her burning cars roll on,
And trace an angel's flight?
The starry robes of Night?
Watch as her burning cars roll on,
And trace an angel's flight?
O Science, may I not love thee!
Thou giant son of heav'n;
In thee, what wond'rous charms I see!
God's pow'r to mortals giv'n.
Thou giant son of heav'n;
In thee, what wond'rous charms I see!
God's pow'r to mortals giv'n.
42
May I not love to stray along
Some river's grassy side?
The forest cheer with holy song?
And swim the flowing tide?
Some river's grassy side?
The forest cheer with holy song?
And swim the flowing tide?
May I not love the art divine,
Which makes the canvass breathe?
Whose mimic landscapes glow and shine
With streams and flow'ry heath?
Which makes the canvass breathe?
Whose mimic landscapes glow and shine
With streams and flow'ry heath?
Sweet Music! may I not love thee!
Thou charmer of the soul!
Thy strains, like drops of honey be;
Thy notes like morning dews!
Thou charmer of the soul!
Thy strains, like drops of honey be;
Thy notes like morning dews!
The charming Maid, may I not love—
Whose pleasure is in books?
Whose heart is like the peaceful dove,
With virtue's modest looks?
Whose pleasure is in books?
Whose heart is like the peaceful dove,
With virtue's modest looks?
Who scorns the swinish joys of earth—
Who seeks a throne on high—
Whose heart pants not for windy mirth—
Whose hope is in the sky.
Who seeks a throne on high—
Whose heart pants not for windy mirth—
Whose hope is in the sky.
O Poetry, thou child of Love!
Whose harp by God was giv'n;
Thy songs are echoes from above—
Thy voice the breath of heav'n.
Whose harp by God was giv'n;
Thy songs are echoes from above—
Thy voice the breath of heav'n.
43
May I not love thee? thing of light!
For love is in thine eyes;
Thine is the eagle's sunny flight!
Thy home is in the skies!
For love is in thine eyes;
Thine is the eagle's sunny flight!
Thy home is in the skies!
Lord! I may love them all for thee—
Will love them for thy sake;
Will love, till in eternity
My loving soul shall wake!
Will love them for thy sake;
Will love, till in eternity
My loving soul shall wake!
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