 | Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox . |  |
97
THE AGE OF BENEVOLENCE.
BOOK I. Benevolence the glory of Heaven.
THE ARGUMENT.
General subject proposed. Invocation. Subject of the first book. The Benevolence of God in the works of nature. Illustration from an example of vernal scenery. God's Benevolence, the theme of revelation. Its immediate exercise in his providence. Its higher glory in his moral government. Its highest in the work of redemption, and in the renovating effects of the preaching of the cross. Objection to the Divine Benevolence from the existence of sin. Another from future punishments. A third from the afflictions of the pious in this life. The happy tendency of these afflictions illustrated by the history of Orville and Charlotte. Importance of the doctrine of God's Benevolence. A hymn of praise. The Benevolence of angels. That of saints in glory.
BOOK II. Benevolence on earth the resemblance of Heaven.
THE ARGUMENT.
Contrast between this world and heaven. Nature of Benevolence: distinct from constitutional kindness. Not kindled by natural religion. Implanted by divine grace in the place of native selfishness. Its excellence. Its power illustrated by an example. A safe-guard from tempting passions. Its activity a cure for religious melancholy.
98
BOOK III. The need of Benevolence.
THE ARGUMENT.
Profaneness. Sabbath-breaking. Intemperance. Slavery. War. The Heathen.
BOOK IV. The Rewards of Benevolence.
THE ARGUMENT.
The happiness, flowing naturally from the exercise of Benevolence, already sung, really a great reward. So is the success of benevolence, its happy effects on the world. But the design of this book is to treat more at large, of the absolute blessings promised by God, as the reward of well-doing. The body to share in the glory of heaven—its resurrection certain— a Spiritual body, incorruptible, glorious. Moral likeness. Freedom from sorrow. Happiness from various sources—society of angels, of each other— God and the Lamb the chief sources. All these enjoyments increasing, eternal. Resurrection, the time when they that have done good will be introduced to the consummation of all their glory—but the soul of each happy at death. Death of Horatio. Christian's great and sudden change, a motive to activity in preparation. Negligence caused by unbelief. Faith in an invisible heaven reasonable. The effects of this faith, &c.
99
BOOK I.
Of true benevolence, its charms divine,
With other motives to call forth its power,
And its grand triumphs, multiplied beyond
All former bounds, in this its golden age,
Humbly I sing, awed by the holy theme;
A theme exalted, though as yet unsung,
In beauty rich, of inspiration full,
And worthy of a nobler harp than that
From which heroic strains sublimely sound.
With other motives to call forth its power,
And its grand triumphs, multiplied beyond
All former bounds, in this its golden age,
Humbly I sing, awed by the holy theme;
A theme exalted, though as yet unsung,
In beauty rich, of inspiration full,
And worthy of a nobler harp than that
From which heroic strains sublimely sound.
Thou who art only and supremely good,
Thee, thee alone, with trembling I invoke,
From no pretended consciousness of need,
And for no vain imaginary aid.
Deign thou to smile upon my poor attempt
To sing the glories of thy truth and love,
Thyself and kingdom. With extended hand
Bear me along; surround me with thy light;
My heart enlarge and soften; every power
Make sacred for thyself; and let thy love
Constrain me. Give me purity of aim,
By selfishness untainted, lest my lips
Thy truth profane. O make my whole intent,
Thy glory to promote by doing good;
And, if successful, thine shall be the praise.
Thee, thee alone, with trembling I invoke,
From no pretended consciousness of need,
And for no vain imaginary aid.
Deign thou to smile upon my poor attempt
To sing the glories of thy truth and love,
Thyself and kingdom. With extended hand
Bear me along; surround me with thy light;
My heart enlarge and soften; every power
Make sacred for thyself; and let thy love
Constrain me. Give me purity of aim,
By selfishness untainted, lest my lips
Thy truth profane. O make my whole intent,
Thy glory to promote by doing good;
And, if successful, thine shall be the praise.
100
If in the universe there be a world
Uncursed by sin, beyond conception fair,
Inhabited with intelligences pure,
Of more exalted nature than our own,
And perfect in enjoyment, what it is
That forms their excellence and chief delight,
Not one of human kind, without a soul
Of its sublime capacity to rise
Unmindful, and a heart to virtue dead,
Can think it vain to know, or, knowing, fail
To imitate. Of such a world so fair,
Filled with inhabitants so pure and blest,
And with the visible presence of the Source
Of all existence, long have mortals heard;
And of each being in that happy world,
From Him who sits on its eternal throne
To him that holds the humblest station there,
Love is the bliss, the glory doing good.
Uncursed by sin, beyond conception fair,
Inhabited with intelligences pure,
Of more exalted nature than our own,
And perfect in enjoyment, what it is
That forms their excellence and chief delight,
Not one of human kind, without a soul
Of its sublime capacity to rise
Unmindful, and a heart to virtue dead,
Can think it vain to know, or, knowing, fail
To imitate. Of such a world so fair,
Filled with inhabitants so pure and blest,
And with the visible presence of the Source
Of all existence, long have mortals heard;
And of each being in that happy world,
From Him who sits on its eternal throne
To him that holds the humblest station there,
Love is the bliss, the glory doing good.
Of God's benevolence, proof in his works
From their beginning, and in all his ways,
Illustrious shines. What motive, but desire
To give felicity, called forth his might
To build this fair creation; to surround
His dwelling in the immensity of space
With orb encircling orb, to give to dust
The happiness of life in countless forms
Delightful, and to creatures rational
His pure immortal nature to impart?
Was it his glory? 'Twas his goodness still;
For both are one, inseparably one.
God seeks not his, as men their glory seek;
From vain ambition. Earth and heaven sublime
Were not created for the mere display
Of power and skill immeasurably great;
Nor men and angels merely to admire
The wondrous fabric, and its Author praise
With lofty songs. The whole grand universe
Is not an empty monument of fame;
Nor yet a monument, on a wide waste
Erected, for no purpose known to man.
'Tis not a pageant bright, o'er an expanse
Illimitable, moving with vain pomp,
In revolutions vain. The glory sought
In its creation, is but that which flows
From giving happiness with bounteous hand.
Its Maker, full of goodness infinite,
Self-moved, in acts beneficent poured forth
Of his abundance, as the sun, all light
And heat itself, cannot but shine and warm.
From their beginning, and in all his ways,
Illustrious shines. What motive, but desire
To give felicity, called forth his might
To build this fair creation; to surround
His dwelling in the immensity of space
With orb encircling orb, to give to dust
The happiness of life in countless forms
Delightful, and to creatures rational
His pure immortal nature to impart?
Was it his glory? 'Twas his goodness still;
For both are one, inseparably one.
God seeks not his, as men their glory seek;
From vain ambition. Earth and heaven sublime
Were not created for the mere display
Of power and skill immeasurably great;
Nor men and angels merely to admire
The wondrous fabric, and its Author praise
With lofty songs. The whole grand universe
Is not an empty monument of fame;
Nor yet a monument, on a wide waste
101
'Tis not a pageant bright, o'er an expanse
Illimitable, moving with vain pomp,
In revolutions vain. The glory sought
In its creation, is but that which flows
From giving happiness with bounteous hand.
Its Maker, full of goodness infinite,
Self-moved, in acts beneficent poured forth
Of his abundance, as the sun, all light
And heat itself, cannot but shine and warm.
On each created thing within his view,
From the most humble to the most sublime,
Man while yet sinless, in a world prepared
For happy innocence a fit abode,
Beheld, in characters entire and bright,
The impress of benevolence divine.
And e'en apostate man, by reason led,
Unaided reason, in a world defaced
For his revolt, beholds remaining marks
Of like benevolence, in mercy spared,
When just had been a universal curse.
Marks of its primitive glory he beholds
Amid its desolations, as he views
Among the ruins of a city, famed
For ancient splendour, many a precious stone,
And marble fragment beautifully wrought.
He sees them in the grateful interchange
Of day and night, and the propitious round
Of seasons;—in the growth of forests vast
Where winter's cold requires the cheering flame,
And, when these fail, in mines of fuel found
Beneath earth's surface;—in the countless streams
That streak its map immense, so duly ranged,
Like the thick branching fibres of a leaf,
The less along the greater on each side,
Watering the whole;—in genial suns and rains,
Combining their sweet influences, to crown
The year with plenty;—in the thousand plants
Of healing virtue, of all various kinds,
Growing at hand where human pain is felt;—
And in the powers by which each living thing,
Down to the meanest and the most minute,
Finds out its food, where'er its lot is cast,
Provided there. From what but kindness flow
These and like blessings? Or if such be deemed
Means requisite existence to prolong,
E'en though unhappy, other proofs remain
Of kindness, clear to reason's naked eye.
Why this profusion in the fruits of earth,
And sweet variety, so far beyond
The mere supply of nature's simple wants?
Why not the fruit without the fragrant flower?
Or if the fragrance to its proper food
Attract the wandering insect, why the hues,
Their endless beautiful diversities,
Enamelling the fields and verdant groves?
Why is man fitted to receive delight
From aught that he beholds? Why, in its use,
Is not each sense an instrument of pain,
Instead of pleasure? Why with objects fair
Is the eye charmed, and with melodious sounds
The listening ear? Why at the frugal board,
As at a banquet, is the taste regaled,
When food as well might nourish, though devoid
Of flavour, or unpleasant, and the love
Of life instinctively constrain to eat?
'Twas pure good-will, that for ungrateful man
Enjoyment thus for its own sake prepared
Nor less apparent is the will to bless,
In that delight inferior creatures feel;
The sporting insects, and the warbling birds,
The bounding and the ruminating flocks,
Yea, all the tribes, that walk, or swim, or fly.
His providence the Lord of all extends
O'er all his works, not merely to uphold,
But to impart enjoyment to all ranks
Of conscious being. This his kind extent,
To unassisted reason, if not blind
From deep and wilful turpitude of heart,
How brightly clear, when in some rural scene
Blooming and sunny, fertile fields, green woods,
Pure air and water, with fair creatures swarm,
Seeming, in their exuberance of good,
Too full of pleasure for a moment's rest;
And when this rural beauty and delight,
Are heightened by some renovating change,
From drought to showers, or from foul skies to fair!
From the most humble to the most sublime,
Man while yet sinless, in a world prepared
For happy innocence a fit abode,
Beheld, in characters entire and bright,
The impress of benevolence divine.
And e'en apostate man, by reason led,
Unaided reason, in a world defaced
For his revolt, beholds remaining marks
Of like benevolence, in mercy spared,
When just had been a universal curse.
Marks of its primitive glory he beholds
Amid its desolations, as he views
Among the ruins of a city, famed
For ancient splendour, many a precious stone,
And marble fragment beautifully wrought.
He sees them in the grateful interchange
Of day and night, and the propitious round
Of seasons;—in the growth of forests vast
Where winter's cold requires the cheering flame,
And, when these fail, in mines of fuel found
Beneath earth's surface;—in the countless streams
That streak its map immense, so duly ranged,
Like the thick branching fibres of a leaf,
The less along the greater on each side,
Watering the whole;—in genial suns and rains,
Combining their sweet influences, to crown
The year with plenty;—in the thousand plants
Of healing virtue, of all various kinds,
102
And in the powers by which each living thing,
Down to the meanest and the most minute,
Finds out its food, where'er its lot is cast,
Provided there. From what but kindness flow
These and like blessings? Or if such be deemed
Means requisite existence to prolong,
E'en though unhappy, other proofs remain
Of kindness, clear to reason's naked eye.
Why this profusion in the fruits of earth,
And sweet variety, so far beyond
The mere supply of nature's simple wants?
Why not the fruit without the fragrant flower?
Or if the fragrance to its proper food
Attract the wandering insect, why the hues,
Their endless beautiful diversities,
Enamelling the fields and verdant groves?
Why is man fitted to receive delight
From aught that he beholds? Why, in its use,
Is not each sense an instrument of pain,
Instead of pleasure? Why with objects fair
Is the eye charmed, and with melodious sounds
The listening ear? Why at the frugal board,
As at a banquet, is the taste regaled,
When food as well might nourish, though devoid
Of flavour, or unpleasant, and the love
Of life instinctively constrain to eat?
'Twas pure good-will, that for ungrateful man
Enjoyment thus for its own sake prepared
Nor less apparent is the will to bless,
In that delight inferior creatures feel;
The sporting insects, and the warbling birds,
The bounding and the ruminating flocks,
Yea, all the tribes, that walk, or swim, or fly.
His providence the Lord of all extends
O'er all his works, not merely to uphold,
But to impart enjoyment to all ranks
Of conscious being. This his kind extent,
To unassisted reason, if not blind
103
How brightly clear, when in some rural scene
Blooming and sunny, fertile fields, green woods,
Pure air and water, with fair creatures swarm,
Seeming, in their exuberance of good,
Too full of pleasure for a moment's rest;
And when this rural beauty and delight,
Are heightened by some renovating change,
From drought to showers, or from foul skies to fair!
The spring, made dreary by incessant rain,
Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared
Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf
Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale,
Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near
Its cultivated base, fronting the south,
Where in the first warm rays of March it sprung
Amid dissolving snow:—save these mere specks
Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers,
In other years bright blowing soon as earth
Unveils her face, and a faint vermil tinge
On clumps of maple of the softer kind,
Was nothing visible to give to May,
Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's
Than like November's universal gloom.
All day beneath the sheltering hovel stood
The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask
The food of winter. A few lonely birds,
Of those that in this northern clime remain
Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring,
At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat
Come suddenly to view with lively notes,
Or those that soonest to this clime return
From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen,
But with their feathers ruffled, and despoiled
Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute,
Or only skipping, with a single chirp,
In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds,
That half way down the mountain side oft hung,
As if o'erloaded with their watery store,
Were parted, though with motion unobserved,
Through their dark opening, white with snow appeared
Its lowest, e'en its cultivated, peaks.
With sinking heart the husbandman surveyed
The melancholy scene, and much his fears
On famine dwelt; when, suddenly awaked
At the first glimpse of daylight, by the sound,
Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near
His window, round their dwelling chirping quick,
With spirits by hope enlivened up he sprung
To look abroad, and to his joy beheld
A sky without the remnant of a cloud.
From gloom to gayety and beauty bright
So rapid now the universal change,
The rude survey it with delight refined,
And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout.
Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds,
Start at the touch of vivifying beams.
Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph
Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field
A flood of verdure. Clothed, in one short week,
Is naked nature in her full attire.
On the first morn, light as an open plain
Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured
Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below,
With strong reflection: on the last, 'tis dark
With full-grown foliage, shading all within.
In one short week the orchard buds and blooms;
And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers,
It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze,
Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes.
E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth,
And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air,
Filled with a watery glimmering receives
A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays.
Each day are heard, and almost every hour,
New notes to swell the music of the groves.
And soon the latest of the feathered train
At evening twilight come;—the lonely snipe,
O'er marshy fields, high in the dusky air,
Invisible, but, with faint tremulous tones,
Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head;—
And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen
Flying awhile at random, uttering oft;
A cheerful cry, attended with a shake
Of level pinions, dark, but when upturned
Against the brightness of the western sky,
One white plume showing in the midst of each,
Then far down diving with loud hollow sound;—
And, deep at first within the distant wood,
The whip-poor-will, her name her only song.
She, soon as children from the noisy sport
Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones,
To hear the echoes of the empty barn,
Are by her voice diverted, and held mute,
Comes to the margin of the nearest grove;
And when the twilight deepened into night,
Calls them within, close to the house she comes,
And on its dark side, haply on the step
Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen,
Breaks into strains articulate and clear,
The closing sometimes quickened as in sport.
Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve
All harmony, activity, and joy,
Is lovely nature, as in her blest prime.
The robin to the garden, or green yard,
Close to the door repairs to build again
Within her wonted tree; and at her work
Seems doubly busy, for her past delay.
Along the surface of the winding stream,
Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim;
Or round the borders of the spacious lawn
Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er
Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine,
Easy and light. One snatches from the ground
A downy feather, and then upward springs,
Followed by others, but oft drops it soon,
In playful mood, or from too slight a hold,
When all at once dart at the falling prize.
The flippant blackbird with light yellow crown,
Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick
Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb,
Or some tall flag, and gently rocking, sits,
Her strain repeating. With sonorous notes
Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet,
All chanted in the fulness of delight,
The forest rings:—where, far around enclosed
With bushy sides, and covered high above
With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks,
Like pillars rising to support a roof,
It seems a temple vast, the space within
Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody.
Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct,
The merry mocking-bird together links
In one continued song their different notes,
Adding new life and sweetness to them all.
Hid under shrubs, the squirrel that in fields
Frequents the stony wall and briery fence,
Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach
Unheard till just upon him, when with cries
Sudden and sharp he darts to his retreat,
Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree;
But oft a moment after re-appears,
First peeping out, then starting forth at once
With a courageous air, yet in his pranks
Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far
Till left unheeded. In rank pastures graze,
Singly and mutely, the contented herd;
And on the upland rough the peaceful sheep;
Regardless of the frolic lambs, that, close
Beside them, and before their faces prone,
With many an antic leap, and butting feint,
Try to provoke them to unite in sport,
Or grant a look, till tired of vain attempts;
When, gathering in one company apart,
All vigour and delight, away they run,
Straight to the utmost corner of the field
The fence beside; then, wheeling, disappear
In some small sandy pit, then rise to view;
Or crowd together up the heap of earth
Around some upturned root of fallen tree,
And on its top a trembling moment stand,
Then to the distant flock at once return.
Exhilarated by the general joy,
And the fair prospect of a fruitful year,
The peasant, with light heart, and nimble step,
His work pursues, as it were pastime sweet.
With many a cheering word, his willing team,
For labour fresh, he hastens to the field
Ere morning lose its coolness; but at eve
When loosened from the plough and homeward turned,
He follows slow and silent, stopping oft
To mark the daily growth of tender grain
And meadows of deep verdure, or to view
His scattered flock and herd, of their own will
Assembling for the night by various paths,
The old now freely sporting with the young,
Or labouring with uncouth attempts at sport.
Was well nigh gone, and not a glimpse appeared
Of vernal loveliness, but light-green turf
Round the deep bubbling fountain in the vale,
Or by the rivulet on the hill-side, near
Its cultivated base, fronting the south,
Where in the first warm rays of March it sprung
Amid dissolving snow:—save these mere specks
Of earliest verdure, with a few pale flowers,
In other years bright blowing soon as earth
Unveils her face, and a faint vermil tinge
On clumps of maple of the softer kind,
Was nothing visible to give to May,
Though far advanced, an aspect more like her's
Than like November's universal gloom.
All day beneath the sheltering hovel stood
The drooping herd, or lingered near to ask
The food of winter. A few lonely birds,
Of those that in this northern clime remain
Throughout the year, and in the dawn of spring,
At pleasant noon, from their unknown retreat
Come suddenly to view with lively notes,
Or those that soonest to this clime return
From warmer regions, in thick groves were seen,
But with their feathers ruffled, and despoiled
Of all their glossy lustre, sitting mute,
Or only skipping, with a single chirp,
In quest of food. Whene'er the heavy clouds,
That half way down the mountain side oft hung,
As if o'erloaded with their watery store,
104
Through their dark opening, white with snow appeared
Its lowest, e'en its cultivated, peaks.
With sinking heart the husbandman surveyed
The melancholy scene, and much his fears
On famine dwelt; when, suddenly awaked
At the first glimpse of daylight, by the sound,
Long time unheard, of cheerful martins, near
His window, round their dwelling chirping quick,
With spirits by hope enlivened up he sprung
To look abroad, and to his joy beheld
A sky without the remnant of a cloud.
From gloom to gayety and beauty bright
So rapid now the universal change,
The rude survey it with delight refined,
And e'en the thoughtless talk of thanks devout.
Long swoln in drenching rain, seeds, germs, and buds,
Start at the touch of vivifying beams.
Moved by their secret force, the vital lymph
Diffusive runs, and spreads o'er wood and field
A flood of verdure. Clothed, in one short week,
Is naked nature in her full attire.
On the first morn, light as an open plain
Is all the woodland, filled with sunbeams, poured
Through the bare tops, on yellow leaves below,
With strong reflection: on the last, 'tis dark
With full-grown foliage, shading all within.
In one short week the orchard buds and blooms;
And now, when steeped in dew or gentle showers,
It yields the purest sweetness to the breeze,
Or all the tranquil atmosphere perfumes.
E'en from the juicy leaves, of sudden growth,
And the rank grass of steaming ground, the air,
Filled with a watery glimmering receives
A grateful smell, exhaled by warming rays.
Each day are heard, and almost every hour,
New notes to swell the music of the groves.
And soon the latest of the feathered train
At evening twilight come;—the lonely snipe,
105
Invisible, but, with faint tremulous tones,
Hovering or playing o'er the listener's head;—
And, in mid-air, the sportive night-hawk, seen
Flying awhile at random, uttering oft;
A cheerful cry, attended with a shake
Of level pinions, dark, but when upturned
Against the brightness of the western sky,
One white plume showing in the midst of each,
Then far down diving with loud hollow sound;—
And, deep at first within the distant wood,
The whip-poor-will, her name her only song.
She, soon as children from the noisy sport
Of hooping, laughing, talking with all tones,
To hear the echoes of the empty barn,
Are by her voice diverted, and held mute,
Comes to the margin of the nearest grove;
And when the twilight deepened into night,
Calls them within, close to the house she comes,
And on its dark side, haply on the step
Of unfrequented door, lighting unseen,
Breaks into strains articulate and clear,
The closing sometimes quickened as in sport.
Now, animate throughout, from morn to eve
All harmony, activity, and joy,
Is lovely nature, as in her blest prime.
The robin to the garden, or green yard,
Close to the door repairs to build again
Within her wonted tree; and at her work
Seems doubly busy, for her past delay.
