 | Poems |  |
“BLESSED BE NOTHING.”
“Blessed be nothing!” an old woman said,
As she scrubbed away for her daily bread.
“I'm better off than my neighbor the Squire,
He's afraid of robbers, afraid of fire,
Afraid of flood to wreck his mill,
Afraid of something to cross his will.
I've nothing to burn and naught to steal,
But a bit of pork and a bag of meal;
A house that only keeps off the rain,
Is easy burnt up and built again,
Blessed be nothing! my heart is light,
I sing at my washing, and sleep all night.”
As she scrubbed away for her daily bread.
“I'm better off than my neighbor the Squire,
He's afraid of robbers, afraid of fire,
Afraid of flood to wreck his mill,
Afraid of something to cross his will.
I've nothing to burn and naught to steal,
But a bit of pork and a bag of meal;
A house that only keeps off the rain,
Is easy burnt up and built again,
Blessed be nothing! my heart is light,
I sing at my washing, and sleep all night.”
195
“Blessed be nothing!” the young man cried,
As he turned with a smile to his blushing bride.
“Banks are breaking and stocks are down,
There's dread and bitterness all over town,
There are rich men groaning, and wise men sad,
And men whose losses have made them mad;
There's silk and satin, but scarcely bread.
And many a woman would fain be dead,
Whose little children sob and cling
For the daily pleasure she cannot bring.
Blessed be nothing for you and me,
We have no riches on wings to flee.”
As he turned with a smile to his blushing bride.
“Banks are breaking and stocks are down,
There's dread and bitterness all over town,
There are rich men groaning, and wise men sad,
And men whose losses have made them mad;
There's silk and satin, but scarcely bread.
And many a woman would fain be dead,
Whose little children sob and cling
For the daily pleasure she cannot bring.
Blessed be nothing for you and me,
We have no riches on wings to flee.”
Blessed be nothing, if man might choose,
For he who hath it hath naught to lose,
Nothing to fear from flood or fire,
All things to hope for and desire;
The dream that is better than waking days,
The future that feeds the longing gaze,
Better, far better, than all we hold,
As far as mining exceedeth gold;
Or hope fruition in earth below;
Or peace that is in us, outward show.
For he who hath it hath naught to lose,
Nothing to fear from flood or fire,
All things to hope for and desire;
The dream that is better than waking days,
The future that feeds the longing gaze,
Better, far better, than all we hold,
As far as mining exceedeth gold;
Or hope fruition in earth below;
Or peace that is in us, outward show.
Almost,—when worn by weary years,
Tired with a pathway of thorns and tears,
When kindred fail us, and love has fled,
And we know the living less than the dead,
We think that the best of mortal good
Is a painless, friendless solitude.
For the pangs are more than the peace they give,
Who make our lives so sad to live.
Blessed be nothing! it knows no loss,
Nor the sharpest nail of the Master's cross:
No friend to deny us, of none bereft,
And though we have nothing, yet God is left.
Tired with a pathway of thorns and tears,
When kindred fail us, and love has fled,
And we know the living less than the dead,
We think that the best of mortal good
Is a painless, friendless solitude.
196
Who make our lives so sad to live.
Blessed be nothing! it knows no loss,
Nor the sharpest nail of the Master's cross:
No friend to deny us, of none bereft,
And though we have nothing, yet God is left.
Yet, having nothing, the whole is ours:
No thorns can pierce us, who have no flowers,
And sure is the promise of His word,
Thy poor are blessed in spirit, Lord!
Whatever we lose of wealth or care
Still there is left us the breath of prayer:
That heavenly breath of a world so high
Sorrow and sinning come not nigh.
The sure and certain mercy of Him
Who sitteth between the cherubim
But cares for the lonely sparrow's fall,
And is ready and willing to help us all.
Rich is his bounty to all beneath
To the poorest and saddest he giveth—death!
No thorns can pierce us, who have no flowers,
And sure is the promise of His word,
Thy poor are blessed in spirit, Lord!
Whatever we lose of wealth or care
Still there is left us the breath of prayer:
That heavenly breath of a world so high
Sorrow and sinning come not nigh.
The sure and certain mercy of Him
Who sitteth between the cherubim
But cares for the lonely sparrow's fall,
And is ready and willing to help us all.
Rich is his bounty to all beneath
To the poorest and saddest he giveth—death!
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