Along the surface of the winding stream,
Pursuing every turn, gay swallows skim;
Or round the borders of the spacious lawn
Fly in repeated circles, rising o'er
Hillock and fence, with motion serpentine,
Easy and light. One snatches from the ground
A downy feather, and then upward springs,
Followed by others, but oft drops it soon,
In playful mood, or from too slight a hold,
106
The flippant blackbird with light yellow crown,
Hangs fluttering in the air, and chatters thick
Till her breath fail, when, breaking off, she drops
On the next tree, and on its highest limb,
Or some tall flag, and gently rocking, sits,
Her strain repeating. With sonorous notes
Of every tone, mixed in confusion sweet,
All chanted in the fulness of delight,
The forest rings:—where, far around enclosed
With bushy sides, and covered high above
With foliage thick, supported by bare trunks,
Like pillars rising to support a roof,
It seems a temple vast, the space within
Rings loud and clear with thrilling melody.
Apart, but near the choir, with voice distinct,
The merry mocking-bird together links
In one continued song their different notes,
Adding new life and sweetness to them all.
Hid under shrubs, the squirrel that in fields
Frequents the stony wall and briery fence,
Here chirps so shrill that human feet approach
Unheard till just upon him, when with cries
Sudden and sharp he darts to his retreat,
Beneath the mossy hillock or aged tree;
But oft a moment after re-appears,
First peeping out, then starting forth at once
With a courageous air, yet in his pranks
Keeping a watchful eye, nor venturing far
Till left unheeded. In rank pastures graze,
Singly and mutely, the contented herd;
And on the upland rough the peaceful sheep;
Regardless of the frolic lambs, that, close
Beside them, and before their faces prone,
With many an antic leap, and butting feint,
Try to provoke them to unite in sport,
Or grant a look, till tired of vain attempts;
When, gathering in one company apart,
All vigour and delight, away they run,
Straight to the utmost corner of the field
107
In some small sandy pit, then rise to view;
Or crowd together up the heap of earth
Around some upturned root of fallen tree,
And on its top a trembling moment stand,
Then to the distant flock at once return.
Exhilarated by the general joy,
And the fair prospect of a fruitful year,
The peasant, with light heart, and nimble step,
His work pursues, as it were pastime sweet.
With many a cheering word, his willing team,
For labour fresh, he hastens to the field
Ere morning lose its coolness; but at eve
When loosened from the plough and homeward turned,
He follows slow and silent, stopping oft
To mark the daily growth of tender grain
And meadows of deep verdure, or to view
His scattered flock and herd, of their own will
Assembling for the night by various paths,
The old now freely sporting with the young,
Or labouring with uncouth attempts at sport.
When so luxuriant, and so fair, is all
Of vegetative growth, and on all sides
Creatures so happy, single, and in groups,
And countless multitudes, attract the eye,
The thoughtfully observant, with no light
But that reflected hence, if such there be
Without that clearer light from heaven direct,
Cannot o'erlook the goodness of the Power
Invisible, that thus delights to bless.
Of vegetative growth, and on all sides
Creatures so happy, single, and in groups,
And countless multitudes, attract the eye,
The thoughtfully observant, with no light
But that reflected hence, if such there be
Without that clearer light from heaven direct,
Cannot o'erlook the goodness of the Power
Invisible, that thus delights to bless.
But why at nature gaze with pagan eyes,
And only at her fairest happiest scenes,
When revelation shines, and gilds the whole?
That God is good, and nothing does but good,
Is the one truth of his whole written word.
'Tis the deep root, that to this tree of life
All its vitality and beauty gives.
Turn we again to nature, with the book
Of inspiration open in our hands
To be our guide, no longer need we seek
For single tokens of Jehovah's love.
All things declare it, and with accents loud
Call for loud songs of gratitude and praise.
The gifts of heaven, innumerable, descend
On all the earth, silent, and uniform,
Like dew distilling from a smiling sky,
Or like the steady falling of a shower
When the sun shines, and gilds the drops in air,
And on the quivering leaves, and bending grass.
Look where it may, the opened eye of faith
Beholds the fulness of benevolence,
And oft its overflowing, as in showers
Falling on seas, on barren rocks and sands;—
In wholesome fruit within the wilderness,
Growing each year, and perishing uncropt;—
In myriads of living atoms, found
In every turf, and leaf, and breath of air,
Too small indeed for unassisted sight,
But not too small to feel the good they have,
Nor yet unworthy care that knows no bound.
Illumined by the rays of truth divine,
The universe a lovely aspect wears,
From its Creator's universal smile.
About its vast circumference his arms
In tender love are stretched, in one embrace
The whole encircling, as the milky zone
Surrounds the starry firmament immense.
And only at her fairest happiest scenes,
When revelation shines, and gilds the whole?
That God is good, and nothing does but good,
Is the one truth of his whole written word.
'Tis the deep root, that to this tree of life
All its vitality and beauty gives.
Turn we again to nature, with the book
Of inspiration open in our hands
108
For single tokens of Jehovah's love.
All things declare it, and with accents loud
Call for loud songs of gratitude and praise.
The gifts of heaven, innumerable, descend
On all the earth, silent, and uniform,
Like dew distilling from a smiling sky,
Or like the steady falling of a shower
When the sun shines, and gilds the drops in air,
And on the quivering leaves, and bending grass.
Look where it may, the opened eye of faith
Beholds the fulness of benevolence,
And oft its overflowing, as in showers
Falling on seas, on barren rocks and sands;—
In wholesome fruit within the wilderness,
Growing each year, and perishing uncropt;—
In myriads of living atoms, found
In every turf, and leaf, and breath of air,
Too small indeed for unassisted sight,
But not too small to feel the good they have,
Nor yet unworthy care that knows no bound.
Illumined by the rays of truth divine,
The universe a lovely aspect wears,
From its Creator's universal smile.
About its vast circumference his arms
In tender love are stretched, in one embrace
The whole encircling, as the milky zone
Surrounds the starry firmament immense.
His six days' work completed, God ordained
A day of rest; but not from further care
Of his creation rested he, concealed
In a pavilion of impervious clouds,
Nor, like a Hindoo deity, entranced
Or sleeping on some consecrated height,
Nor merely watching with all-seeing eye
The movement of his works. His outstretched hand,
When he had sent into the boundless void
The rolling spheres, dropt not to let them find
Their untried way, unguided, unsustained,
And by the force of that first impulse run
Their ceaseless round. No—had he thus withdrawn
His active power immediate, from the worlds,
Created by his might, and hid himself
Above the highest, careless of them all,
How in an instant had they burst their bond
Of sweet attraction, flying all apart,
Systems and constellations mingling wild,
And far asunder vanished into nought,
Like parted bubbles by the whirlwind driven!
Or how had they together rushed, and sunk,
A mass of ruins, in a vortex, formed
By their own motion, into the abyss!
Had he once turned his countenance away
From this fair earth, and from these nether skies,
And risen to show its light no more below,
Darkness and chaos had returned amain,
Closed in behind him even to his throne.
And should he now depart, no long-fixed laws
Could still preserve the spheres in harmony,
And in accustomed orbits roll them on
Through regions wide of unsubstantial air.
As when the massy weights, that move the clock
Of some superb cathedral, for its age
And sanctity a venerable pile,
By small disorder loosened from their hold,
Run down at once, with sound of rushing wheels,
While hands enormous, flying their wonted round,
Seem to the thoughtful, gazing silently,
Thus in a moment whirling months away,
So this stupendous complicate machine
Of suns and systems, wheeling round the skies,
Were but the pressure of God's finger gone,
Would on a sudden hasten to its end
With tumult loud, cut short the reign of time,
And spend its force till every motion ceased
With deadened stop. Should the Most High let loose
From his controlling grasp, the elements
Of this calm globe, the sea would burst its bars,
And deluge every land; or furious winds,
With earthquakes and volcanoes, rage and waste
With universal sway. Or should he leave
To work alone, what men call principles
Of animal and vegetable life,
How would the fields and forests, though arrayed
In summer's gay profusion, all at once
To wintry nakedness and gloom return,
And every creature, though with vigour flushed
Or pleasure, die as with a single stroke!
How desolate were nature, and how void
Of every charm, how like a naked waste
Of Africa, were not a present God
Beheld employing, in its various scenes,
His active might to animate and adorn!
What life and beauty, when in all that breathes,
Or moves, or grows, his hand is viewed at work!—
When it is viewed unfolding every bud,
Each blossom tinging, shaping every leaf,
Wafting each cloud that passes o'er the sky,
Rolling each billow, moving every wing
That fans the air, and every warbling throat
Heard in the tuneful woodlands. In the least,
As well as in the greatest of his works,
Is ever manifest his presence kind;
As well in swarms of glittering insects, seen
Quick to and fro within a foot of air
Dancing a merry hour, then seen no more,
As in the systems of resplendent worlds
Through time revolving in unbounded space.
His eye, while comprehending in one view
The whole creation, fixes full on me;
As on me shines the sun with his full blaze,
While o'er the hemisphere he spreads the same.
His hand, while holding oceans in its palm,
And compassing the skies, surrounds my life,
Guards the poor rush-light from the blast of death.
A day of rest; but not from further care
Of his creation rested he, concealed
In a pavilion of impervious clouds,
Nor, like a Hindoo deity, entranced
Or sleeping on some consecrated height,
Nor merely watching with all-seeing eye
The movement of his works. His outstretched hand,
When he had sent into the boundless void
The rolling spheres, dropt not to let them find
Their untried way, unguided, unsustained,
109
Their ceaseless round. No—had he thus withdrawn
His active power immediate, from the worlds,
Created by his might, and hid himself
Above the highest, careless of them all,
How in an instant had they burst their bond
Of sweet attraction, flying all apart,
Systems and constellations mingling wild,
And far asunder vanished into nought,
Like parted bubbles by the whirlwind driven!
Or how had they together rushed, and sunk,
A mass of ruins, in a vortex, formed
By their own motion, into the abyss!
Had he once turned his countenance away
From this fair earth, and from these nether skies,
And risen to show its light no more below,
Darkness and chaos had returned amain,
Closed in behind him even to his throne.
And should he now depart, no long-fixed laws
Could still preserve the spheres in harmony,
And in accustomed orbits roll them on
Through regions wide of unsubstantial air.
As when the massy weights, that move the clock
Of some superb cathedral, for its age
And sanctity a venerable pile,
By small disorder loosened from their hold,
Run down at once, with sound of rushing wheels,
While hands enormous, flying their wonted round,
Seem to the thoughtful, gazing silently,
Thus in a moment whirling months away,
So this stupendous complicate machine
Of suns and systems, wheeling round the skies,
Were but the pressure of God's finger gone,
Would on a sudden hasten to its end
With tumult loud, cut short the reign of time,
And spend its force till every motion ceased
With deadened stop. Should the Most High let loose
From his controlling grasp, the elements
Of this calm globe, the sea would burst its bars,
110
With earthquakes and volcanoes, rage and waste
With universal sway. Or should he leave
To work alone, what men call principles
Of animal and vegetable life,
How would the fields and forests, though arrayed
In summer's gay profusion, all at once
To wintry nakedness and gloom return,
And every creature, though with vigour flushed
Or pleasure, die as with a single stroke!
How desolate were nature, and how void
Of every charm, how like a naked waste
Of Africa, were not a present God
Beheld employing, in its various scenes,
His active might to animate and adorn!
What life and beauty, when in all that breathes,
Or moves, or grows, his hand is viewed at work!—
When it is viewed unfolding every bud,
Each blossom tinging, shaping every leaf,
Wafting each cloud that passes o'er the sky,
Rolling each billow, moving every wing
That fans the air, and every warbling throat
Heard in the tuneful woodlands. In the least,
As well as in the greatest of his works,
Is ever manifest his presence kind;
As well in swarms of glittering insects, seen
Quick to and fro within a foot of air
Dancing a merry hour, then seen no more,
As in the systems of resplendent worlds
Through time revolving in unbounded space.
His eye, while comprehending in one view
The whole creation, fixes full on me;
As on me shines the sun with his full blaze,
While o'er the hemisphere he spreads the same.
His hand, while holding oceans in its palm,
And compassing the skies, surrounds my life,
Guards the poor rush-light from the blast of death.
O'er men and angels, and o'er all beside
With understanding formed and moral sense,
If other ranks there be, unknown on earth,
Dominion absolute the King of heaven,
In majesty maintains, but with a care
And tenderness parental, claiming nought
But filial love, and that obedience, due
To excellence and kindness infinite,
Their gain to yield, their true felicity
Unspeakable and endless. Here shines out
Jehovah's glory, in his government
Of countless beings to himself allied;
Here in his moral kingdom, in its worth
All computation of created powers
Transcending far, as far as it transcends
The universe of life irrational
And senseless matter, made but for the use
Of this superior universe of minds,
And but for this preserved, ennobled thus
With grandeur, and with beauty thus adorned.
Through his intelligent creation reigns
The eternal Sovereign, with supreme control
O'er all events, all actions, and all hearts,
In pure benevolence directing all,
One object to accomplish, good immense,
The best and greatest good by boundless power
To be attained, or e'en to be conceived
By the omniscient mind. For this he doomed
Apostate angels to the pit of wo
Interminable, and the faithful fixed
In everlasting innocence and bliss
On heavenly thrones. For this alone he rules
Among the nations, here exalting one,
And there another humbling to the dust;
Here sending peace, and there the scourge of war;
Here planting, and there rooting out from earth.
O the consoling thought, that, from this world
With violence covered, shaken by the tread
Of giant conquerors stalking o'er its realms,
The shock of armed hosts together dashed,
The revolutions and the frequent fall
Of mighty empires, whose will, may lift
His pained eye to heaven, and find relief
In viewing there, high on a spotless throne,
A God all goodness overruling all
Himself to show, his glory to augment,
And swell the tide of happiness and praise,
To roll unmingled through eternity,
And unrestrained, when earth has passed away!
With understanding formed and moral sense,
111
Dominion absolute the King of heaven,
In majesty maintains, but with a care
And tenderness parental, claiming nought
But filial love, and that obedience, due
To excellence and kindness infinite,
Their gain to yield, their true felicity
Unspeakable and endless. Here shines out
Jehovah's glory, in his government
Of countless beings to himself allied;
Here in his moral kingdom, in its worth
All computation of created powers
Transcending far, as far as it transcends
The universe of life irrational
And senseless matter, made but for the use
Of this superior universe of minds,
And but for this preserved, ennobled thus
With grandeur, and with beauty thus adorned.
Through his intelligent creation reigns
The eternal Sovereign, with supreme control
O'er all events, all actions, and all hearts,
In pure benevolence directing all,
One object to accomplish, good immense,
The best and greatest good by boundless power
To be attained, or e'en to be conceived
By the omniscient mind. For this he doomed
Apostate angels to the pit of wo
Interminable, and the faithful fixed
In everlasting innocence and bliss
On heavenly thrones. For this alone he rules
Among the nations, here exalting one,
And there another humbling to the dust;
Here sending peace, and there the scourge of war;
Here planting, and there rooting out from earth.
O the consoling thought, that, from this world
With violence covered, shaken by the tread
Of giant conquerors stalking o'er its realms,
The shock of armed hosts together dashed,
The revolutions and the frequent fall
Of mighty empires, whose will, may lift
112
In viewing there, high on a spotless throne,
A God all goodness overruling all
Himself to show, his glory to augment,
And swell the tide of happiness and praise,
To roll unmingled through eternity,
And unrestrained, when earth has passed away!
But, far above all others, though sublime,
One grand display of goodness infinite
Rises to view, astonishes, attracts,
Commands the admiration of high heaven,
The gratitude of earth. All eyes at once
To Calvary look, for this supreme display
Of greatness and benevolence combined;
To man's redemption from the curse deserved
Of death eternal, at the price of blood
Poured from the wounds of God's expiring Son,
Poured from his heart of overflowing love.
Here all the glories of the Godhead meet,
And in one splendid constellation shine;
Here with consummate harmony they blend
Their various beauties, and together form
A token of mercy, thrown across that cloud
Suspended o'er the world, with vengeance charged,
Threatening destruction. Wisdom, justice, power,
All measureless, to this stupendous work
The grandeur of divinity impart;
But love imparts the loveliness divine.
Love, love unspeakable, pervades the whole,
Throughout diffusing its immortal charms.
Love was its source in the eternal mind,
And its accomplishment was wrought by love.
Love made the covenant ere time began,
And love fulfilled it at the destined hour.
'Twas love that wept, and agonized, and died;
That rose to intercede, and judge, and reign.
'Tis love unquenchable, its great design
Pursuing still intently, that sends down
The gracious Spirit, to constrain, and fit,
The guilty proffered pardon to receive
The lost, salvation; and almighty love
Its work to finish, in despite of earth,
Sin, death, and hell, combined for its defeat,
Safely, triumphantly, to heaven conveys
Trophies innumerable, there to shine
Forever, to its everlasting praise.
One grand display of goodness infinite
Rises to view, astonishes, attracts,
Commands the admiration of high heaven,
The gratitude of earth. All eyes at once
To Calvary look, for this supreme display
Of greatness and benevolence combined;
To man's redemption from the curse deserved
Of death eternal, at the price of blood
Poured from the wounds of God's expiring Son,
Poured from his heart of overflowing love.
Here all the glories of the Godhead meet,
And in one splendid constellation shine;
Here with consummate harmony they blend
Their various beauties, and together form
A token of mercy, thrown across that cloud
Suspended o'er the world, with vengeance charged,
Threatening destruction. Wisdom, justice, power,
All measureless, to this stupendous work
The grandeur of divinity impart;
But love imparts the loveliness divine.
Love, love unspeakable, pervades the whole,
Throughout diffusing its immortal charms.
Love was its source in the eternal mind,
And its accomplishment was wrought by love.
Love made the covenant ere time began,
And love fulfilled it at the destined hour.
'Twas love that wept, and agonized, and died;
That rose to intercede, and judge, and reign.
'Tis love unquenchable, its great design
Pursuing still intently, that sends down
The gracious Spirit, to constrain, and fit,
The guilty proffered pardon to receive
113
Its work to finish, in despite of earth,
Sin, death, and hell, combined for its defeat,
Safely, triumphantly, to heaven conveys
Trophies innumerable, there to shine
Forever, to its everlasting praise.
The bleeding cross, howe'er by thankless man
Scorned as the monument of his deep guilt,
His utter helplessness, ruin entire,
Entire dependence on another's aid,
Is yet the only monument that shows,
In all the greatness of his high descent
And destiny immortal, his true worth
In Heaven's account. The cross, howe'er despised,
And to a curse perverted by the blind,
Is yet the only ladder to the skies,
For men to climb, or angels to descend.
Between this world and that of spirits blest,
Glad intercourse, without the cross, were none.
The earth, united by no golden chain
Of mercy, to the realm of innocence,
By none united to the throne above,
Would run alone its melancholy course,
By its Creator's never-changing frown
Blasted throughout, presenting to the sight
Of heaven's pure beings, keeping all aloof,
A spectacle of horror unrelieved.
Torn from the anchor of hope, a wreck immense,
With what rapidity and terrible force,
Straight toward destruction would it drive along,
From its whole surface sending to the skies
The shrieks and wailings of despairing men!
Without the radiance of ethereal day,
From the third heaven let down, a cheering stream,
Through the one skylight opened by the cross,
With what thick darkness were this dungeon filled,
That nothing could remove and none endure,
And live there those, within this heavenly light,
Who, fond of darkness, madly shut their eyes,
And grope, at every step, in painful doubt
Which way to turn, though on the fatal brink?
As if upon a world of one long night
A sun should rise, and its inhabitants,
In wilful blindness, should still feel their way,
Stumbling at noon. Is there, within this light,
A single eye, that overlooks the cross,
As fabled, or not needed? Can there be
An eye, that never watered it with tears
Of penitence and love? a stubborn knee,
That never bowed before it? or a hand
That never clasped it with the energy
Of hope, in that glad moment when it springs
From deep despair? O, can there be a heart,
That never, at its foot, poured out itself
In supplications, thanks, and humble vows
Of unreserved devotedness till death?
Away with every refuge from the woes,
Here and hereafter, but the bleeding cross!
Who flees to any other, for relief
From conscious guilt, and misery, is undone;
Who leads to any other, them that wait
His guidance, adds their ruin to his own,
And on himself redoubled vengeance draws.
Wo to the men who tear away the cross!
Sole prop and pillar of a sinking world,
If its foundation by unhallowed hands
Be undermined, what, what can give support?
But, hush, my fears! it rests not on the sand;
The raging waves, that dash against its base,
Sink harmless, after foaming out their shame:
Quick, at the voice of the Almighty Word,
Away they shrink, their shallowness betray,
Stir up, and leave exposed to every eye,
The foulness at the bottom ill concealed.
From Calvary springs the only fount of life,
Knowledge, and truth, celestial. Whoso drinks
Feels immortality begun within,
And his dim vision cleared from every mist
Of doubt and ignorance; its virtues high
He that contemns, is wholly dead at heart,
And, in a maze of errors without end
Bewildered, darkling winds his joyless way.
Divine Redeemer, thou art truth itself;
In thee are found its sum and living source,
Its boundless and inestimable stores.
They that forsake thee, that with hands profane
From thee thy uncreated glory wrest,
Thy independent throne, and in the pride
Of false philosophy, refuse to sit
Meek learners at thy feet, how fast they pass
From one delusion to another worse,
Gone, from the earliest hesitating thought
Of leaving thee, well nigh beyond the hope
Of restoration, as if left in turn!
One step from thee, thy Godhead, and thy cross
Inseparable, and down a steep descent,
Down, down they go, with bold and bolder strides,
Till, all restraint thrown off, one desperate plunge
Sink them below the light of truth and heaven,
In the dread gulf of infidelity,
The fatal gulf. Between this rayless depth,
And that celestial height, from which they leap
Who once from thee depart, exists no ground
On which to rest; all is but empty air;
In which wide void each pause the falling make,
Is but a transient hovering on the wing.
Saviour of men, almighty as thou art,
And infinite in mercy, to thy throne,
Though human argument and friendship fail,
Restore the wandering, there to kneel again
In adoration, and repeat the praise
Of thy divine perfections, once their song.
Turn back the tide of error flowing wide,
Bearing away the boundaries of truth
For ages fixed, the enclosure breaking down
Of many a garden planted by thy hand,
Laying it open to the world's wide waste.
Scorned as the monument of his deep guilt,
His utter helplessness, ruin entire,
Entire dependence on another's aid,
Is yet the only monument that shows,
In all the greatness of his high descent
And destiny immortal, his true worth
In Heaven's account. The cross, howe'er despised,
And to a curse perverted by the blind,
Is yet the only ladder to the skies,
For men to climb, or angels to descend.
Between this world and that of spirits blest,
Glad intercourse, without the cross, were none.
The earth, united by no golden chain
Of mercy, to the realm of innocence,
By none united to the throne above,
Would run alone its melancholy course,
By its Creator's never-changing frown
Blasted throughout, presenting to the sight
Of heaven's pure beings, keeping all aloof,
A spectacle of horror unrelieved.
Torn from the anchor of hope, a wreck immense,
With what rapidity and terrible force,
Straight toward destruction would it drive along,
From its whole surface sending to the skies
The shrieks and wailings of despairing men!
Without the radiance of ethereal day,
From the third heaven let down, a cheering stream,
Through the one skylight opened by the cross,
With what thick darkness were this dungeon filled,
That nothing could remove and none endure,
And live there those, within this heavenly light,
Who, fond of darkness, madly shut their eyes,
114
Which way to turn, though on the fatal brink?
As if upon a world of one long night
A sun should rise, and its inhabitants,
In wilful blindness, should still feel their way,
Stumbling at noon. Is there, within this light,
A single eye, that overlooks the cross,
As fabled, or not needed? Can there be
An eye, that never watered it with tears
Of penitence and love? a stubborn knee,
That never bowed before it? or a hand
That never clasped it with the energy
Of hope, in that glad moment when it springs
From deep despair? O, can there be a heart,
That never, at its foot, poured out itself
In supplications, thanks, and humble vows
Of unreserved devotedness till death?
Away with every refuge from the woes,
Here and hereafter, but the bleeding cross!
Who flees to any other, for relief
From conscious guilt, and misery, is undone;
Who leads to any other, them that wait
His guidance, adds their ruin to his own,
And on himself redoubled vengeance draws.
Wo to the men who tear away the cross!
Sole prop and pillar of a sinking world,
If its foundation by unhallowed hands
Be undermined, what, what can give support?
But, hush, my fears! it rests not on the sand;
The raging waves, that dash against its base,
Sink harmless, after foaming out their shame:
Quick, at the voice of the Almighty Word,
Away they shrink, their shallowness betray,
Stir up, and leave exposed to every eye,
The foulness at the bottom ill concealed.
From Calvary springs the only fount of life,
Knowledge, and truth, celestial. Whoso drinks
Feels immortality begun within,
And his dim vision cleared from every mist
115
He that contemns, is wholly dead at heart,
And, in a maze of errors without end
Bewildered, darkling winds his joyless way.
Divine Redeemer, thou art truth itself;
In thee are found its sum and living source,
Its boundless and inestimable stores.
They that forsake thee, that with hands profane
From thee thy uncreated glory wrest,
Thy independent throne, and in the pride
Of false philosophy, refuse to sit
Meek learners at thy feet, how fast they pass
From one delusion to another worse,
Gone, from the earliest hesitating thought
Of leaving thee, well nigh beyond the hope
Of restoration, as if left in turn!
One step from thee, thy Godhead, and thy cross
Inseparable, and down a steep descent,
Down, down they go, with bold and bolder strides,
Till, all restraint thrown off, one desperate plunge
Sink them below the light of truth and heaven,
In the dread gulf of infidelity,
The fatal gulf. Between this rayless depth,
And that celestial height, from which they leap
Who once from thee depart, exists no ground
On which to rest; all is but empty air;
In which wide void each pause the falling make,
Is but a transient hovering on the wing.
Saviour of men, almighty as thou art,
And infinite in mercy, to thy throne,
Though human argument and friendship fail,
Restore the wandering, there to kneel again
In adoration, and repeat the praise
Of thy divine perfections, once their song.
Turn back the tide of error flowing wide,
Bearing away the boundaries of truth
For ages fixed, the enclosure breaking down
Of many a garden planted by thy hand,
Laying it open to the world's wide waste.
116
'Tis when the cross is preached, and only then,
That from the pulpit a mysterious power
Goes forth to renovate the moral man.
The cross imparts vitality divine,
And energy omnipotent, to truth;
To its whole system, ineffectual else,
Inanimate. He that, without it, wields
The sacred sword, at best, in mock display,
A useless weapon flourishes in its sheath;
None feel its edge, none fear it. Men there are,
Men of illustrious name, that have employed
Years in portraying to admiring crowds,
In vivid colours, with the magic hand
Of genius guided by refining taste,
The loveliness of virtue, and of vice
The hideous features, and in urging all,
With eloquent tongue, to make the happy choice,
And, at the end, with grief and self-reproach,
Have looked around in vain for the reformed.
On all the moral field within its reach,
Their beautiful philosophy has fallen
Powerless, as moonlight cold on the cold snow.
Convinced at length of this its impotence,
And taught divinely to proclaim instead
Messiah crucified, on the same field
With joy have they beheld an aspect new,
From fruits abundant of immortal growth.
When amid frozen seas, mountains of ice,
And all the horrors of a polar clime,
Moravia's humble but heroic sons
The bold attempt began, truth to make known
To the besotted Greenlander, and lead
His feet into the path of virtue and life,
They pointed to the heavens thick set with stars,
All, to the least, twinkling with vivid beams,
Presenting a whole living firmament
Through the clear atmosphere, intensely cold,
Of his long wintry night; and to the sun,
Duly returning to spread o'er his vales
A sudden, transitory, summer smile—
To these, and objects visible like these,
His eye they long directed, and from them
To their Creator laboured long to raise
His grovelling thoughts, devotion to inspire,
And teach obedience; while with stupid awe
He gazed and listened, or with wonder wild,
But still to vice remained a willing slave,
Till, of success from efforts thus pursued
Despairing, they conducted him at once
A ruined wretch to Calvary, when with guilt
He trembled at the sight, melted in love,
Shook off the long-fixed clinging habit of sin,
And from his bestial degradation rose,
To intellectual and virtuous life.
What though the cross, presented to the view
With all the humbling but momentous truths
Inscribed on it, offend the pride of man?
Shall it be hidden, or its truths effaced?
Shall dying men be pleased rather than saved?
When one who traverses some polar waste,
Feels the benumbing influence of the cold
Steal o'er him in a grateful drowsiness,
Too strong to be resisted, and repays
With bitter words, while sinking in the snow,
The efforts of his comrades to alarm
And rouse him, or support and drag him on,
Is it philanthrophy to please, or save?
Will not their hated care be recompensed,
When, borne beyond the danger, and restored
To feeling and to reason, he pours forth
The weeping gratitude of a full heart?
And will the kind severity, that seeks
To rescue those seized by a lethargy,
Ending, not broke, in ever-dying death,
Receive a recompense of thanks less rich
From the delivered. Or the transient scoff
Of those delivered never, can this pain
Like their eternal curse, and that of Heaven,
For ministering an opiate to the soul,
To gain its momentary favour here?
Cruel the tenderness, that whispers peace
To men at war with their Redeemer, men
Who scorn his clemency, and dare his wrath!
And O how false the friendship, that unites
Preacher and hearer in the ruinous work
Of mutual flattery!—that together joins
The sacred guide, and those who make him theirs,
In travelling merrily on the high way
Of sin and error, as the path to heaven,
Praising its breadth and smoothness, each in turn
Cheering and cheered, deceiving and deceived,
Undoing and undone! Learn'd he may be,
And eloquent, who yet the name deserves
Of a false teacher, false in head and heart;
But learning, with its boasted powers, arrayed
Against the sweet simplicity of truth,
And eloquence from counterfeited warmth,
The painted passion of a mind at ease,
How vain and pitiful in all their pride!
He is the true ambassador of Heaven,
Whose learning is the knowledge of the truth,
Whose eloquence is that of piety
Enlightened and impassioned—now a flame
Of pure devotion rising to the skies,
And now a stream of pure benevolence
Poured down on man. Of such the mighty theme,
That takes supreme possession of the soul,
The bosom swelling, glowing on the lips,
Is Christ, the Lord of Life, dying to give
Blest immortality to wretched foes;
Exchanging, in the plenitude of love,
His own imperishable crown of light
For man's mock diadem of wreathed thorns,
The praise of angels for the scoff of worms,
The infinite beatitude of heaven
For pain unutterable on the cross.
That from the pulpit a mysterious power
Goes forth to renovate the moral man.
The cross imparts vitality divine,
And energy omnipotent, to truth;
To its whole system, ineffectual else,
Inanimate. He that, without it, wields
The sacred sword, at best, in mock display,
A useless weapon flourishes in its sheath;
None feel its edge, none fear it. Men there are,
Men of illustrious name, that have employed
Years in portraying to admiring crowds,
In vivid colours, with the magic hand
Of genius guided by refining taste,
The loveliness of virtue, and of vice
The hideous features, and in urging all,
With eloquent tongue, to make the happy choice,
And, at the end, with grief and self-reproach,
Have looked around in vain for the reformed.
On all the moral field within its reach,
Their beautiful philosophy has fallen
Powerless, as moonlight cold on the cold snow.
Convinced at length of this its impotence,
And taught divinely to proclaim instead
Messiah crucified, on the same field
With joy have they beheld an aspect new,
From fruits abundant of immortal growth.
When amid frozen seas, mountains of ice,
And all the horrors of a polar clime,
Moravia's humble but heroic sons
The bold attempt began, truth to make known
To the besotted Greenlander, and lead
His feet into the path of virtue and life,
They pointed to the heavens thick set with stars,
All, to the least, twinkling with vivid beams,
Presenting a whole living firmament
Through the clear atmosphere, intensely cold,
Of his long wintry night; and to the sun,
Duly returning to spread o'er his vales
117
To these, and objects visible like these,
His eye they long directed, and from them
To their Creator laboured long to raise
His grovelling thoughts, devotion to inspire,
And teach obedience; while with stupid awe
He gazed and listened, or with wonder wild,
But still to vice remained a willing slave,
Till, of success from efforts thus pursued
Despairing, they conducted him at once
A ruined wretch to Calvary, when with guilt
He trembled at the sight, melted in love,
Shook off the long-fixed clinging habit of sin,
And from his bestial degradation rose,
To intellectual and virtuous life.
What though the cross, presented to the view
With all the humbling but momentous truths
Inscribed on it, offend the pride of man?
Shall it be hidden, or its truths effaced?
Shall dying men be pleased rather than saved?
When one who traverses some polar waste,
Feels the benumbing influence of the cold
Steal o'er him in a grateful drowsiness,
Too strong to be resisted, and repays
With bitter words, while sinking in the snow,
The efforts of his comrades to alarm
And rouse him, or support and drag him on,
Is it philanthrophy to please, or save?
Will not their hated care be recompensed,
When, borne beyond the danger, and restored
To feeling and to reason, he pours forth
The weeping gratitude of a full heart?
And will the kind severity, that seeks
To rescue those seized by a lethargy,
Ending, not broke, in ever-dying death,
Receive a recompense of thanks less rich
From the delivered. Or the transient scoff
Of those delivered never, can this pain
Like their eternal curse, and that of Heaven,
118
To gain its momentary favour here?
Cruel the tenderness, that whispers peace
To men at war with their Redeemer, men
Who scorn his clemency, and dare his wrath!
And O how false the friendship, that unites
Preacher and hearer in the ruinous work
Of mutual flattery!—that together joins
The sacred guide, and those who make him theirs,
In travelling merrily on the high way
Of sin and error, as the path to heaven,
Praising its breadth and smoothness, each in turn
Cheering and cheered, deceiving and deceived,
Undoing and undone! Learn'd he may be,
And eloquent, who yet the name deserves
Of a false teacher, false in head and heart;
But learning, with its boasted powers, arrayed
Against the sweet simplicity of truth,
And eloquence from counterfeited warmth,
The painted passion of a mind at ease,
How vain and pitiful in all their pride!
He is the true ambassador of Heaven,
Whose learning is the knowledge of the truth,
Whose eloquence is that of piety
Enlightened and impassioned—now a flame
Of pure devotion rising to the skies,
And now a stream of pure benevolence
Poured down on man. Of such the mighty theme,
That takes supreme possession of the soul,
The bosom swelling, glowing on the lips,
Is Christ, the Lord of Life, dying to give
Blest immortality to wretched foes;
Exchanging, in the plenitude of love,
His own imperishable crown of light
For man's mock diadem of wreathed thorns,
The praise of angels for the scoff of worms,
The infinite beatitude of heaven
For pain unutterable on the cross.
In man's redemption what o'erwhelming proof
Of God's benevolence! From first to last
'Tis one stupendous scheme for doing good.
'Tis not the power and wisdom, though immense,
But the unfathomable depth of love,
In it disclosed, that makes it what it is,
The hope of earth, the glory of the skies,
Of both the wonder. Needless 'tis to seek
Beyond it, for the excellence supreme
Of heaven's Almighty, and his chief delight.
119
'Tis one stupendous scheme for doing good.
'Tis not the power and wisdom, though immense,
But the unfathomable depth of love,
In it disclosed, that makes it what it is,
The hope of earth, the glory of the skies,
Of both the wonder. Needless 'tis to seek
Beyond it, for the excellence supreme
Of heaven's Almighty, and his chief delight.
But here, as if intent on robbing God
Of goodness, in revenge for being compelled,
Against the strongest wishes to confess
E'en his existence, with a fiendlike joy
The infidel exclaims, and thousands, wronged
In their own view if ranked with him, repeat,
With the same spirit the presumptuous cry,
Why were men ruined only to be saved?
Why all destroyed that part might be restored?
No answer needs perversion of the truth
So wilful, and its authors look for none,
Content with the relief of vented hate.
With thoughts less impious, others fondly ask,
Why was man suffered to destroy himself?
Why was there one by previous wickedness
Prepared to tempt him to the fatal deed?
Slept the Most High, while Satan, full of guile,
Lurked in the bowers of Eden, to seduce
From their allegiance the first happy pair?
And after their revolt did he awake
Like one surprised, and, not to be quite foiled
By what was done and could not be undone,
Resolve on their redemption as a shift,
The best expedient of a straitened mind,
An unforeseen dilemma to escape?
Or held he, when rebellion in the breasts
Of angels rose, the reins of government
With hand relaxed, till sin had worked its way
Into the heart of heaven? and then in wrath
Resumed he them with more determined grasp,
To drive it thence? Lacked he the knowledge, power,
Or vigilance, its entrance to prevent?
If not, why left he, in the universe,
One door unbarred, by which this enemy
Could gain admission? Why not shut it out
From his whole kingdom with a single word,
As he excludes it now, and will henceforth,
From all the heavenly regions? Other cause
Than his eternal will, acting in view
Of good to be effected by its means
Under his full controul, is sought in vain
By groping mortals. Of its origin,
Its first conception in a heart upright,
And in the power, too, of the Holy One,
They nothing know, and nothing need to know,
But that, created free, angels and men
Fell from the height of rectitude and bliss
Divinely pure, by their own willing act,
Nor thwarted in the least God's perfect plan
Unalterable, nor involved in guilt
His character with theirs. A mystery this!
A truth to be believed, and not explained!
The proud demand of mortals, that its depths
Be fathomed, and laid open to their view,
To gain their faith, is vain impiety.
'Tis prompted by a wish to take the throne,
And, knowing good and evil, be as gods.
Rather should thanks be offered, that while here
That only is revealed to claim their thoughts,
Which leads to present duty, and prepares
For an eternity of light and joy.
It best befits them, with absorbing awe,
Childlike simplicity of mind and heart,
And meek dependence on the Spirit of truth
For needful aid, to make it their employ
To learn what their Creator has declared
In his pure oracles, and that receive
Without a doubt or murmur, nor inquire
Beyond it for the secrets of his will.
Of goodness, in revenge for being compelled,
Against the strongest wishes to confess
E'en his existence, with a fiendlike joy
The infidel exclaims, and thousands, wronged
In their own view if ranked with him, repeat,
With the same spirit the presumptuous cry,
Why were men ruined only to be saved?
Why all destroyed that part might be restored?
No answer needs perversion of the truth
So wilful, and its authors look for none,
Content with the relief of vented hate.
With thoughts less impious, others fondly ask,
Why was man suffered to destroy himself?
Why was there one by previous wickedness
Prepared to tempt him to the fatal deed?
Slept the Most High, while Satan, full of guile,
Lurked in the bowers of Eden, to seduce
From their allegiance the first happy pair?
And after their revolt did he awake
Like one surprised, and, not to be quite foiled
By what was done and could not be undone,
Resolve on their redemption as a shift,
The best expedient of a straitened mind,
An unforeseen dilemma to escape?
Or held he, when rebellion in the breasts
Of angels rose, the reins of government
With hand relaxed, till sin had worked its way
Into the heart of heaven? and then in wrath
Resumed he them with more determined grasp,
120
Or vigilance, its entrance to prevent?
If not, why left he, in the universe,
One door unbarred, by which this enemy
Could gain admission? Why not shut it out
From his whole kingdom with a single word,
As he excludes it now, and will henceforth,
From all the heavenly regions? Other cause
Than his eternal will, acting in view
Of good to be effected by its means
Under his full controul, is sought in vain
By groping mortals. Of its origin,
Its first conception in a heart upright,
And in the power, too, of the Holy One,
They nothing know, and nothing need to know,
But that, created free, angels and men
Fell from the height of rectitude and bliss
Divinely pure, by their own willing act,
Nor thwarted in the least God's perfect plan
Unalterable, nor involved in guilt
His character with theirs. A mystery this!
A truth to be believed, and not explained!
The proud demand of mortals, that its depths
Be fathomed, and laid open to their view,
To gain their faith, is vain impiety.
'Tis prompted by a wish to take the throne,
And, knowing good and evil, be as gods.
Rather should thanks be offered, that while here
That only is revealed to claim their thoughts,
Which leads to present duty, and prepares
For an eternity of light and joy.
It best befits them, with absorbing awe,
Childlike simplicity of mind and heart,
And meek dependence on the Spirit of truth
For needful aid, to make it their employ
To learn what their Creator has declared
In his pure oracles, and that receive
Without a doubt or murmur, nor inquire
Beyond it for the secrets of his will.
121
On many a sacred page resemblance clear
Of that sublimer good, from sin controlled
By God's benevolence to be secured
To his great kingdom, shines in some event
Of transient date. The picture is complete;
A hand divine has given, with matchless skill,
The last bright touches; and their beauty strikes
More for the previous shades and darker ground.
The whole transaction meets the view at once;
And, nothing doubting what part to ascribe
To guilty men, what to their righteous King,
We render homage, willing or constrained,
To his transcendent grace, their wickedness
Controlling, and directing to produce
A tenfold blessing for the curse they meant:
Their malice, burning only to destroy,
He overrules in clemency to save.
All darkness seems at first, and all along
The following course; but on the close is poured
A flood of light, whose splendour, shining back
O'er the past gloom, reveals to our dim eyes
The golden thread of providence benign
Through the dark tissue drawn, and brighter far
Than if around it all had been as bright.
Of that sublimer good, from sin controlled
By God's benevolence to be secured
To his great kingdom, shines in some event
Of transient date. The picture is complete;
A hand divine has given, with matchless skill,
The last bright touches; and their beauty strikes
More for the previous shades and darker ground.
The whole transaction meets the view at once;
And, nothing doubting what part to ascribe
To guilty men, what to their righteous King,
We render homage, willing or constrained,
To his transcendent grace, their wickedness
Controlling, and directing to produce
A tenfold blessing for the curse they meant:
Their malice, burning only to destroy,
He overrules in clemency to save.
All darkness seems at first, and all along
The following course; but on the close is poured
A flood of light, whose splendour, shining back
O'er the past gloom, reveals to our dim eyes
The golden thread of providence benign
Through the dark tissue drawn, and brighter far
Than if around it all had been as bright.
Since, then, in the events of days and years
Our faint and limited vision oft discerns
Evil, as used by the all-wise Supreme,
To greater good redounding, wherefore doubt
The like result of that grand system, formed
Of these combined, as ocean of its drops?
Will goodness infinite expend itself
On these inferior parts, and leave the whole
Without its care, to a disastrous fate?
If either, sure the former were o'erlooked
By heaven's great Monarch. Of his kind regard
Both, as they need, receiving, both e'en now
Were seen to be o'erruled alike for good
Were they alike complete, and brought within
The sphere of vision now the lot of man.
Our faint and limited vision oft discerns
Evil, as used by the all-wise Supreme,
To greater good redounding, wherefore doubt
The like result of that grand system, formed
Of these combined, as ocean of its drops?
Will goodness infinite expend itself
On these inferior parts, and leave the whole
Without its care, to a disastrous fate?
If either, sure the former were o'erlooked
By heaven's great Monarch. Of his kind regard
Both, as they need, receiving, both e'en now
Were seen to be o'erruled alike for good
Were they alike complete, and brought within
The sphere of vision now the lot of man.
122
Of God's whole plan, in its infinitude
Of length and breadth, how little, in this state
Of imperfection, can we mortals know!
What influence of great moment hid from us
The part revealed may have beyond itself,
On universal being, none can tell.
In his obscure economy below,
Designs the Governor of all may have,
Of which no human mind has ever dreamed.
Earth, with its mingled scenes of good and ill,
Judgment and mercy, to the universe
For which he acts, may bear, beside its known,
Other relations, of extent immense,
And infinite weight. Were myriads of stars
Made but for nightly lamps to this one globe,
When hung so high in the cerulean vault,
That all the feeble scattered rays, prolonged
Down to this depth, scarce make the darkness less?—
And when a single orb, low in the sky,
Outshines them all? If, rather, like our own,
Suns to attendant spheres they kindly roll;
Rising and setting to give interchange
Of light and darkness; vallies, hills, and plains
Clothing with yearly or perennial fruits,
And flowery verdure; shine they not to bless
Creatures of rational immortal kind,
Throughout their wide dominion? Or has God,
All spirit and intelligence himself,
And these esteeming infinitely best
Of all his works, and when recorded stands
His declaration, that he formed the earth
To be inhabited, and not in vain,
Built the whole fabric of celestial orbs
But to exist a mass of matter void,
A wilderness enormous, where are none
Of the delightful sights and sounds of life,
But awful silence, splendid barrenness
And desolation? Ill conceived of thee,
Father of lights! Thy wisdom prompts the thought
That here must be the populous abodes
Of beings, formed to serve thee, and enjoy.
These all, perhaps, are sinless, and now reap
The fruits of their obedience;—feel no pain
And fear no evil; in communion live
With God and angels; and, forever near
The world of glory, bask in its full blaze.
And he, in understanding, may not err,
More than in heart, who oft, at peaceful eve,
Looks on the sky as filled with peopled orbs,
Whence universal hymns of praise ascend
To the third heaven—till, earth and e'en himself
Forgetting, living like a spirit free,
In thoughts ethereal rapt, he seem to hear
The distant melody. As in a day,
When earth is darkened by thick stormy clouds,
The sun, above those clouds, shines unobscured,
Covering their restless waves with changing hues,
Spangles, and rainbows; and on high is nought
But one immensity of radiance bright,
Of clear and tranquil beauty one expanse;
So, in the intelligent creation, all
Beyond this world and that of hell beneath,
Beyond the gloom that overhangs this scene,
All may be light, and purity, and peace,
And perfect loveliness. This, and the world
Infernal, may then, haply, be set forth
Examples for the subjects of a realm
Extended o'er the globes, the systems wide,
Lighted by eighty millions of bright suns,
Whose beams the telescope has brought to earth,
And by those millions more, in the blue deep
Yet undescried—examples for their good;
The one of justice, for their warning given;
The other of sweet mercy, for their faith.
The Ruler of a kingdom thus immense
In its extent, and weighty in its charge,
Might deem it best that his whole character
Be tried and proved; that righteousness and grace,
Seeming at variance, be together brought
In union wonderful, and thus displayed,
Before all eyes, in living monuments,
Like other attributes in other works.
Of length and breadth, how little, in this state
Of imperfection, can we mortals know!
What influence of great moment hid from us
The part revealed may have beyond itself,
On universal being, none can tell.
In his obscure economy below,
Designs the Governor of all may have,
Of which no human mind has ever dreamed.
Earth, with its mingled scenes of good and ill,
Judgment and mercy, to the universe
For which he acts, may bear, beside its known,
Other relations, of extent immense,
And infinite weight. Were myriads of stars
Made but for nightly lamps to this one globe,
When hung so high in the cerulean vault,
That all the feeble scattered rays, prolonged
Down to this depth, scarce make the darkness less?—
And when a single orb, low in the sky,
Outshines them all? If, rather, like our own,
Suns to attendant spheres they kindly roll;
Rising and setting to give interchange
Of light and darkness; vallies, hills, and plains
Clothing with yearly or perennial fruits,
And flowery verdure; shine they not to bless
Creatures of rational immortal kind,
Throughout their wide dominion? Or has God,
All spirit and intelligence himself,
And these esteeming infinitely best
Of all his works, and when recorded stands
His declaration, that he formed the earth
To be inhabited, and not in vain,
Built the whole fabric of celestial orbs
But to exist a mass of matter void,
A wilderness enormous, where are none
Of the delightful sights and sounds of life,
But awful silence, splendid barrenness
And desolation? Ill conceived of thee,
Father of lights! Thy wisdom prompts the thought
123
Of beings, formed to serve thee, and enjoy.
These all, perhaps, are sinless, and now reap
The fruits of their obedience;—feel no pain
And fear no evil; in communion live
With God and angels; and, forever near
The world of glory, bask in its full blaze.
And he, in understanding, may not err,
More than in heart, who oft, at peaceful eve,
Looks on the sky as filled with peopled orbs,
Whence universal hymns of praise ascend
To the third heaven—till, earth and e'en himself
Forgetting, living like a spirit free,
In thoughts ethereal rapt, he seem to hear
The distant melody. As in a day,
When earth is darkened by thick stormy clouds,
The sun, above those clouds, shines unobscured,
Covering their restless waves with changing hues,
Spangles, and rainbows; and on high is nought
But one immensity of radiance bright,
Of clear and tranquil beauty one expanse;
So, in the intelligent creation, all
Beyond this world and that of hell beneath,
Beyond the gloom that overhangs this scene,
All may be light, and purity, and peace,
And perfect loveliness. This, and the world
Infernal, may then, haply, be set forth
Examples for the subjects of a realm
Extended o'er the globes, the systems wide,
Lighted by eighty millions of bright suns,
Whose beams the telescope has brought to earth,
And by those millions more, in the blue deep
Yet undescried—examples for their good;
The one of justice, for their warning given;
The other of sweet mercy, for their faith.
The Ruler of a kingdom thus immense
In its extent, and weighty in its charge,
Might deem it best that his whole character
Be tried and proved; that righteousness and grace,
124
In union wonderful, and thus displayed,
Before all eyes, in living monuments,
Like other attributes in other works.
But cease these fancies! death may dissipate
The whole at once, for a more glorious scene.
To firmer ground I gladly turn for rest.
Though on this theme, the wonder of the sage
In every country, and the scoff of fools,
In spite of reason and conjecture, much
Remain unsolved, and must while time endures,
Enough is seen in providence, and fixed
By sacred promise, for unwavering trust,
Till the full end, when vision will be full.
Assured that sin the limit cannot pass
Of Heaven's permission, that omnipotence
Has bounded its proud waves, and that, at length,
The eternal Being, who surveys the end
From the beginning, will reveal its use,
In that superior good, to be wrought out
From all its evil, wherefore should we scorn
The wisdom bidding us our murmurs hush
And vain alarms, renounce our arguments
And fond surmises, and in silence wait
Till the great terminating scene arrive?
Why should we be like savages untaught,
Who, while the sun is shrouded in eclipse,
Raise their tumultuous outcries, thence to drive
The fancied monster, in their narrow view
Extinguishing the luminary of day,
When standing still an hour, with watching eye,
Would show him moving onward as before,
With lustre unimpaired? Why should we fear
The blotting or diminishing of the light
Of heaven and earth, the glory of their King,
Ere the result of what may seem awhile
Mysterious interruption? Why pronounce
The scheme of providence in aught unwise
Or undesirable, till it be known
E'en to the end? The end is coming on;
The issue of these mixed events below,
The winding up of all terrestrial scenes;
The day of consummation;—solemn close
Of past eternity, of that to come
Beginning grand;—a common centre, both
In one uniting, like a strait between
Two shoreless oceans, at which all things meet,
Their only passage;—rendezvous sublime
Of angels and of men, in that dead pause
Between the old creation and the new,—
What time harmonious orbs in stillness wait,
Their changes broken, for Jehovah's voice
To bid their moving concert be resumed;—
Of all things, great and small, evil and good,
A full review, when the first heaven and earth
Have pass'd away, and ere a second rise.
The whole at once, for a more glorious scene.
To firmer ground I gladly turn for rest.
Though on this theme, the wonder of the sage
In every country, and the scoff of fools,
In spite of reason and conjecture, much
Remain unsolved, and must while time endures,
Enough is seen in providence, and fixed
By sacred promise, for unwavering trust,
Till the full end, when vision will be full.
Assured that sin the limit cannot pass
Of Heaven's permission, that omnipotence
Has bounded its proud waves, and that, at length,
The eternal Being, who surveys the end
From the beginning, will reveal its use,
In that superior good, to be wrought out
From all its evil, wherefore should we scorn
The wisdom bidding us our murmurs hush
And vain alarms, renounce our arguments
And fond surmises, and in silence wait
Till the great terminating scene arrive?
Why should we be like savages untaught,
Who, while the sun is shrouded in eclipse,
Raise their tumultuous outcries, thence to drive
The fancied monster, in their narrow view
Extinguishing the luminary of day,
When standing still an hour, with watching eye,
Would show him moving onward as before,
With lustre unimpaired? Why should we fear
The blotting or diminishing of the light
Of heaven and earth, the glory of their King,
Ere the result of what may seem awhile
Mysterious interruption? Why pronounce
The scheme of providence in aught unwise
Or undesirable, till it be known
125
The issue of these mixed events below,
The winding up of all terrestrial scenes;
The day of consummation;—solemn close
Of past eternity, of that to come
Beginning grand;—a common centre, both
In one uniting, like a strait between
Two shoreless oceans, at which all things meet,
Their only passage;—rendezvous sublime
Of angels and of men, in that dead pause
Between the old creation and the new,—
What time harmonious orbs in stillness wait,
Their changes broken, for Jehovah's voice
To bid their moving concert be resumed;—
Of all things, great and small, evil and good,
A full review, when the first heaven and earth
Have pass'd away, and ere a second rise.
The set time this to ope the sealed book
Of providence, before assembled worlds.
Come all and meditate the wondrous scenes,
The joyful and the terrible, that pass
In order, at the opening of each seal.
See the disclosure, now, of hidden things
In God's impartial plan; of others, wrapt
In dubious gloom the evolution full.
See now the clearing up of time's dark day,
The clouds dispersed, the elements at rest,
And all more beautiful than ere the storm:
The sun sends forth a brighter blaze of beams;
Glad nature rings with more melodious notes;
And sweeter smiles, with renovated charms,
Beneath a purer and serener sky.
Of providence, before assembled worlds.
Come all and meditate the wondrous scenes,
The joyful and the terrible, that pass
In order, at the opening of each seal.
See the disclosure, now, of hidden things
In God's impartial plan; of others, wrapt
In dubious gloom the evolution full.
See now the clearing up of time's dark day,
The clouds dispersed, the elements at rest,
And all more beautiful than ere the storm:
The sun sends forth a brighter blaze of beams;
Glad nature rings with more melodious notes;
And sweeter smiles, with renovated charms,
Beneath a purer and serener sky.
Thus when this growing system is mature;
When it has reached its limits, and the day
Set for the full review of its concerns
Varied and countless, has arrived, and passed,
Then shall the morning of eternity,
Its inexpressible perfection show.
'Tis now like the creation in the midst
Of that eventful week, in which the work
Was in its progress under God's right hand,
But half completed; when illumined here,
There darksome still; exulting here with life,
There wholly desolate; here finely formed,
And there yet shapeless. But, as at the end
Of that grand period the Creator viewed,
With infinite delight, his finished works,
And their surpassing excellence pronounced,
So shall it be at the concluding scene
Of checkered time. Then, too, the morning stars
Shall sing together; the bright sons of God
Shall shout for joy; and heaven a loud response
From all her ransomed multitudes resound.
When it has reached its limits, and the day
Set for the full review of its concerns
Varied and countless, has arrived, and passed,
Then shall the morning of eternity,
Its inexpressible perfection show.
'Tis now like the creation in the midst
126
Was in its progress under God's right hand,
But half completed; when illumined here,
There darksome still; exulting here with life,
There wholly desolate; here finely formed,
And there yet shapeless. But, as at the end
Of that grand period the Creator viewed,
With infinite delight, his finished works,
And their surpassing excellence pronounced,
So shall it be at the concluding scene
Of checkered time. Then, too, the morning stars
Shall sing together; the bright sons of God
Shall shout for joy; and heaven a loud response
From all her ransomed multitudes resound.
Now from all quarters of the universe,
Streams of pure glory, due to Him who thus
In the supremacy of goodness reigns,
Come pouring into paradise, that vast
And central ocean. At the gathering flood
Transported gaze, they, who for this result
Waited with humble confidence in time.
Of the Most High, his various works and ways,
Immeasurably more they now behold
In one glad hour, than, in their mortal state,
Imagination, though by faith enlarged,
And purified by love, had e'er conceived.
All former knowledge shrinks to nothing now.
The wisest of astronomers, when a child,
What knew he of the sun, and starry hosts?—
Their revolution, distance, magnitude,
And order intricate and yet complete?
What saw he in the lighted sky at eve,
But twinkling sparks, as in the dusky air,
Almost within the reach of his fond hands,
Thrown upward in the wildness of delight?
A Newton in his infancy, is he,
Who, while on earth, is future heir of heaven.
Yet, when, in full maturity, he comes
To his inheritance, he but begins
The glories of the Godhead to discern,
And of a few know something; destined thence
To make sublime advances without end,
In this the only knowledge of true worth.
More of that universal government,
Established and administered in love,
He still discovers, after ages spent
In contemplation on the wondrous theme.
As up the heights of immortality
He climbs unwearied, to his ravished eye
The prospect larger grows on every side,
The firmament swells upward and around,
While its apparent splendours every hour
In number and in brilliancy increase.
Thus, in progression endless, toward the Source
Of light, move onward all the saints above,
With joyful ardour, never to be quenched.
Streams of pure glory, due to Him who thus
In the supremacy of goodness reigns,
Come pouring into paradise, that vast
And central ocean. At the gathering flood
Transported gaze, they, who for this result
Waited with humble confidence in time.
Of the Most High, his various works and ways,
Immeasurably more they now behold
In one glad hour, than, in their mortal state,
Imagination, though by faith enlarged,
And purified by love, had e'er conceived.
All former knowledge shrinks to nothing now.
The wisest of astronomers, when a child,
What knew he of the sun, and starry hosts?—
Their revolution, distance, magnitude,
And order intricate and yet complete?
What saw he in the lighted sky at eve,
But twinkling sparks, as in the dusky air,
Almost within the reach of his fond hands,
Thrown upward in the wildness of delight?
A Newton in his infancy, is he,
Who, while on earth, is future heir of heaven.
Yet, when, in full maturity, he comes
To his inheritance, he but begins
127
And of a few know something; destined thence
To make sublime advances without end,
In this the only knowledge of true worth.
More of that universal government,
Established and administered in love,
He still discovers, after ages spent
In contemplation on the wondrous theme.
As up the heights of immortality
He climbs unwearied, to his ravished eye
The prospect larger grows on every side,
The firmament swells upward and around,
While its apparent splendours every hour
In number and in brilliancy increase.
Thus, in progression endless, toward the Source
Of light, move onward all the saints above,
With joyful ardour, never to be quenched.
But where are now the men of stubborn heart,
Who, all the season allotted to make peace
With their Creator, placable though just,
Stood out against him? In what guise appear
Before the last tribunal, they, who oft,
Despising faith where comprehension fails,
At reason's bar pronounced their Judge unjust,
Because his footsteps were unsearchable,
Now in the clouds, and now along the deep?
They stand convinced, appalled, and silently
Await their doom. Now the rebellious words,
Utter'd against the providence of Heaven,
Whene'r it frown'd on them, or seem'd to frown,
Like arrows impiously and vainly shot,
By Thracians, at the lowering thundercloud
When low and near, on their own heads return
In righteous vengeance. Now in agony
They own the justice of the Lord of all,
While under its condemning power they sink
To uttermost perdition, the desert
Of unrepented sin, their destiny
Ordained by thee, thou Arbiter supreme.
The certainty, and rectitude, of this
Thy dread decree, what mortal dare deny?
Great Lawgiver of all worlds, 'tis thine to fix
The statutes of thy kingdom, and enforce
Their due observance, by the penalty
In thy unerring wisdom deem'd the best.
Who, all the season allotted to make peace
With their Creator, placable though just,
Stood out against him? In what guise appear
Before the last tribunal, they, who oft,
Despising faith where comprehension fails,
At reason's bar pronounced their Judge unjust,
Because his footsteps were unsearchable,
Now in the clouds, and now along the deep?
They stand convinced, appalled, and silently
Await their doom. Now the rebellious words,
Utter'd against the providence of Heaven,
Whene'r it frown'd on them, or seem'd to frown,
Like arrows impiously and vainly shot,
By Thracians, at the lowering thundercloud
When low and near, on their own heads return
In righteous vengeance. Now in agony
They own the justice of the Lord of all,
While under its condemning power they sink
To uttermost perdition, the desert
Of unrepented sin, their destiny
Ordained by thee, thou Arbiter supreme.
128
Thy dread decree, what mortal dare deny?
Great Lawgiver of all worlds, 'tis thine to fix
The statutes of thy kingdom, and enforce
Their due observance, by the penalty
In thy unerring wisdom deem'd the best.
No pleasure from the misery of his foes
Can God derive; His character and word
Forbid, that, like a tyrant, he should feast
Upon their torments. His benevolence,
Shown in the blessings lavished on them here;
In that transcendent gift, forfeited heaven
To purchase for them; in the offer made
Of pardon on repenting, made again
Oft as rejected, with entreaties pressed
And warnings merciful, forbids the thought.
But from their punishment, in its effects
Upon a government with wisdom planned,
He does derive such pleasure as becomes
A gracious Monarch, who the welfare loves
Of his whole kingdom, more than that of those
Who break its sacred laws, madly abuse
All clemency, and enemies remain
Incorrigible. 'Tis the general weal,
That calls for vengeance on the rebel's head.
Thus justice to benevolence is changed,
And judgment into mercy. Hell is made
The woful dungeon of the universe,
Where universal foes, and only such,
In sad imprisonment forever lie.
Its depths were hollowed out, its gloomy walls
Raised, for the peace of heaven; and for the peace
Of God's whole empire they remain, and will
Until rebellion be no more a crime.
Those everduring chains were forged in love
Impartial; perfect goodness binds them on,
And turns the fatal key, that locks up all,
Who enter once that dreadful gate, unlocked
To none returning. To the inmost seat
Of feeling tortured by this thought, how writhe
The guilty sufferers! Could they but discern,
On the white throne above, the slightest stain
Of cruelty or injustice, 'twere enough
To give them fortitude to bear the worst.
But how can they be strong, in hand or heart,
To suffer or resist, when they behold
Benevolence and equity combined,
In their eternal exile from the climes
Of light and happiness? How can they meet
Love armed in the dread panoply of wrath,
To take its righteous vengeance? How endure
From their Redeemer to receive their doom?
How can they stand before the Lamb incensed?
The meek, the spotless, self-devoted Lamb?
How will it give to their despair a sting
Of keen and piercing agony, to think
That He, who on the seat of judgment high,
Arrayed in robes of majesty supreme,
Sits to condemn them, is that Prince of Peace,
Who once, in accents of compassion sweet,
Of weeping condescension infinite,
Pleaded for their acceptance of his love!
Ah me! what bitterness, to drink, and drink
Forever, of the cup of penal wrath
Unmingled, from the hand that once held out
The cup of free salvation; from that hand,
Which always gladly healed the broken heart,
And bound up all its wounds; from that same hand
Once stretched upon the cross, streaming with blood!
Can God derive; His character and word
Forbid, that, like a tyrant, he should feast
Upon their torments. His benevolence,
Shown in the blessings lavished on them here;
In that transcendent gift, forfeited heaven
To purchase for them; in the offer made
Of pardon on repenting, made again
Oft as rejected, with entreaties pressed
And warnings merciful, forbids the thought.
But from their punishment, in its effects
Upon a government with wisdom planned,
He does derive such pleasure as becomes
A gracious Monarch, who the welfare loves
Of his whole kingdom, more than that of those
Who break its sacred laws, madly abuse
All clemency, and enemies remain
Incorrigible. 'Tis the general weal,
That calls for vengeance on the rebel's head.
Thus justice to benevolence is changed,
And judgment into mercy. Hell is made
The woful dungeon of the universe,
Where universal foes, and only such,
In sad imprisonment forever lie.
Its depths were hollowed out, its gloomy walls
Raised, for the peace of heaven; and for the peace
Of God's whole empire they remain, and will
Until rebellion be no more a crime.
Those everduring chains were forged in love
Impartial; perfect goodness binds them on,
And turns the fatal key, that locks up all,
Who enter once that dreadful gate, unlocked
To none returning. To the inmost seat
129
The guilty sufferers! Could they but discern,
On the white throne above, the slightest stain
Of cruelty or injustice, 'twere enough
To give them fortitude to bear the worst.
But how can they be strong, in hand or heart,
To suffer or resist, when they behold
Benevolence and equity combined,
In their eternal exile from the climes
Of light and happiness? How can they meet
Love armed in the dread panoply of wrath,
To take its righteous vengeance? How endure
From their Redeemer to receive their doom?
How can they stand before the Lamb incensed?
The meek, the spotless, self-devoted Lamb?
How will it give to their despair a sting
Of keen and piercing agony, to think
That He, who on the seat of judgment high,
Arrayed in robes of majesty supreme,
Sits to condemn them, is that Prince of Peace,
Who once, in accents of compassion sweet,
Of weeping condescension infinite,
Pleaded for their acceptance of his love!
Ah me! what bitterness, to drink, and drink
Forever, of the cup of penal wrath
Unmingled, from the hand that once held out
The cup of free salvation; from that hand,
Which always gladly healed the broken heart,
And bound up all its wounds; from that same hand
Once stretched upon the cross, streaming with blood!
If, in that great development to come,
Of all things hidden, sin reflect no blame
On heaven's high Ruler, then will misery none;
For, sin admitted, misery should ensue,
Whither it goes should follow, where it dwells
Should with it dwell, inseparably joined;
A world of guilt should be a world of pain.
And if, from the insufferable woes
Of an undone eternity, no cry
Of just reproach ascend to heaven, then none
From all the slight calamities of time
Can e'er ascend. But wherefore will not God,
E'en now, from ills, on others brought, exempt
The offspring of regenerating grace,
The children of his love? Imperfect yet,
They need the chastenings of paternal care,
To save them from the wily blandishments
Of error, and to win their hearts away
From the polluting, ruining joys of earth.
Though from its height of sole authority,
O'er all the moving principles within,
Sin be deposed, it struggles to regain
Its lost dominion, till they half consent,
When all their trust is not in borrowed might,
To yield the conflict. Though his head be crushed,
The serpent lives, and shows what spite he can,
E'en till their sun go down. Not chastened then,
No proof were given they were not past reform,
And left as reprobate, to be prepared
By mercies for an aggravated doom.
See they not often now, and will they not
Hereafter see, that when they murmured most
They should have sung the highest notes of praise?
When from the skies they cast a look below,
Methinks they will esteem their path too smooth
And level, for transgressors bound to heaven.
O, had it been a steeper, rougher ascent,
Then had they risen more rapidly, and gained
An exaltation of superior bliss!
Becomes it them, to eye with sad distrust,
That hand of a compassionate Parent, laid
Heavily on them, while for their support
His other is extended underneath,
And filled with richer blessings in reserve?
Should they not rather welcome the kind stroke,
That humbles but to fit them for a throne?
Should they not even beg their heavenly Guide
To bar up, or to plant with thorns, each path,
However flowery, that would lead astray;
And to imbitter all forbidden fruit
Soliciting their taste, however fair?
Were not the world to them unlovely made,
Heaven were forgotten, or without desire
Remembered, and without foretasting faith.
Like the thick grove, that only when deprived
Of its gay foliage, through it shows, beyond,
Green fields, the ocean, the resplendent sky,
Earth must be stript of charms, to let them see
The loveliness of paradise beyond,
The vast bright prospect of eternity.
Were nothing but enjoyment theirs below,
Were all prosperity, their hearts were here,
And here their portion. Were they undisturbed,
Their day of trial were spent in fatal sleep.
'Tis when the world disowns them, turns them out
From every resting place as none of hers,
That they pursue with quick and vigorous step
Their pilgrimage, and muse upon its end
With panting hope and elevating joy.
When by affliction purified, and weaned
From sublunary toys, with what delight
They cleave to Him in whose embrace is found
The only rest, and welcome the approach
Of that great change of being, to be passed
Only to wing them for a speedy flight
Into his unveiled presence, there to find
Pleasures augmented by griefs left below!
There, long possessed, the due inheritance
Of angels, whom no suffering ever reached,
Is sweet indeed; but, the reward of saints,
Rest after toil, and after conflict peace,
Light out of darkness, out of sorrow joy,
Life from the grave, and paradise from earth,
Nay, from the brink of hell, how passing sweet!
There with what loveliness the spirit shines,
When, through afflictions, from defilement deep
Raised to angelic purity, from death
To the perfection of celestial life!
So from the filthy bottom of the pool,
Up through its waters, to the surface springs
The lily, and there blooms a perfect flower,
Of brilliant whiteness, beautifully pure.
And what more lovely object here below,
Or more exalted, than a mortal, weak
And tender, looking upward in the midst
Of painful visitations, with an eye
By faith illumined, and a brow serene
From heartfelt peace and acquiescence full
In Heaven's high will; and out of deep distress
Rising invigorated, and prepared
For generous deeds impossible before?
'Tis resignation, so unfeigned, entire,
And happy, by severe affliction proved,
When nature in her tenderness resists,
That shines the fairest victory of grace.
Of all things hidden, sin reflect no blame
On heaven's high Ruler, then will misery none;
For, sin admitted, misery should ensue,
Whither it goes should follow, where it dwells
Should with it dwell, inseparably joined;
A world of guilt should be a world of pain.
And if, from the insufferable woes
Of an undone eternity, no cry
130
From all the slight calamities of time
Can e'er ascend. But wherefore will not God,
E'en now, from ills, on others brought, exempt
The offspring of regenerating grace,
The children of his love? Imperfect yet,
They need the chastenings of paternal care,
To save them from the wily blandishments
Of error, and to win their hearts away
From the polluting, ruining joys of earth.
Though from its height of sole authority,
O'er all the moving principles within,
Sin be deposed, it struggles to regain
Its lost dominion, till they half consent,
When all their trust is not in borrowed might,
To yield the conflict. Though his head be crushed,
The serpent lives, and shows what spite he can,
E'en till their sun go down. Not chastened then,
No proof were given they were not past reform,
And left as reprobate, to be prepared
By mercies for an aggravated doom.
See they not often now, and will they not
Hereafter see, that when they murmured most
They should have sung the highest notes of praise?
When from the skies they cast a look below,
Methinks they will esteem their path too smooth
And level, for transgressors bound to heaven.
O, had it been a steeper, rougher ascent,
Then had they risen more rapidly, and gained
An exaltation of superior bliss!
Becomes it them, to eye with sad distrust,
That hand of a compassionate Parent, laid
Heavily on them, while for their support
His other is extended underneath,
And filled with richer blessings in reserve?
Should they not rather welcome the kind stroke,
That humbles but to fit them for a throne?
Should they not even beg their heavenly Guide
To bar up, or to plant with thorns, each path,
131
And to imbitter all forbidden fruit
Soliciting their taste, however fair?
Were not the world to them unlovely made,
Heaven were forgotten, or without desire
Remembered, and without foretasting faith.
Like the thick grove, that only when deprived
Of its gay foliage, through it shows, beyond,
Green fields, the ocean, the resplendent sky,
Earth must be stript of charms, to let them see
The loveliness of paradise beyond,
The vast bright prospect of eternity.
Were nothing but enjoyment theirs below,
Were all prosperity, their hearts were here,
And here their portion. Were they undisturbed,
Their day of trial were spent in fatal sleep.
'Tis when the world disowns them, turns them out
From every resting place as none of hers,
That they pursue with quick and vigorous step
Their pilgrimage, and muse upon its end
With panting hope and elevating joy.
When by affliction purified, and weaned
From sublunary toys, with what delight
They cleave to Him in whose embrace is found
The only rest, and welcome the approach
Of that great change of being, to be passed
Only to wing them for a speedy flight
Into his unveiled presence, there to find
Pleasures augmented by griefs left below!
There, long possessed, the due inheritance
Of angels, whom no suffering ever reached,
Is sweet indeed; but, the reward of saints,
Rest after toil, and after conflict peace,
Light out of darkness, out of sorrow joy,
Life from the grave, and paradise from earth,
Nay, from the brink of hell, how passing sweet!
There with what loveliness the spirit shines,
When, through afflictions, from defilement deep
Raised to angelic purity, from death
132
So from the filthy bottom of the pool,
Up through its waters, to the surface springs
The lily, and there blooms a perfect flower,
Of brilliant whiteness, beautifully pure.
And what more lovely object here below,
Or more exalted, than a mortal, weak
And tender, looking upward in the midst
Of painful visitations, with an eye
By faith illumined, and a brow serene
From heartfelt peace and acquiescence full
In Heaven's high will; and out of deep distress
Rising invigorated, and prepared
For generous deeds impossible before?
'Tis resignation, so unfeigned, entire,
And happy, by severe affliction proved,
When nature in her tenderness resists,
That shines the fairest victory of grace.
In early wedlock joined, when all things wore
An aspect bright with promised happiness,
Orville and Charlotte were a pair beloved
For intellectual and moral worth;
For knowledge, both the useful and refined.
Taste uncorrupt, feeling benevolent,
Sweetness of temper, gentleness of mien,
And undissembled piety, the soul
Of all their virtues. Undisturbed, awhile,
In their felicity, they passed along,
One in their studies, duties, pleasures pure,
Guiding and guided each, blessing and blessed.
Sweet intercourse between congenial minds!
And sweeter interchange of kindred hearts!
Together they with like devotion scanned
The heavenly orbs, traversed the map of earth
With equal skill, dwelt on her history
With like astonishment at human crimes
And God's forbearance, to exalted verse
Gave vocal melody with equal gust.
Nor did they for the fashionable muse
The classic quite forsake. Nigh them they kept
The poet of humanity and truth,
Of simple nature and religion pure,
The lovely Cowper; and, at every word
Against his fame, felt wounded in a friend.
Nor to the crowded shelf, to be forgot,
Was Milton e'er removed;—seraphic bard!
Sweetly sublime, in paradise above!
In paradise below, sublimely sweet!
There lofty numbers, and melifluous here,
Grandeur and beauty every where, command
Breathless attention, and within them wake
Those finer strings, that, at the thrilling touch
Of mighty genius, quiver with keen delight.
Together over flowery fields and woods
They rambled, in the not unuseful search
Of plants to be inspected in each part,
With nicety botanic; nor e'en passed
Unheeded any delicate shapely brake,
Or tuft of moss, upon bleak mountain rocks,
Like frostwork, fine, and white, and crumbling quick
Beneath the foot; on the low shady bank,
Like velvet, green and soft, or like a grove
Of pines inch-high, with noiseless pliancy
All bending prostrate at the lightest tread,
Or gentlest pressure of the stroking hand,
Then with elastic liveliness again
Rising unhurt. Not less in these minute,
Than in the vast of the Creator's works,
They loved to trace his hand, in every touch
Inimitably fair. The house of want,
Of ignorance, of mourning, of disease,
Together oft they humbly cheered with alms,
Instruction, sympathy, attendance kind.
Each weekly and each daily season, made
Sacred to acts of worship, with delight
Duly observing, oft, at other times,
They knelt together in devotion sweet,
As aught of signal interest called for thanks,
Or supplications of appropriate warmth;
And oft, at other times, together sung,
Not unassisted by the solemn chord,
Anthems of praise. Thus happily they lived,
Till, in their arms, a second pleasant babe
With a faint smile intelligent began
To answer theirs, and with a brighter that
Of its fond sister, standing by their side,
With frequent kisses prattling in its face;
While in its features, with parental joy,
And love connubial, they began to mark
Theirs intermingled;—when, with sudden stroke,
The blooming infant faded, and expired.
And soon its lonely sister, doubly dear
Now in their grief, was in like manner torn
From their united grasp. With patience far
Beyond her years, the little sufferer bore
Her sharp distemper, while she could behold
Both parents by her side; but, when from sleep
Transient and troubled waking, wept aloud,
As terrified, if either were not there.
To hear their voices singing of the love
Of her Redeemer, in her favourite hymn,
And praying for his mercy, oft she asked
With eagerness, and seemed the while at ease.
When came the final struggle, with the look
Of a grieved child, and with its mournful cry,
But still with something of her wonted tone
Of confidence in danger, as for help,
She called on them, on both alternately,
As if by turns expecting that relief
From each the other had grown slow to yield;
At which their calmness, undisturbed till then,
Gave way to agitation past control.
A few heart-rending moments, and her voice
Sunk to a weak and inarticulate moan,
Then in a whisper ended; and with that
Her features grew composed and fixed in death;
At sight of which their lost tranquillity
At once returned. 'Twas evening; and the lamp,
Set near, shone full upon her placid face,
Its snowy white illuming, while they stood
Gazing as on her loveliness in sleep,
The enfeebled mother on the father's arm
Heavily hanging, like the slender flower
On its firm prop, when loaded down with rain
Or morning dew; and laying her pale cheek
Upon his shoulder, with the simple air
Of infant weakness and dependence sweet.
Their lifeless child they tenderly bemoaned,
Yet opened their sad hearts, and not in vain,
To holy consolation from on high.
With unrepining sorrow, they beheld
That little cherished frame of beauteous clay
Apparelled for the grave, and covered deep
In its cold bosom. When, day after day,
No cheering sound of playful childhood broke
The stillness of their dwelling, and they felt
The new uneasiness of empty arms,
They sometimes wept together, but in tears
Showed a submissive look, almost a smile.
Now came the last and sorest in the train
Of their afflictions, the dissolving blow
To nature's first and most endearing ties.
By her loved little ones, ere yet the turf
Upon their graves its unsoiled green regained,
Charlotte, the amiable wife was laid;
And thus the partner of her bosom left,
To mourn in solitude the loss of all.
By her bed side, with unremitted care,
In all her painful sickness, day and night,
He watched, anticipating every want,
And sharing every pang. From a full heart,
Now audibly, now silently he poured
Incessant supplications for her life,
Or happiness in death; and when the hope
Of her recovery failed, with gratitude
He saw unshaken to the last, her trust
In His compassion, whom in health she served
With willing mind. Her end was full of peace,
Fitting her uniform piety serene.
'Twas rather the deep humble calm of faith,
Than her high triumph; and resembled more
The unnoticed setting of a clear day's sun,
Than his admired departure in a blaze
Of glory bursting from a clouded course.
When from her burial to his home returned
The broken-hearted Orville, and beheld
Around all still, all desolate within,
A feeling of his utter loneliness
Rushed on his soul with overwhelming power.
Entering his door ungreeted and unmet,
Missing her face that always brightened quick
At his approach, her voice that sweeter grew,
On the first seat presented, down at once,
As if all strength were in a moment gone,
He sunk, dissolving in a flood of tears;
Then, rising suddenly, walked to and fro,
And in impassioned accents mourned aloud.
When at his table, in her wonted seat
He first beheld another; when he saw
The last unfinished labours of her hand;—
Her needle, pen, and pencil, at his wish,
Untouched remaining, just as left by her;—
And when he cast an eye upon her plants
Perrenial, and her aromatic shrubs,
In their neat vases, left unwatered long,
Dropping untimely leaves and blighted buds;
His rising grief no effort could suppress.
If in his house, through its disordered rooms,
He wandered, or through alleys weedy grown
In his neglected garden, or along
The sylvan walks of her accustomed choice,
At every step, some object called to mind
Her worth, or her affection, and thus kept
Opening afresh the wound within his breast.
Yet though severely pained, he ne'er refused,
In sullen or in passionate despair,
The sympathy of friendship; ne'er returned
With coldness the warm pressure of the hand,
Nor heard unmoved from undissembling lips
Gentle condolence. E'en the pity shown
By giddy youth, in checking their loud mirth
While passing his lone dwelling, with an eye
Turned toward it oft, attracted by the sight
Of doors all closed and window curtains down,
Touched him with grateful joy, while it awaked
A sigh at the remembrance of his loss.
But other consolation, far above
Whate'er this world of vanity can yield,
He needed, with etherial fervour sought,
And in abundance found. So full his trust,
So high his joy, in Him, whose government
Is always equitable, always good,
And to the penitent of human kind
In all things merciful, that they who looked,
At first, to see his tender nature sink,
Ere long with admiration saw it changed
To exalted firmness;—not, indeed, his own;
Not the quick growth of philosophic pride,
But of the infused virtue of that grace
From heaven descending. In his grief, he seemed
Like the young tree, bowed low, as from its top
Some strong hand tears away the clinging vine,
Breaks by degrees the innumerable ties
Of branches and soft tendrils intertwined,
But, when quite parted, rising, and, despoiled
Of all its own with all its borrowed bloom,
Standing, in naked loneliness, sublime.
Thus stript, a solitary being, left
To feel united to the earth no more
By any outward bond, he looked on all
That he possessed, once valued for the sake
Of others dearer than himself, as now
No longer his, to be enjoyed alone;
And with a richer treasure in his view,
Restored it to the Giver, to augment
The knowledge of his will, and of his grace
The victories, among immortal men.
Not in a fit of discontented gloom,
But with the sober constancy of faith,
He viewed himself thenceforth a stranger here,
And looked on all the world, in all its charms,
As nought to him, intent upon his home,
And on whatever intervening means
Might best and soonest fit him for its joys.
By learning and meek piety prepared
To be the messenger of truth and grace,
Now doubly by affliction, and desire
Benevolent kindled to a quenchless flame,
And inly prompted by the Spirit divine
Inhabiting his bosom, forth he went
From all the abodes of elegance and ease,
To publish in the wilderness, to men
In mind and manners rude, dwelling in huts
Uncouth and comfortless, the welcome words
Of heavenly mercy, through the ransom high
On Calvary paid. From hardships, that would once
Have crushed him, gathering vigour in his course,
Onward till death, in this angelic work,
He pressed, with growing ardour and delight.
When in the great assembly of the just,
Walking in white,—his happy wife and babes,
Beautiful cherubs, smiling at his side,—
He meets with those by his exertion saved,
Beholds their glory, hears their rapturous songs,
And, forward looking with an angel's ken
Along the vista of unlimited years,
Contemplates their uninterrupted march
In excellence and bliss, and in them views
Immortal trophies of the Prince of Life,
Forever yielding honour to the love
Omnipotent of this his dearest friend,
How will the day of his bereavement here,
Like morning, break from its terrestial gloom,
And shine of all his days most luminous
In heaven's reflected and concentred light!
And how will his unchanging confidence
In God's mysterious goodness, with its fruits
Of rich and lasting growth, the height sublime
Of wisdom prove, and virtue, to the joy
Triumphant of his never-ending life!
An aspect bright with promised happiness,
Orville and Charlotte were a pair beloved
For intellectual and moral worth;
For knowledge, both the useful and refined.
Taste uncorrupt, feeling benevolent,
Sweetness of temper, gentleness of mien,
And undissembled piety, the soul
Of all their virtues. Undisturbed, awhile,
In their felicity, they passed along,
One in their studies, duties, pleasures pure,
Guiding and guided each, blessing and blessed.
Sweet intercourse between congenial minds!
And sweeter interchange of kindred hearts!
Together they with like devotion scanned
The heavenly orbs, traversed the map of earth
With equal skill, dwelt on her history
With like astonishment at human crimes
And God's forbearance, to exalted verse
Gave vocal melody with equal gust.
Nor did they for the fashionable muse
133
The poet of humanity and truth,
Of simple nature and religion pure,
The lovely Cowper; and, at every word
Against his fame, felt wounded in a friend.
Nor to the crowded shelf, to be forgot,
Was Milton e'er removed;—seraphic bard!
Sweetly sublime, in paradise above!
In paradise below, sublimely sweet!
There lofty numbers, and melifluous here,
Grandeur and beauty every where, command
Breathless attention, and within them wake
Those finer strings, that, at the thrilling touch
Of mighty genius, quiver with keen delight.
Together over flowery fields and woods
They rambled, in the not unuseful search
Of plants to be inspected in each part,
With nicety botanic; nor e'en passed
Unheeded any delicate shapely brake,
Or tuft of moss, upon bleak mountain rocks,
Like frostwork, fine, and white, and crumbling quick
Beneath the foot; on the low shady bank,
Like velvet, green and soft, or like a grove
Of pines inch-high, with noiseless pliancy
All bending prostrate at the lightest tread,
Or gentlest pressure of the stroking hand,
Then with elastic liveliness again
Rising unhurt. Not less in these minute,
Than in the vast of the Creator's works,
They loved to trace his hand, in every touch
Inimitably fair. The house of want,
Of ignorance, of mourning, of disease,
Together oft they humbly cheered with alms,
Instruction, sympathy, attendance kind.
Each weekly and each daily season, made
Sacred to acts of worship, with delight
Duly observing, oft, at other times,
They knelt together in devotion sweet,
As aught of signal interest called for thanks,
134
And oft, at other times, together sung,
Not unassisted by the solemn chord,
Anthems of praise. Thus happily they lived,
Till, in their arms, a second pleasant babe
With a faint smile intelligent began
To answer theirs, and with a brighter that
Of its fond sister, standing by their side,
With frequent kisses prattling in its face;
While in its features, with parental joy,
And love connubial, they began to mark
Theirs intermingled;—when, with sudden stroke,
The blooming infant faded, and expired.
And soon its lonely sister, doubly dear
Now in their grief, was in like manner torn
From their united grasp. With patience far
Beyond her years, the little sufferer bore
Her sharp distemper, while she could behold
Both parents by her side; but, when from sleep
Transient and troubled waking, wept aloud,
As terrified, if either were not there.
To hear their voices singing of the love
Of her Redeemer, in her favourite hymn,
And praying for his mercy, oft she asked
With eagerness, and seemed the while at ease.
When came the final struggle, with the look
Of a grieved child, and with its mournful cry,
But still with something of her wonted tone
Of confidence in danger, as for help,
She called on them, on both alternately,
As if by turns expecting that relief
From each the other had grown slow to yield;
At which their calmness, undisturbed till then,
Gave way to agitation past control.
A few heart-rending moments, and her voice
Sunk to a weak and inarticulate moan,
Then in a whisper ended; and with that
Her features grew composed and fixed in death;
At sight of which their lost tranquillity
135
Set near, shone full upon her placid face,
Its snowy white illuming, while they stood
Gazing as on her loveliness in sleep,
The enfeebled mother on the father's arm
Heavily hanging, like the slender flower
On its firm prop, when loaded down with rain
Or morning dew; and laying her pale cheek
Upon his shoulder, with the simple air
Of infant weakness and dependence sweet.
Their lifeless child they tenderly bemoaned,
Yet opened their sad hearts, and not in vain,
To holy consolation from on high.
With unrepining sorrow, they beheld
That little cherished frame of beauteous clay
Apparelled for the grave, and covered deep
In its cold bosom. When, day after day,
No cheering sound of playful childhood broke
The stillness of their dwelling, and they felt
The new uneasiness of empty arms,
They sometimes wept together, but in tears
Showed a submissive look, almost a smile.
Now came the last and sorest in the train
Of their afflictions, the dissolving blow
To nature's first and most endearing ties.
By her loved little ones, ere yet the turf
Upon their graves its unsoiled green regained,
Charlotte, the amiable wife was laid;
And thus the partner of her bosom left,
To mourn in solitude the loss of all.
By her bed side, with unremitted care,
In all her painful sickness, day and night,
He watched, anticipating every want,
And sharing every pang. From a full heart,
Now audibly, now silently he poured
Incessant supplications for her life,
Or happiness in death; and when the hope
Of her recovery failed, with gratitude
He saw unshaken to the last, her trust
136
With willing mind. Her end was full of peace,
Fitting her uniform piety serene.
'Twas rather the deep humble calm of faith,
Than her high triumph; and resembled more
The unnoticed setting of a clear day's sun,
Than his admired departure in a blaze
Of glory bursting from a clouded course.
When from her burial to his home returned
The broken-hearted Orville, and beheld
Around all still, all desolate within,
A feeling of his utter loneliness
Rushed on his soul with overwhelming power.
Entering his door ungreeted and unmet,
Missing her face that always brightened quick
At his approach, her voice that sweeter grew,
On the first seat presented, down at once,
As if all strength were in a moment gone,
He sunk, dissolving in a flood of tears;
Then, rising suddenly, walked to and fro,
And in impassioned accents mourned aloud.
When at his table, in her wonted seat
He first beheld another; when he saw
The last unfinished labours of her hand;—
Her needle, pen, and pencil, at his wish,
Untouched remaining, just as left by her;—
And when he cast an eye upon her plants
Perrenial, and her aromatic shrubs,
In their neat vases, left unwatered long,
Dropping untimely leaves and blighted buds;
His rising grief no effort could suppress.
If in his house, through its disordered rooms,
He wandered, or through alleys weedy grown
In his neglected garden, or along
The sylvan walks of her accustomed choice,
At every step, some object called to mind
Her worth, or her affection, and thus kept
Opening afresh the wound within his breast.
Yet though severely pained, he ne'er refused,
137
The sympathy of friendship; ne'er returned
With coldness the warm pressure of the hand,
Nor heard unmoved from undissembling lips
Gentle condolence. E'en the pity shown
By giddy youth, in checking their loud mirth
While passing his lone dwelling, with an eye
Turned toward it oft, attracted by the sight
Of doors all closed and window curtains down,
Touched him with grateful joy, while it awaked
A sigh at the remembrance of his loss.
But other consolation, far above
Whate'er this world of vanity can yield,
He needed, with etherial fervour sought,
And in abundance found. So full his trust,
So high his joy, in Him, whose government
Is always equitable, always good,
And to the penitent of human kind
In all things merciful, that they who looked,
At first, to see his tender nature sink,
Ere long with admiration saw it changed
To exalted firmness;—not, indeed, his own;
Not the quick growth of philosophic pride,
But of the infused virtue of that grace
From heaven descending. In his grief, he seemed
Like the young tree, bowed low, as from its top
Some strong hand tears away the clinging vine,
Breaks by degrees the innumerable ties
Of branches and soft tendrils intertwined,
But, when quite parted, rising, and, despoiled
Of all its own with all its borrowed bloom,
Standing, in naked loneliness, sublime.
Thus stript, a solitary being, left
To feel united to the earth no more
By any outward bond, he looked on all
That he possessed, once valued for the sake
Of others dearer than himself, as now
No longer his, to be enjoyed alone;
And with a richer treasure in his view,
138
The knowledge of his will, and of his grace
The victories, among immortal men.
Not in a fit of discontented gloom,
But with the sober constancy of faith,
He viewed himself thenceforth a stranger here,
And looked on all the world, in all its charms,
As nought to him, intent upon his home,
And on whatever intervening means
Might best and soonest fit him for its joys.
By learning and meek piety prepared
To be the messenger of truth and grace,
Now doubly by affliction, and desire
Benevolent kindled to a quenchless flame,
And inly prompted by the Spirit divine
Inhabiting his bosom, forth he went
From all the abodes of elegance and ease,
To publish in the wilderness, to men
In mind and manners rude, dwelling in huts
Uncouth and comfortless, the welcome words
Of heavenly mercy, through the ransom high
On Calvary paid. From hardships, that would once
Have crushed him, gathering vigour in his course,
Onward till death, in this angelic work,
He pressed, with growing ardour and delight.
When in the great assembly of the just,
Walking in white,—his happy wife and babes,
Beautiful cherubs, smiling at his side,—
He meets with those by his exertion saved,
Beholds their glory, hears their rapturous songs,
And, forward looking with an angel's ken
Along the vista of unlimited years,
Contemplates their uninterrupted march
In excellence and bliss, and in them views
Immortal trophies of the Prince of Life,
Forever yielding honour to the love
Omnipotent of this his dearest friend,
How will the day of his bereavement here,
Like morning, break from its terrestial gloom,
139
In heaven's reflected and concentred light!
And how will his unchanging confidence
In God's mysterious goodness, with its fruits
Of rich and lasting growth, the height sublime
Of wisdom prove, and virtue, to the joy
Triumphant of his never-ending life!
If such the future good, the glory bright,
The bliss ineffable, of them that bear,
With holy fortitude of heart, the ills
Of vile mortality, and rise beneath
The accumulated weight to higher deeds,
Then let the deepest in affliction lift
The drooping head, beneath the heaviest load,
And, fired with hope, run with unfaltering step
Their sublunary course. The woes of earth
May thicken, and severer grow, till death;
But that last pang, like the last paroxysm
Of some long painful dream, waking the soul
To life and transport, makes amends at once
For all past sufferings, in a moment all
Forgotten in that plenitude of joy.
And if so glorious be the end of faith,
In that good providence, minutely employed
On its possessor; faith in God's kind care
Of his great kingdom of victorious grace,
With what transcendent glory will it reach
Its consummation! Of this last reward
E'en now the frequent prelibation cheers
The saddened spirit, when events within
This rising kingdom, seeming for a while
Disastrous, turn to unexpected good,
In greatness and extent surpassing far
The threatened ill. The good man, eminent
In station and endowments, one to whom
The virtuous of whole nations look with joy
And expectation high, dies in the prime
Of active excellence; but soon, to calm
The general grief, and all distrust reprove,
From his removal are divinely wrought,
And visibly to all, effects above
The highest ever hoped from life prolonged.
Few are the days, in which the friends of man,
With looks of fearful sorrow, when they meet,
Untimely and calamitous pronounce
His early death. On all the darkness thick,
Involving it at first, light shines anon,
With added glory; as when radiance bright,
After the sun's departure in deep gloom,
Suddenly shines on all the clouds of heaven,
And adds a splendour richer than of day.
The bliss ineffable, of them that bear,
With holy fortitude of heart, the ills
Of vile mortality, and rise beneath
The accumulated weight to higher deeds,
Then let the deepest in affliction lift
The drooping head, beneath the heaviest load,
And, fired with hope, run with unfaltering step
Their sublunary course. The woes of earth
May thicken, and severer grow, till death;
But that last pang, like the last paroxysm
Of some long painful dream, waking the soul
To life and transport, makes amends at once
For all past sufferings, in a moment all
Forgotten in that plenitude of joy.
And if so glorious be the end of faith,
In that good providence, minutely employed
On its possessor; faith in God's kind care
Of his great kingdom of victorious grace,
With what transcendent glory will it reach
Its consummation! Of this last reward
E'en now the frequent prelibation cheers
The saddened spirit, when events within
This rising kingdom, seeming for a while
Disastrous, turn to unexpected good,
In greatness and extent surpassing far
The threatened ill. The good man, eminent
In station and endowments, one to whom
The virtuous of whole nations look with joy
And expectation high, dies in the prime
Of active excellence; but soon, to calm
The general grief, and all distrust reprove,
140
And visibly to all, effects above
The highest ever hoped from life prolonged.
Few are the days, in which the friends of man,
With looks of fearful sorrow, when they meet,
Untimely and calamitous pronounce
His early death. On all the darkness thick,
Involving it at first, light shines anon,
With added glory; as when radiance bright,
After the sun's departure in deep gloom,
Suddenly shines on all the clouds of heaven,
And adds a splendour richer than of day.
In grand pre-eminence o'er every truth
Rises the goodness, pure and measureless,
Of that eternal Being, in whose hands
Are all things, at his sole disposal held,
And with a grasp that nothing can resist.
No matter what is truth, if this be not;
All is forever lost; despair like death
Reigns, and a horror of great darkness spreads,
O'er a lost universe. If this be truth,
No matter what is not; all, all is safe;
The living light of hope creation cheers.
This is enough for creatures of the dust
To know of their great Maker; of his will
And providence, in all their mysteries.
Let this suffice the wavering to confirm,
To hush the murmuring, and the sinking raise;
To drive from every breast rebellious thoughts
And sorrowful, and win the love supreme
Of every heart, the confidence entire;
And into each infuse divine delight,
Unmingled and unfailing as its source.
Sublimer consolation heaven has none
To give to mortals, no sublimer joy
For angels, than from the assurance flows,
That all is goodness in the government,
And in the character, of Him who reigns
Head over all things; that his holiness
Is but benevolence kindled to a flame,
Refining and consuming for like end,
His wisdom but the knowledge and the will
To make the height of happiness secure,
His justice a wall of fire about his throne
To guard it from defilement ruinous,
His truth the immutability of grace,
And his omnipotence the might of love.
Rises the goodness, pure and measureless,
Of that eternal Being, in whose hands
Are all things, at his sole disposal held,
And with a grasp that nothing can resist.
No matter what is truth, if this be not;
All is forever lost; despair like death
Reigns, and a horror of great darkness spreads,
O'er a lost universe. If this be truth,
No matter what is not; all, all is safe;
The living light of hope creation cheers.
This is enough for creatures of the dust
To know of their great Maker; of his will
And providence, in all their mysteries.
Let this suffice the wavering to confirm,
To hush the murmuring, and the sinking raise;
To drive from every breast rebellious thoughts
And sorrowful, and win the love supreme
Of every heart, the confidence entire;
And into each infuse divine delight,
Unmingled and unfailing as its source.
Sublimer consolation heaven has none
To give to mortals, no sublimer joy
For angels, than from the assurance flows,
That all is goodness in the government,
And in the character, of Him who reigns
Head over all things; that his holiness
141
Refining and consuming for like end,
His wisdom but the knowledge and the will
To make the height of happiness secure,
His justice a wall of fire about his throne
To guard it from defilement ruinous,
His truth the immutability of grace,
And his omnipotence the might of love.
Great is thy goodness, Father of all life,
Fount of all joy. Thou high and holy One,
Whom not thy glorious sanctuary, heaven,
Can e'er contain; Spirit invisible,
Whose omnipresence makes creation smile,
Great is thy goodness, worthy of all praise
From all thy works. Then let earth, air, and sea;
Nature, with every season in its turn;
The firmament, with its revolving fires;
And all things living; join to give thee praise.
Thou glorious sun, like thy Original,
A vital influence to surrounding worlds
Forever sending forth, yet always full;
And thou fair queen of night, o'er the pure sky,
Amid thy glittering company of stars,
Walking in brightness, praise the God above.
Ocean, forever rolling to and fro
In thy vast bed, o'er half the hollowed earth;
Grand theatre of wonders to all lands,
And reservoir of blessings, sound his praise.
Break forth into a shout of grateful joy,
Ye mountains, covered with perennial green,
And pouring crystal torrents down your sides;
Ye lofty forests, and ye humble groves;
Ye hills, and plains, and valleys, overspread
With flocks and harvests. All ye feathered tribes,
That, taught by your Creator, a safe retreat
Find in the dead of winter, or enjoy
Sweet summer all your days by changing clime,
Warble to him all your melodious notes;
To him, who clothes you with your gay attire,
And kindles in your fluttering breasts the glow
Of love parental. Beasts, that graze the fields,
Or roam the woods, give honour to the Power,
That makes you swift to flee, or strong to meet,
The coming foe; and rouses you to flight
In harmless mirth, or sooths to pleasant rest.
Shout to Jehovah with the voice of praise,
Ye nations, all ye continents and isles,
People of every tongue; ye that within
The verdant shade of palm and plantain sit,
Feasting on their cool fruit, on torrid plains;
And ye that in the midst of pine-clad hills,
In snowy regions, grateful vigour inhale
From every breeze. Ye, that inhabit lands,
Where science, liberty, and plenty dwell,
Worship Jehovah in exalted strains.
But ye, to whom redeeming mercy comes,
With present peace, and promises sublime
Of future crowns, and mansions in the skies,
Imperishable, raise the loudest song.
O, sing forever, with seraphic voice,
To Him, whose immortality is yours,
In the blest union of eternal love!
And join them, all ye winged hosts of heaven,
That in your Maker's glory take delight;
And ye, too, all ye bright inhabitants
Of starry worlds; and let the universe,
Above, below, around, be filled with praise.
Fount of all joy. Thou high and holy One,
Whom not thy glorious sanctuary, heaven,
Can e'er contain; Spirit invisible,
Whose omnipresence makes creation smile,
Great is thy goodness, worthy of all praise
From all thy works. Then let earth, air, and sea;
Nature, with every season in its turn;
The firmament, with its revolving fires;
And all things living; join to give thee praise.
Thou glorious sun, like thy Original,
A vital influence to surrounding worlds
Forever sending forth, yet always full;
And thou fair queen of night, o'er the pure sky,
Amid thy glittering company of stars,
Walking in brightness, praise the God above.
Ocean, forever rolling to and fro
In thy vast bed, o'er half the hollowed earth;
Grand theatre of wonders to all lands,
And reservoir of blessings, sound his praise.
Break forth into a shout of grateful joy,
Ye mountains, covered with perennial green,
And pouring crystal torrents down your sides;
Ye lofty forests, and ye humble groves;
Ye hills, and plains, and valleys, overspread
With flocks and harvests. All ye feathered tribes,
That, taught by your Creator, a safe retreat
Find in the dead of winter, or enjoy
Sweet summer all your days by changing clime,
Warble to him all your melodious notes;
To him, who clothes you with your gay attire,
And kindles in your fluttering breasts the glow
142
Or roam the woods, give honour to the Power,
That makes you swift to flee, or strong to meet,
The coming foe; and rouses you to flight
In harmless mirth, or sooths to pleasant rest.
Shout to Jehovah with the voice of praise,
Ye nations, all ye continents and isles,
People of every tongue; ye that within
The verdant shade of palm and plantain sit,
Feasting on their cool fruit, on torrid plains;
And ye that in the midst of pine-clad hills,
In snowy regions, grateful vigour inhale
From every breeze. Ye, that inhabit lands,
Where science, liberty, and plenty dwell,
Worship Jehovah in exalted strains.
But ye, to whom redeeming mercy comes,
With present peace, and promises sublime
Of future crowns, and mansions in the skies,
Imperishable, raise the loudest song.
O, sing forever, with seraphic voice,
To Him, whose immortality is yours,
In the blest union of eternal love!
And join them, all ye winged hosts of heaven,
That in your Maker's glory take delight;
And ye, too, all ye bright inhabitants
Of starry worlds; and let the universe,
Above, below, around, be filled with praise.
Though held thus long in contemplation sweet
On heaven's high King, I may not leave his court
Till I have marked the godlike myriads
Of bright intelligences, that attend
In state celestial, ranged in order round
His throne adoring; at his bidding fly,
Swiftly and silently as beams of light,
From world to world, to execute his will;
From their creation this their blest employ,
And theirs for an eternity to come.
Not from the need of their almighty Lord,
To propagate the impulse of his hand
Beyond its reach, serve they throughout his realm.
Nor is his service deemed a menial task;
'Tis their high privilege, their whole delight.
Were they disbanded, and employed no more,
Their hearts would pine as o'er departed bliss,
Their station forfeited, their glory lost.
On errand sent of love or righteous wrath,
They oft appeared on earth, from that sad hour
When cherubs stood to guard, with sword of flame,
Fair paradise and its live-giving tree
From all access of banished ruined man,
To that most memorable day, when heaven
Sent down the flower of her exulting hosts,
To celebrate his birth in Bethlehem born.
Him they acknowledged as their Sovereign still,
Though clad in flesh, and to his human wants
Administered while in the lonely wild,
Strengthened his mortal frame when in the shades
Of sad Gethsemane it almost sunk,
Borne down by that insufferable load
Of a world's guilt; and legions, hovering near,
Gazing with trembling wonder, waited leave
To screen from danger his devoted head,
And pour contempt and ruin on his foes.
In shining garments mighty angels came,
To ope the tomb, and hail their rising Lord;
And came again—let gently down to earth
The golden cloud that bore him up the sky,
And them who gazed of his last coming warned.
That coming all his angels shall attend,
The trump to sound, and gather his elect
From the four winds, ere his avenging wrath
Come on the world, and bury it in flames.
Meanwhile they minister to saints below,
The tempted to deliver, and to guide
The wandering; hope to whisper to the sad,
And to the dying peace. Round the death bed
They take their stand, with wings invisible
And noiseless fan upon the burning brow
The cooling air, and light the lifted eye
With glimpses of celestial glory bright.
They wait, with arms extended, to receive
The liberated spirit, and up to climes
Of immortality, their happy home,
Bear it with the rapidity of thought.
Benevolence reigns a passion in their breasts,
While in the presence of their King they stand,
Begirt to fly the moment when he bids.
It spreads their pinions, quickens, and supports,
And guides them far and wide, on every wind,
Downward, and upward, and along the earth
From land to land, wherever virtue dwells.
Listening delighted, in assemblies, met
To join entreaties for the coming quick
Of the great kingdom of redeeming love,
They mingle; and in those of every name,
Combined its promised welfare to promote.
They cheer with glad attendance them that go,
Life to the dying nations to proclaim;
And with the tidings of each penitent
Hasten to heaven, to give new rapture there.
And if o'er one regenerated soul
They all rejoice, what shouts of joy, increased
A thousand fold, shall burst from glowing lips,
Ring round and round the everlasting hills,
From choir to choir repeated long and loud,
And swell the whole grand chorus of the skies,
When in one day a nation shall be born!
A Gabriel's now is every humbler harp,
And his attuned to notes unheard before.
If angels bear a beggar to the skies,
If they have borne home solitary saints,
Amidst unholy millions well nigh lost,
How will the air and heavens be all alive,
With motion swifter than the lightning flash,
From their ascending and descending bands,
Meeting, and intermingling, night and day,
When from each shore, and island of the sea,
And mount, and vale, around the populous globe,
Spirits regenerate shall depart each hour,
In all a countless throng! From heaven to earth
Pass and repass bright angels, in a train
So constant, and so thick, they lighten up
Another galaxy along the sky,
A radiant pathway o'er the starry realm
To realms of bliss. Behold the saints ascend,
No longer one by one, and far apart;
They go in companies, they fly like clouds
Of sunny whiteness, on a vernal day,
Hurrying in thick succession o'er the heavens;
In one continual multitude they rise.
Oft hovering for a moment, on their way,
To clap their pinions with triumphant joy,
Angels attend them; angels, too, on watch,
Look from the garnished battlements of heaven,
Their coming to proclaim, soon as beheld,
Far down, a living constellation, fast
Ascending, widening, brightening, shedding light
On the dim orbs that roll around its path.
Their city's twelve transparent gates of pearl,
Till this glad day all barred save one alone,
Angels with joyful haste throw open wide,
To let whole armies in; and angels pour
From each, to greet them, with endearing words,
And smiles benignant; and through dazzling ranks,
Into the centre of their blest abode,
Before that face whose glory is their sun,
Conduct them, all, with tuneful voices loud,
And the sweet symphony of golden harps,
Uniting in hosannas to the Lamb.
On heaven's high King, I may not leave his court
Till I have marked the godlike myriads
Of bright intelligences, that attend
In state celestial, ranged in order round
His throne adoring; at his bidding fly,
Swiftly and silently as beams of light,
From world to world, to execute his will;
From their creation this their blest employ,
And theirs for an eternity to come.
Not from the need of their almighty Lord,
To propagate the impulse of his hand
Beyond its reach, serve they throughout his realm.
143
'Tis their high privilege, their whole delight.
Were they disbanded, and employed no more,
Their hearts would pine as o'er departed bliss,
Their station forfeited, their glory lost.
On errand sent of love or righteous wrath,
They oft appeared on earth, from that sad hour
When cherubs stood to guard, with sword of flame,
Fair paradise and its live-giving tree
From all access of banished ruined man,
To that most memorable day, when heaven
Sent down the flower of her exulting hosts,
To celebrate his birth in Bethlehem born.
Him they acknowledged as their Sovereign still,
Though clad in flesh, and to his human wants
Administered while in the lonely wild,
Strengthened his mortal frame when in the shades
Of sad Gethsemane it almost sunk,
Borne down by that insufferable load
Of a world's guilt; and legions, hovering near,
Gazing with trembling wonder, waited leave
To screen from danger his devoted head,
And pour contempt and ruin on his foes.
In shining garments mighty angels came,
To ope the tomb, and hail their rising Lord;
And came again—let gently down to earth
The golden cloud that bore him up the sky,
And them who gazed of his last coming warned.
That coming all his angels shall attend,
The trump to sound, and gather his elect
From the four winds, ere his avenging wrath
Come on the world, and bury it in flames.
Meanwhile they minister to saints below,
The tempted to deliver, and to guide
The wandering; hope to whisper to the sad,
And to the dying peace. Round the death bed
They take their stand, with wings invisible
And noiseless fan upon the burning brow
The cooling air, and light the lifted eye
With glimpses of celestial glory bright.
144
The liberated spirit, and up to climes
Of immortality, their happy home,
Bear it with the rapidity of thought.
Benevolence reigns a passion in their breasts,
While in the presence of their King they stand,
Begirt to fly the moment when he bids.
It spreads their pinions, quickens, and supports,
And guides them far and wide, on every wind,
Downward, and upward, and along the earth
From land to land, wherever virtue dwells.
Listening delighted, in assemblies, met
To join entreaties for the coming quick
Of the great kingdom of redeeming love,
They mingle; and in those of every name,
Combined its promised welfare to promote.
They cheer with glad attendance them that go,
Life to the dying nations to proclaim;
And with the tidings of each penitent
Hasten to heaven, to give new rapture there.
And if o'er one regenerated soul
They all rejoice, what shouts of joy, increased
A thousand fold, shall burst from glowing lips,
Ring round and round the everlasting hills,
From choir to choir repeated long and loud,
And swell the whole grand chorus of the skies,
When in one day a nation shall be born!
A Gabriel's now is every humbler harp,
And his attuned to notes unheard before.
If angels bear a beggar to the skies,
If they have borne home solitary saints,
Amidst unholy millions well nigh lost,
How will the air and heavens be all alive,
With motion swifter than the lightning flash,
From their ascending and descending bands,
Meeting, and intermingling, night and day,
When from each shore, and island of the sea,
And mount, and vale, around the populous globe,
Spirits regenerate shall depart each hour,
In all a countless throng! From heaven to earth
145
So constant, and so thick, they lighten up
Another galaxy along the sky,
A radiant pathway o'er the starry realm
To realms of bliss. Behold the saints ascend,
No longer one by one, and far apart;
They go in companies, they fly like clouds
Of sunny whiteness, on a vernal day,
Hurrying in thick succession o'er the heavens;
In one continual multitude they rise.
Oft hovering for a moment, on their way,
To clap their pinions with triumphant joy,
Angels attend them; angels, too, on watch,
Look from the garnished battlements of heaven,
Their coming to proclaim, soon as beheld,
Far down, a living constellation, fast
Ascending, widening, brightening, shedding light
On the dim orbs that roll around its path.
Their city's twelve transparent gates of pearl,
Till this glad day all barred save one alone,
Angels with joyful haste throw open wide,
To let whole armies in; and angels pour
From each, to greet them, with endearing words,
And smiles benignant; and through dazzling ranks,
Into the centre of their blest abode,
Before that face whose glory is their sun,
Conduct them, all, with tuneful voices loud,
And the sweet symphony of golden harps,
Uniting in hosannas to the Lamb.
While thus with all the native sons of heaven,
In their adoring acclamations, join
Those ransomed from the earth, they feel the fire
Of their benevolence, in its purity,
Burning within, enkindling joy like theirs,
And prompting to like action. Yes, the love
Of giving and beholding happiness,
First wakened in their hearts amid the sins,
The griefs, and frailties, of mortality,
When these remain no more to chill its zeal,
Shall live, the bosom's sole inhabitant;
There reign, and to angelic fervour rise.
Love is the only amaranthine flower,
In this inclement world, this land of death.
While faith and hope, are blasted in the grave,
The wintry grave, with other flowers of time,
Thou, sacred charity, shalt still survive,
And in a soil and clime, where all is life,
Shalt grow, and flourish, in eternal spring,
And with unwasting sweetness fill the groves
And vales of paradise. There all is love,
In every happy breast, through every rank,
E'en to the humblest; love without a taint
Of hidden selfishness, without a drop
Of bitterness, from fear, or hope deferred.
None pine with jealousy, at sight of bliss
Their own transcending. To behold a crown
Of fairer light than theirs, or hear a harp
More tuneful, wakens discontent in none,
But livelier joy. The happiness of each
Is ever that of all. Love makes the heaven
Of every bosom; gives to every face
Its winning beauty, to the cheek its bloom
Unfading, to the lips their living glow,
Its pure etherial lustre to the eye,
And to the whole its everlasting smile.
On all the multitudes, spread o'er the plains
Of immortality, from his high throne
The God of love, through the transparent cloud
Of glory round him, casts a fixed look
Of calm complacence, in their union sweet
Rejoicing, in their charity sublime,
In their consummate likeness to himself.
In their adoring acclamations, join
Those ransomed from the earth, they feel the fire
Of their benevolence, in its purity,
Burning within, enkindling joy like theirs,
And prompting to like action. Yes, the love
Of giving and beholding happiness,
First wakened in their hearts amid the sins,
The griefs, and frailties, of mortality,
When these remain no more to chill its zeal,
146
There reign, and to angelic fervour rise.
Love is the only amaranthine flower,
In this inclement world, this land of death.
While faith and hope, are blasted in the grave,
The wintry grave, with other flowers of time,
Thou, sacred charity, shalt still survive,
And in a soil and clime, where all is life,
Shalt grow, and flourish, in eternal spring,
And with unwasting sweetness fill the groves
And vales of paradise. There all is love,
In every happy breast, through every rank,
E'en to the humblest; love without a taint
Of hidden selfishness, without a drop
Of bitterness, from fear, or hope deferred.
None pine with jealousy, at sight of bliss
Their own transcending. To behold a crown
Of fairer light than theirs, or hear a harp
More tuneful, wakens discontent in none,
But livelier joy. The happiness of each
Is ever that of all. Love makes the heaven
Of every bosom; gives to every face
Its winning beauty, to the cheek its bloom
Unfading, to the lips their living glow,
Its pure etherial lustre to the eye,
And to the whole its everlasting smile.
On all the multitudes, spread o'er the plains
Of immortality, from his high throne
The God of love, through the transparent cloud
Of glory round him, casts a fixed look
Of calm complacence, in their union sweet
Rejoicing, in their charity sublime,
In their consummate likeness to himself.
END OF BOOK I.
147
EXTRACTS FROM BOOK II.
Descending to this sublunary orb,
From the third heaven th' empyreal realm of love,
Its native element, (sublimely pure,
And all pervading) how am I thrown,
As from the glowing centre of the sun,
Down to earth's frozen and benighted pole.
From the third heaven th' empyreal realm of love,
Its native element, (sublimely pure,
And all pervading) how am I thrown,
As from the glowing centre of the sun,
Down to earth's frozen and benighted pole.
Will no kind visitant from heaven, reveal
By what unerring sign apostate man
May know himself preparing to regain
Lost paradise, its innocence and bliss?
Tis nothing less than that same image lost,
Effaced by sin, new stamp'd upon the soul.
What else, but God's own likeness, could prepare
Angel or man, his presence to enjoy?
What, but the temper of the heavenly world
Could fit a being to be happy there?
This temper and that likeness meet in love.
Love is the watch-word at the gate of heav'n.
Religion comes to mortals richly fraught
With this celestial grace, and scatters round
Its heav'n-born fragrance in this distant soil,
As spices, when exposed in foreign climes,
Breathe out the native odours of their own.
By what unerring sign apostate man
May know himself preparing to regain
Lost paradise, its innocence and bliss?
Tis nothing less than that same image lost,
Effaced by sin, new stamp'd upon the soul.
What else, but God's own likeness, could prepare
Angel or man, his presence to enjoy?
What, but the temper of the heavenly world
Could fit a being to be happy there?
This temper and that likeness meet in love.
Love is the watch-word at the gate of heav'n.
Religion comes to mortals richly fraught
With this celestial grace, and scatters round
Its heav'n-born fragrance in this distant soil,
As spices, when exposed in foreign climes,
Breathe out the native odours of their own.
148
Time well employ'd is Satan's deadliest foe:
It leaves no opening for the lurking fiend:
Life it imparts to watchfulness and prayer,
Statues, without it in the form of guards.
It leaves no opening for the lurking fiend:
Life it imparts to watchfulness and prayer,
Statues, without it in the form of guards.
The closet which the saint devotes to prayer,
Is not his temple only, but his tower,
Whither he runs for refuge, when attack'd,
His armory, to which he soon retreats
When danger warns, his weapons to select,
And fit them on. He dares not stop to plead
When taken by surprise and half o'ercome,
That now to venture near the hallow'd place
Were but profane; a plea that marks a soul
Glad to impose on conscience with a show
Of humble veneration, to secure
Present indulgence, which, when once enjoy'd,
It means to mourn with floods of bitter tears.
Is not his temple only, but his tower,
Whither he runs for refuge, when attack'd,
His armory, to which he soon retreats
When danger warns, his weapons to select,
And fit them on. He dares not stop to plead
When taken by surprise and half o'ercome,
That now to venture near the hallow'd place
Were but profane; a plea that marks a soul
Glad to impose on conscience with a show
Of humble veneration, to secure
Present indulgence, which, when once enjoy'd,
It means to mourn with floods of bitter tears.
The tempter quits his vain pursuit and flies,
When by the mounting suppliant drawn too near
The upper world of purity and light.
He loses sight of his intended prey,
In that effulgence beaming from the throne
Radiant with mercy. But devotion fails
To succour and preserve the tempted soul,
Whose time and talents rest or run to waste.
Ne'er will the incense of the morn diffuse
A salutary savour through the day,
With charities and duties not well filled.
These form the links of an electric chain
That join the orisons of morn and eve,
And propagate through all its several parts,
While kept continuous, the etherial fire;
But if a break be found the fire is spent.
When by the mounting suppliant drawn too near
The upper world of purity and light.
He loses sight of his intended prey,
In that effulgence beaming from the throne
Radiant with mercy. But devotion fails
To succour and preserve the tempted soul,
Whose time and talents rest or run to waste.
Ne'er will the incense of the morn diffuse
A salutary savour through the day,
With charities and duties not well filled.
These form the links of an electric chain
That join the orisons of morn and eve,
And propagate through all its several parts,
While kept continuous, the etherial fire;
But if a break be found the fire is spent.
Too long I've wandered, though by truth led on;
But still the strong enchantment which unmans
The pensive lovers of the calm sublime,
And which, unbroke, upon the lap of ease
Lays them to sleep, wrapt up in selfish gloom
Unmindful of the claims of social life,
Demands regard, ere yet I quite return.
But still the strong enchantment which unmans
149
And which, unbroke, upon the lap of ease
Lays them to sleep, wrapt up in selfish gloom
Unmindful of the claims of social life,
Demands regard, ere yet I quite return.
How rich in scenes that nurse in pensive souls
A tenderness voluptuously soft,
Till grown to indolent and morbid gloom,
Fatal to active usefulness, to peace with heaven,
Is nature's varied field. A mind in love
With mournful musing, never turns in vain
To nature for some dear congenial scene;
But scenes there are, so fraught with soothing power,
They woo the pensive mind when unemployed.
A tenderness voluptuously soft,
Till grown to indolent and morbid gloom,
Fatal to active usefulness, to peace with heaven,
Is nature's varied field. A mind in love
With mournful musing, never turns in vain
To nature for some dear congenial scene;
But scenes there are, so fraught with soothing power,
They woo the pensive mind when unemployed.
A sultry noon, not in the summer's prime
When all is fresh with life, and youth, and bloom,
But near its close when vegetation stops,
And fruits mature, stand ripening in the sun,
Sooths and enervates with its thousand charms,
Its images of silence and of rest,
The melancholy mind. The fields are still;
The husbandman has gone to his repast,
And, that partaken, on the coolest side
Of his abode, reclines, in sweet repose.
Deep in the shaded stream the cattle stand,
The flocks beside the fence, with heads all prone
And panting quick. The fields for harvest ripe,
No breezes bend in smooth and graceful waves,
While with their motion, dim and bright by turns,
The sun-shine seems to move; nor e'en a breath
Brushes along the surface with a shade,
Fleeting and thin, like that of flying smoke.
The slender stalks, their heavy bended heads
Support as motionless, as oaks their tops.
O'er all the woods the top-most leaves are still,
E'en the wild poplar leaves, that, pendant hung
By stems elastic, quiver at a breath,
Rest in the general calm. The thistle down
Seen high and thick, by gazing up beside
Some shading object, in a silver shower
Plumb down, and slower than the slowest snow,
Through all the sleepy atmosphere descends;
And where it lights, though on the steepest roof,
Or smallest spire of grass, remains unmoved.
White as a fleece, as dense and as distinct
From the resplendent sky, a single cloud
On the soft bosom of the air becalmed,
Drops a lone shadow as distinct and still,
On the bare plain, or sunny mountain's side;
Or in the polished mirror of the lake,
In which the deep reflected sky appears
A calm sublime immensity below.
When all is fresh with life, and youth, and bloom,
But near its close when vegetation stops,
And fruits mature, stand ripening in the sun,
Sooths and enervates with its thousand charms,
Its images of silence and of rest,
The melancholy mind. The fields are still;
The husbandman has gone to his repast,
And, that partaken, on the coolest side
Of his abode, reclines, in sweet repose.
Deep in the shaded stream the cattle stand,
The flocks beside the fence, with heads all prone
And panting quick. The fields for harvest ripe,
No breezes bend in smooth and graceful waves,
While with their motion, dim and bright by turns,
The sun-shine seems to move; nor e'en a breath
Brushes along the surface with a shade,
Fleeting and thin, like that of flying smoke.
The slender stalks, their heavy bended heads
Support as motionless, as oaks their tops.
O'er all the woods the top-most leaves are still,
E'en the wild poplar leaves, that, pendant hung
By stems elastic, quiver at a breath,
Rest in the general calm. The thistle down
150
Some shading object, in a silver shower
Plumb down, and slower than the slowest snow,
Through all the sleepy atmosphere descends;
And where it lights, though on the steepest roof,
Or smallest spire of grass, remains unmoved.
White as a fleece, as dense and as distinct
From the resplendent sky, a single cloud
On the soft bosom of the air becalmed,
Drops a lone shadow as distinct and still,
On the bare plain, or sunny mountain's side;
Or in the polished mirror of the lake,
In which the deep reflected sky appears
A calm sublime immensity below.
Beneath a sun
That crowns the centre of the azure cope,
A blaze of light intense o'erspreads the whole
Of nature's face; and he that overlooks,
From some proud eminence, the champaign round,
Notes all the buildings, scattered far and near,
Both great and small, magnificent and mean,
By their smooth roofs of shining silver white,
Spangling with brighter spots the bright expanse.
No sound, nor motion, of a living thing
The stillness breaks, but such as serve to soothe
Or cause the soul to feel the stillness more.
The yellow-hammer by the way-side picks,
Mutely, the thistle's seed; but in her flight,
So smoothly serpentine, her wings outspread
To rise a little, closed to fall as far,
Moving like sea-fowl o'er the heaving waves,
With each new impulse chimes a feeble note.
The russet grasshopper, at times, is heard,
Snapping his many wings, as half he flies,
Half hovers in the air. Where strikes the sun
With sultriest beams, upon the sandy plain,
Or stony mount, or in the close deep vale,
The harmless locust of this western clime,
At intervals, amid the leaves unseen,
Is heard to sing with one unbroken sound,
As with a long-drawn breath, beginning low,
And rising to the midst with shriller swell,
Then in low cadence dying all away.
Beside the stream collected in a flock,
The noiseless butterflies, though on the ground,
Continue still to wave their open fans
Powder'd with gold; while on the jutting twigs
The spindling insects that frequent the banks,
Rest, with their thin transparent wings outspread
As when they fly. Oft times, though seldom seen,
The cuckoo, that in summer haunts our groves,
Is heard to moan, as if at every breath
Panting aloud. The hawk in mid-air high,
On his broad pinions sailing round and round,
With not a flutter, or but now and then,
As if his trembling balance to regain,
Utters a single scream but faintly heard,
And all again is still. The cooling shade
The listless rambler seeks, perhaps beside
Sad willows planted round the garden pool,
Whose slender leaves and long untapering limbs
Hanging plumb down with gracefulness,
Drip with a constant shower of scattered drops
Hung from the spouting column in the midst;
Or in the forest by the clear cold rill,
That falls in short cascades as by thick steps
Down the long steep, mid slaty stones o'ergrown
With fresh green moss, beneath the umbrage dark
Of pine and fir: while oozing from the rocks
Trickle cold springs, and on the banks, the cups
Of flowers unsunned, day after day, retain
The rain of heaven. Here musing he reclines,
Cooled by the freshness, by the murmurs lulled,
And softly saddened by the verdant gloom.
That crowns the centre of the azure cope,
A blaze of light intense o'erspreads the whole
Of nature's face; and he that overlooks,
From some proud eminence, the champaign round,
Notes all the buildings, scattered far and near,
Both great and small, magnificent and mean,
By their smooth roofs of shining silver white,
Spangling with brighter spots the bright expanse.
No sound, nor motion, of a living thing
The stillness breaks, but such as serve to soothe
Or cause the soul to feel the stillness more.
The yellow-hammer by the way-side picks,
Mutely, the thistle's seed; but in her flight,
So smoothly serpentine, her wings outspread
To rise a little, closed to fall as far,
Moving like sea-fowl o'er the heaving waves,
With each new impulse chimes a feeble note.
The russet grasshopper, at times, is heard,
Snapping his many wings, as half he flies,
Half hovers in the air. Where strikes the sun
With sultriest beams, upon the sandy plain,
Or stony mount, or in the close deep vale,
151
At intervals, amid the leaves unseen,
Is heard to sing with one unbroken sound,
As with a long-drawn breath, beginning low,
And rising to the midst with shriller swell,
Then in low cadence dying all away.
Beside the stream collected in a flock,
The noiseless butterflies, though on the ground,
Continue still to wave their open fans
Powder'd with gold; while on the jutting twigs
The spindling insects that frequent the banks,
Rest, with their thin transparent wings outspread
As when they fly. Oft times, though seldom seen,
The cuckoo, that in summer haunts our groves,
Is heard to moan, as if at every breath
Panting aloud. The hawk in mid-air high,
On his broad pinions sailing round and round,
With not a flutter, or but now and then,
As if his trembling balance to regain,
Utters a single scream but faintly heard,
And all again is still. The cooling shade
The listless rambler seeks, perhaps beside
Sad willows planted round the garden pool,
Whose slender leaves and long untapering limbs
Hanging plumb down with gracefulness,
Drip with a constant shower of scattered drops
Hung from the spouting column in the midst;
Or in the forest by the clear cold rill,
That falls in short cascades as by thick steps
Down the long steep, mid slaty stones o'ergrown
With fresh green moss, beneath the umbrage dark
Of pine and fir: while oozing from the rocks
Trickle cold springs, and on the banks, the cups
Of flowers unsunned, day after day, retain
The rain of heaven. Here musing he reclines,
Cooled by the freshness, by the murmurs lulled,
And softly saddened by the verdant gloom.
At evening in the unfrequented door,
Fronting the west, he takes his wonted stand,
Leaning against the post with folded arms;
Or at his chamber window, open thrown,
He seats himself, his forehead bared to meet
Each cooling breeze, his elbow on the sill,
And his bare temple resting on his palm.
He looks abroad and much he finds to please
A soul depressed and sink it lower still.
The meadows are no longer spangled bright
As ere mid-summer, with the nightly swarms
Of fireflies thick, whose intermittent sparks
Direct the hands of childhood, following close
To catch them as they climb the blades of grass,
Or flit along the air. Now other swarms
Of various insects in the grass unseen,
Sooth with a dull monotony of sounds;
Some shriller than the rest in minute strains
Trilling alone; and some without a stop
All night prolonged in feeble plaintive tones
Continuous as the throbbings of the pulse
And similar as they. Far off and low in
The horizon, from a sultry cloud
Where sleeps in embryo the mid-night storm,
The silent lightning gleams in fitful sheets,
Illumes the solid mass, revealing thus
Its darker fragments, and its ragged verge;
Or if the bolder fancy so conceive
Of its fantastic forms, revealing thus
Its gloomy caverns, rugged sides and tops
With beetling cliffs grotesque. But not so bright
The distant flashes gleam as to efface
The window's image on the floor impressed,
By the dim crescent; or outshines the light
Cast from the room upon the trees hard by,
If haply to illume a moonless night
The lighted taper shine; though lit in vain
To waste away unused, and from abroad
Distinctly through the open window seen
Lone, pale, and still as a sepulchral lamp.
152
Leaning against the post with folded arms;
Or at his chamber window, open thrown,
He seats himself, his forehead bared to meet
Each cooling breeze, his elbow on the sill,
And his bare temple resting on his palm.
He looks abroad and much he finds to please
A soul depressed and sink it lower still.
The meadows are no longer spangled bright
As ere mid-summer, with the nightly swarms
Of fireflies thick, whose intermittent sparks
Direct the hands of childhood, following close
To catch them as they climb the blades of grass,
Or flit along the air. Now other swarms
Of various insects in the grass unseen,
Sooth with a dull monotony of sounds;
Some shriller than the rest in minute strains
Trilling alone; and some without a stop
All night prolonged in feeble plaintive tones
Continuous as the throbbings of the pulse
And similar as they. Far off and low in
The horizon, from a sultry cloud
Where sleeps in embryo the mid-night storm,
The silent lightning gleams in fitful sheets,
Illumes the solid mass, revealing thus
Its darker fragments, and its ragged verge;
Or if the bolder fancy so conceive
Of its fantastic forms, revealing thus
Its gloomy caverns, rugged sides and tops
With beetling cliffs grotesque. But not so bright
The distant flashes gleam as to efface
The window's image on the floor impressed,
By the dim crescent; or outshines the light
Cast from the room upon the trees hard by,
If haply to illume a moonless night
The lighted taper shine; though lit in vain
To waste away unused, and from abroad
Distinctly through the open window seen
153
The sultry summer past, September comes,
Soft twilight of the slow-declining year.
All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace;
The fading season ere the falling come,
More sober than the buxom blooming May,
And therefore less the favorite of the world,
But dearest month of all to pensive minds.
Tis now far spent; and the meridian sun
Most sweetly smiling with attempered beams
Sheds gently down a mild and grateful warmth.
Beneath its yellow lustre groves and woods
Checkered by one night's frost with various hues,
While yet no wind has swept a leaf away,
Shine doubly rich. It were a sad delight
Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tinged
Upon each brink with all the gorgeous hues,
The yellow, red, or purple of the trees
That singly or in tufts or forests thick
Adorn the shores; to see perhaps the side
Of some high mount reflected far below
With its bright colours, intermixed with spots
Of darker green. Yes it were sweetly sad
To wander in the open fields and hear
E'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past,
The lulling insects of the summer's night;
To hear, where lately buzzing swarms were heard,
A lonely bee long roving here and there
To find a single flower, but all in vain;
Then rising quick and with a louder hum,
In widening circles round and round his head,
Straight by the listener flying clear away,
As if to bid the fields a last adieu;
To hear within the woodland's sunny side,
Late fall of music, nothing save perhaps
The sound of nut-shells by the squirrel dropt
From some tall beech fast falling through the leaves.
Soft twilight of the slow-declining year.
All mildness, soothing loneliness and peace;
The fading season ere the falling come,
More sober than the buxom blooming May,
And therefore less the favorite of the world,
But dearest month of all to pensive minds.
Tis now far spent; and the meridian sun
Most sweetly smiling with attempered beams
Sheds gently down a mild and grateful warmth.
Beneath its yellow lustre groves and woods
Checkered by one night's frost with various hues,
While yet no wind has swept a leaf away,
Shine doubly rich. It were a sad delight
Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tinged
Upon each brink with all the gorgeous hues,
The yellow, red, or purple of the trees
That singly or in tufts or forests thick
Adorn the shores; to see perhaps the side
Of some high mount reflected far below
With its bright colours, intermixed with spots
Of darker green. Yes it were sweetly sad
To wander in the open fields and hear
E'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past,
The lulling insects of the summer's night;
To hear, where lately buzzing swarms were heard,
A lonely bee long roving here and there
To find a single flower, but all in vain;
Then rising quick and with a louder hum,
In widening circles round and round his head,
Straight by the listener flying clear away,
As if to bid the fields a last adieu;
To hear within the woodland's sunny side,
Late fall of music, nothing save perhaps
The sound of nut-shells by the squirrel dropt
From some tall beech fast falling through the leaves.
154
The sun now rests upon the mountain tops;
Begins to sink behind—is half concealed,
And now is gone: the last faint twinkling beam
Is cut in twain by the sharp rising ridge.
Sweet to the pensive is departing day
When only one small cloud so still and thin,
So thoroughly imbued with amber light,
And so transparent, that it seems a spot
Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount
Hangs o'er the hidden orb; or where a few
Long narrow stripes of denser, darker grain,
At each end sharpened to a needle's point
With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth
And sometimes crinkling like the lightning stream,
A half hour's space above the mountain lie;
Or when the whole consolidated mass
That only threatened rain, is broken up
Into a thousand parts, and yet is one,
One as the ocean broken into waves;
And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep
The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces dyed
Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark,
As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote,
All fading soon as lower sinks the sun,
Till twilight end. But now another scene
To me most beautiful of all appears;
The sky without the shadow of a cloud
Throughout the west, is kindled to a glow
So bright and broad, it glares upon the eye,
Not dazzling but dilating with calm force
Its power of vision to admit the whole.
Below, 'tis all of richest orange dye,
Midway the blushing of the mellow peach
Paints not but tinges the etherial deep;
And here in this most lovely region shines
With added loveliness, the evening-star.
Above, the fainter purple slowly fades
Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven.
Begins to sink behind—is half concealed,
And now is gone: the last faint twinkling beam
Is cut in twain by the sharp rising ridge.
Sweet to the pensive is departing day
When only one small cloud so still and thin,
So thoroughly imbued with amber light,
And so transparent, that it seems a spot
Of brighter sky, beyond the farthest mount
Hangs o'er the hidden orb; or where a few
Long narrow stripes of denser, darker grain,
At each end sharpened to a needle's point
With golden borders, sometimes straight and smooth
And sometimes crinkling like the lightning stream,
A half hour's space above the mountain lie;
Or when the whole consolidated mass
That only threatened rain, is broken up
Into a thousand parts, and yet is one,
One as the ocean broken into waves;
And all its spongy parts, imbibing deep
The moist effulgence, seem like fleeces dyed
Deep scarlet, saffron light, or crimson dark,
As they are thick or thin, or near or more remote,
All fading soon as lower sinks the sun,
Till twilight end. But now another scene
To me most beautiful of all appears;
The sky without the shadow of a cloud
Throughout the west, is kindled to a glow
So bright and broad, it glares upon the eye,
Not dazzling but dilating with calm force
Its power of vision to admit the whole.
Below, 'tis all of richest orange dye,
Midway the blushing of the mellow peach
Paints not but tinges the etherial deep;
And here in this most lovely region shines
With added loveliness, the evening-star.
Above, the fainter purple slowly fades
Till changed into the azure of mid-heaven.
155
Along the level ridge o'er which the sun
Descended, in a single row arranged
As if thus planted by the hand of art,
Majestic pines shoot up into the sky,
And in its fluid gold seem half dissolved.
Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands
With shafts erect and tops converged to one
A stately colonade with verdant roof;
Upon a nearer still, a single tree
With shapely form looks beautiful alone,
While farther northward through a narrow pass
Scooped in the hither range, a single mount
Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems,
And of a softer more etherial blue,
A pyramid of polished sapphire built.
Descended, in a single row arranged
As if thus planted by the hand of art,
Majestic pines shoot up into the sky,
And in its fluid gold seem half dissolved.
Upon a nearer peak, a cluster stands
With shafts erect and tops converged to one
A stately colonade with verdant roof;
Upon a nearer still, a single tree
With shapely form looks beautiful alone,
While farther northward through a narrow pass
Scooped in the hither range, a single mount
Beyond the rest, of finer smoothness seems,
And of a softer more etherial blue,
A pyramid of polished sapphire built.
But now the twilight mingles into one
The various mountains; levels to a plain
This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade,
Where every object to my sight presents
Its shaded side; while here upon these walls
And in that eastern wood upon the trunks
Under thick foliage, reflective shows
Its yellow lustre. How distinct the line
Of the horizon parting heaven and earth.
The various mountains; levels to a plain
This nearer, lower landscape, dark with shade,
Where every object to my sight presents
Its shaded side; while here upon these walls
And in that eastern wood upon the trunks
Under thick foliage, reflective shows
Its yellow lustre. How distinct the line
Of the horizon parting heaven and earth.
In such a night, 'twould sadden mirth to hear
The lulling sound of distant waterfalls
By intervening hills so broke and spread
That whence it comes the ear no more discerns,
Seeming diffused alike on every side,
A gentle murmur filling all the air;
As if all nature charg'd with life intense,
Breathed softly in one universal sigh,
The thrilling tones of an Eolian harp
In such a night would half entrance the sad,
Its deep vibrations, shook from chords that quake
As with the touch of quiv'ring fingers hid
From mortal sight, would sink into the soul
And half persuade fond fancy that the hand
Of some departed sympathizing friend
Dearly beloved and deeply mourned, was there.
The lulling sound of distant waterfalls
By intervening hills so broke and spread
That whence it comes the ear no more discerns,
Seeming diffused alike on every side,
A gentle murmur filling all the air;
As if all nature charg'd with life intense,
Breathed softly in one universal sigh,
The thrilling tones of an Eolian harp
In such a night would half entrance the sad,
Its deep vibrations, shook from chords that quake
156
From mortal sight, would sink into the soul
And half persuade fond fancy that the hand
Of some departed sympathizing friend
Dearly beloved and deeply mourned, was there.
Now drowned in sweet repose are man and beast,
While swift and silent as on angel's wings
Time by them flies. [OMITTED]
While swift and silent as on angel's wings
Time by them flies. [OMITTED]
'Tis midnight: o'er the marshy meadows rest
Damp vapours thin and pale; while overhead
Hangs far aloft beneath the firmament,
And just beneath, a cloudy canopy,
Milk-white and curdled in thick spots, oft called
The seeds of coming rain, but to the eye
Of fancy seeming like a flock of swans
In mid-air hovering still. All nature sleeps
Beneath a tranquillizing shower of light.
O what a night for grief to watch and weep.
I seem alone 'mid universal death,Damp vapours thin and pale; while overhead
Hangs far aloft beneath the firmament,
And just beneath, a cloudy canopy,
Milk-white and curdled in thick spots, oft called
The seeds of coming rain, but to the eye
Of fancy seeming like a flock of swans
In mid-air hovering still. All nature sleeps
Beneath a tranquillizing shower of light.
O what a night for grief to watch and weep.
Lone as a single sail upon the sea,
Lone as a wounded swan, that leaves the flock
To heal in secret or to bleed and die.
'Tis morn once more, and morning with my song.
The muse awakes from her long nightly dream,
And summons truth to interpret it by day.
If she divine aright, to such as seek
For solitude and peace in scenes like these,
A mild delirium to enjoy secure
And nurse a tender gloom, it bodes no good,
But useless life and miserable age.
157
EXTRACTS FROM BOOK III.
Who scorn the hallowed day, set heaven at naught.Heav'n would wear out whom one short sabbath tires.
Emblem and earnest of eternal rest,
A festival with fruits celestial crown'd,
A jubilee releasing him from earth,
The day delights and animates the saint.
It gives new vigour to the languid pulse
Of life divine; restores the wandering feet,
Strengthens the weak, upholds the prone to slip,
Quickens the lingering, and the sinking lifts,
Establishing them all upon a rock.
Sabbaths, like way-marks, cheer the pilgrim's path,
His progress mark, and keep his rest in view.
In life's bleak winter they are pleasant days,
Short foretastes of the long, long spring to come.
To every new-born soul, each hallowed morn
Seems like the first when every thing was new.
Time seems an angel come afresh from heav'n,
His pinions shedding fragrance as he flies,
And his bright hour-glass running sands of gold.
In every thing a smiling God is seen.
On earth his beauty blooms, and in the sun
His glory shines. In objects overlooked
On other days he now arrests the eye.
158
But on their face he now appears to dwell.
While silence reigns among the works of man,
The works of God have leave to speak his praise
With louder voice, in earth, and air, and sea.
His vital Spirit, like the light, pervades
All nature, breathing round the air of heaven,
And spreading o'er the troubled sea of life
A halcyon calm. Sight were not needed now
To bring him near, for Faith performs the work,
In solemn thought surrounds herself with God,
With such transparent vividness, she feels
Struck with admiring awe, as if transform'd
To sudden vision. Such is oft her power
In God's own house, which in th' absorbing act
Of adoration, or inspiring praise,
She with his glory fills, as once a cloud
Of radiance filled the temple's inner court;
At which display she cries with trembling awe
How dreadful is this place! while love responds,
How amiable thy courts, my King, my God!
Thou too, Napoleon, how didst thou exult
In all thy might and fame. Now too how changed!
Thy kingdom gone, how art thou driven from men,
From the great world, to spend thy days alone,
To make thee know there is a God that reigns
And gives the crowns of earth to whom he will.
By mad ambition led, how didst thou ride
With streaming colours o'er the restless waves
Of human glory. Now how art thou cast
Upon a cheerless rock, in deep disgrace,
A spectacle and warning to the world;
Thy fortunes the career, thy fate the end
Of earthly greatness, in its proudest form.
How art thou fallen! so low that e'en thy foes
Lose half their indignation at thy crimes
In pity for thy melancholy fate.
Kept in thy rocky tower, thou now art viewed
With safety, though with trembling, as long known
The tiger that had ravaged half the world.
The wand'rers of the sea who pass thine isle
And mark the spot, how small, and wild, and lone,
With wagging head and taunting lips inquire,
Is this the man that caused the earth to quake?
That burnt her cities, laid her countries waste,
And shook her thrones and kingdoms to the dust?
Where now the objects of thy heart's delight,
Where now the pomp of armies in array,
The waving banners and the dazzling arms,
The trumpet's clang, the neighing of fierce steeds,
The din of martial bands, the word, the shout,
That rouse and fire and madden all the soul
While panting for the onset, or amidst
The heat of battle? Where the victory proud,
The rattling of thy furious chariot wheels
O'er crumbling crowns and plains of bleaching bones,
The spoil of nations? the triumphal train?
The acclamation of saluting crowds,
And all the ensigns of renown and pow'r?
Gone like the pageants of a maniac's brain.
Poor solitary man, what hast thou more,
What hast thou left congenial to thy mind
To busy its dread workings, and content
Its boundless longings? What to give support
To thy faint heart in all its sinking hours?
Ah, what to smooth the rough decline of life
And light thee through the shadowy vale of death?
Hadst though not cast away the truth of God,
Denied thy Saviour, turned thy back on heaven
And braved the wrath to come from early youth,
In some desponding hour, when self-immured,
Or in some lonely walk o'er bloodless plains
Or heights from which thick ranks of coming waves
Are seen afar, as if from Europe sent
To bear to thee dread visions of the past,
And roar and dash around thy rocky isle
To wake thy conscience from its torpid sleep,
The hope were strong that mem'ry thus beset
Would bring thy crimes in long and black array
To thy astonished view, nor rest permit
Till by omnipotence an entrance wide
Were opened for conviction and remorse
Into each fortified recess within.
How would the generous heart of every land
Rejoice, should penitence yet mark the close
Of thy eventful life, and mercy wash
Thy spirit pure in its all cleansing fount!
How welcome were the tidings that the peace
Of heaven, the fruit of child-like faith and love,
In thy tumultuous bosom had begun
Its gentle reign. How far from hateful, nay
How lovely and how truly great wert thou
On bended knees at thy Redeemer's feet,
Dumb with confusion or with loud lament
O'er thy offences, pleading for his grace,
And bowing to his will with pride subdued.
That were the vict'ry of a noble mind.
Thy triumphs o'er mankind have made thee known,
A vict'ry o'er thyself would make thee great.
The conquest of the world were mean to this,
More than an earthly diadem were thine,
And more than immortality in name.
In all thy might and fame. Now too how changed!
Thy kingdom gone, how art thou driven from men,
From the great world, to spend thy days alone,
To make thee know there is a God that reigns
And gives the crowns of earth to whom he will.
By mad ambition led, how didst thou ride
With streaming colours o'er the restless waves
Of human glory. Now how art thou cast
Upon a cheerless rock, in deep disgrace,
A spectacle and warning to the world;
Thy fortunes the career, thy fate the end
159
How art thou fallen! so low that e'en thy foes
Lose half their indignation at thy crimes
In pity for thy melancholy fate.
Kept in thy rocky tower, thou now art viewed
With safety, though with trembling, as long known
The tiger that had ravaged half the world.
The wand'rers of the sea who pass thine isle
And mark the spot, how small, and wild, and lone,
With wagging head and taunting lips inquire,
Is this the man that caused the earth to quake?
That burnt her cities, laid her countries waste,
And shook her thrones and kingdoms to the dust?
Where now the objects of thy heart's delight,
Where now the pomp of armies in array,
The waving banners and the dazzling arms,
The trumpet's clang, the neighing of fierce steeds,
The din of martial bands, the word, the shout,
That rouse and fire and madden all the soul
While panting for the onset, or amidst
The heat of battle? Where the victory proud,
The rattling of thy furious chariot wheels
O'er crumbling crowns and plains of bleaching bones,
The spoil of nations? the triumphal train?
The acclamation of saluting crowds,
And all the ensigns of renown and pow'r?
Gone like the pageants of a maniac's brain.
Poor solitary man, what hast thou more,
What hast thou left congenial to thy mind
To busy its dread workings, and content
Its boundless longings? What to give support
To thy faint heart in all its sinking hours?
Ah, what to smooth the rough decline of life
And light thee through the shadowy vale of death?
Hadst though not cast away the truth of God,
Denied thy Saviour, turned thy back on heaven
And braved the wrath to come from early youth,
In some desponding hour, when self-immured,
160
Or heights from which thick ranks of coming waves
Are seen afar, as if from Europe sent
To bear to thee dread visions of the past,
And roar and dash around thy rocky isle
To wake thy conscience from its torpid sleep,
The hope were strong that mem'ry thus beset
Would bring thy crimes in long and black array
To thy astonished view, nor rest permit
Till by omnipotence an entrance wide
Were opened for conviction and remorse
Into each fortified recess within.
How would the generous heart of every land
Rejoice, should penitence yet mark the close
Of thy eventful life, and mercy wash
Thy spirit pure in its all cleansing fount!
How welcome were the tidings that the peace
Of heaven, the fruit of child-like faith and love,
In thy tumultuous bosom had begun
Its gentle reign. How far from hateful, nay
How lovely and how truly great wert thou
On bended knees at thy Redeemer's feet,
Dumb with confusion or with loud lament
O'er thy offences, pleading for his grace,
And bowing to his will with pride subdued.
That were the vict'ry of a noble mind.
Thy triumphs o'er mankind have made thee known,
A vict'ry o'er thyself would make thee great.
The conquest of the world were mean to this,
More than an earthly diadem were thine,
And more than immortality in name.
But if no season of relenting come
With hope attendant, one will come at last
Fraught with despair eternal and intense.
Though thou hast peopled the dark realms of death
These many years with an unfeeling heart,
A scene is coming which will make thee feel.
With all thy hardihood thou canst not stand
Unmoved a moment, when before the bar
Of stern impartial justice, millions slain
By thy ambition, cut off unprepared
And sent to judgment, millions more bereaved,
All cry for vengeance on thy single head.
Then shall past glory but increase thy shame.
Then wouldst thou gladly into nothing shrink,
Or be the most obscure of all the slaves
That ever crouched and trembled at thy nod.
With hope attendant, one will come at last
Fraught with despair eternal and intense.
Though thou hast peopled the dark realms of death
These many years with an unfeeling heart,
A scene is coming which will make thee feel.
With all thy hardihood thou canst not stand
161
Of stern impartial justice, millions slain
By thy ambition, cut off unprepared
And sent to judgment, millions more bereaved,
All cry for vengeance on thy single head.
Then shall past glory but increase thy shame.
Then wouldst thou gladly into nothing shrink,
Or be the most obscure of all the slaves
That ever crouched and trembled at thy nod.
Among the chief occasions which invite
The patriot, philanthropist and saint
To great exertions, what more loudly calls
On either, than the miserable state
Of Afric's sons in iron bondage held?
Where held in bondage? In what savage land?
Where learning and religion never shed
Their meliorating beams; and where the rights,
The natural rights of man were never known?
In no such land, such corner of the world;
But in the midst of the united realm
Of learning and religion; and where, too,
The natural rights of man are clearly known;
Nay, more, are owned, and made a public boast.
All are born free, and all with equal rights.
So speaks the charter of a nation proud
Of her unequall'd liberties and laws,
While in that nation, shameful to relate,
One man in five is born and dies a slave.
Is this my country? this that happy land,
The wonder and the envy of the world?
O for a mantle to conceal her shame!
But why, when Patriotism cannot hide
The ruin which her guilt will surely bring
If unrepented; and unless the God
Who pour'd his plagues on Egypt till she let
The oppressed go free, and often pours his wrath
In earthquakes and tornadoes on the isles
Of western India, laying waste their fields,
Dashing their mercenary ships ashore,
Tossing the isles themselves like floating wrecks,
And burying towns alive in one wide grave
No sooner ope'd but closed; let judgment pass
For once untasted till the general doom,
Can it go well with us while we retain
This cursed thing? Will not untimely frosts,
Devouring insects, drought, and wind and hail,
Destroy the fruits of ground long till'd in chains?
Will not some daring spirit born to thoughts
Above his beast-like state, find out the truth
That Africans are men; and catching fire
From Freedom's altar raised before his eyes
With incense fuming sweet, in others light
A kindred flame in secret, till a train
Kindled at once, deal death on every side?
Cease then, Columbia, for thy safety cease,
And for thine honour, to proclaim the praise
Of thy fair shores of liberty and joy,
While thrice five hundred thousand wretched slaves
In thine own bosom, start at every word
As meant to mock their woes, and shake their chains,
Thinking defiance which they dare not speak.
Ye sons of Liberty, who rally round
Her standard at her yearly festival,
Flourish the sword and bid the cannon roar
Defiance to all tyrants, shout huzzas
O'er flowing bowls, and with exulting voice
Sing “give us liberty or give us death;”
Your joy is merciless, while its glad sounds
From more than half the land return in groans;
Throw down your banners lifted to the sky,
They will not float on this impoisoned air.
Away with feast and song, come fast and weep—
Away with all defiance and disdain
Of foreign tyrants; humbly mourn our own.
For who are tyrants? they that make men slaves.
No more exult o'er kingdoms of the east
Where not a slave is found, till here are none.
Of more equality no longer boast.
Rail at usurping peers, when ye have shown
That fifty tenants to support a lord,
Is more at war with reason and with Heaven
Than fifty slaves a planter to support
In personal rights and privileges dear
The monarch rises not so far above
The meanest free-born subject of his realm,
As does the master o'er the helpless slave.
With needful food supplied, the slave, say some,
Desires no more, and void of care is blest.
If by kind treatment it be sometimes thus,
What does it prove, but that the man debased
By his condition, knows no higher good
Than what the brute enjoys? And is it just
To shut him from all rational delight
Until he feel no wants but those of sense,
Then call him happy to excuse the crime?
Or is it then no blessing to be free?
And were they fools who struggled to obtain
Our independence—to throw off a yoke
Far less oppressive than the one we bind
On Afric's sable sons? Are they not tax'd?
Yes! to the very blood that warms their veins.
No rights have they, not one for self-defence.
The master may inflict whate'er he will
On this side death! may lash, and maul, and kick,
All which these eyes have seen; may chain and yoke
And if the sufferer but a finger lift
Against the madman to preserve his life,
The law condemns him, friendless and unheard.
Hail land of liberty! Come all ye kings
And tyrants of the world, come near and view
This land of liberty, where men are free
To task, and scourge, and chain their fellow men
At their own pleasure, and without the fear
Of any human bar. What man can plead
That such ill treatment is but seldom seen,
When every master, e'en the most humane,
Rules with the lash, and with the lash must rule:
Slaves can be governed only by the lash.
No obligations bind them, and no fears
Of ought but corporal punishment restrain.
Much more is granted, for their sake and ours
They must be kept in ignorance till freed.
A taste of knowledge would a torment prove,
Like joyful music to the sad in soul;
Or like a view of land beyond the reach
While sinking in the flood. Expand their minds
And they will know their rights; will learn the worth
Of freedom, and up starting from the ground
Will burst their chains and raise our mad'ning cry,
“Or give us liberty or give us death.”
Keep them in ignorance and we are safe;
Press them to earth like brutes, and they will bear
Nor rise against us till the judgment day.
'Tis mockery to soothe whom we oppress.
'Tis insult to attempt to put them off
By mitigating means, to make amends
For loss of liberty—to make them feel,
And make mankind believe, that they are blest.
All short of full deliverance is in vain.
'Twill not suffice to lessen wrongs like theirs:
To soften hardships so severe at best.
No! chains are chains, though half concealed with flowers,
No! Slavery is a tyger, even when it seems
Most like a lamb. Its kindest smiles are frowns,
Its tender mercies cruel as the grave.
It is a monster that cannot be tamed;
Hard as a rock of adamant his heart.
Then will ye play with him as with a bird?
Attempt to lead him with a silken string,
To stroke his bristled mane and gaily pat
His iron scales? Beware lest he despise
Such mock caresses; lest they stir him up
To put forth in a rage, his latent strength.
I will not say religion can do nought
To ease the heavy load of men enslaved
Nor will I say, to teach them sacred truths,
Truths that require submission and content,
Tending to humble not elate the heart,
Will be to plant the seeds of civil war.
Much less would I be thought to intimate
That this is not our duty, or this all.
What then? Because religion is a balm
For every wound, may wounds be multiplied?
Because the martyr triumphed in the flames,
Was it the less a crime to light the fire?
Because religion made its converts yield
Subjection to each ordinance of man,
Even when Nero swam in christian blood,
Was persecution of its horrors stripp'd?
And so, because the slave when taught from Heaven,
May bear the worst in peace, without complaint,
Trusting in Him whose vengeance will repay,
Is slavery no oppression? What if some,
Finding in this strange land the precious pearl
Which they had always wanted in their own,
Will bless forever the once-cursed day
When they were torn from all that men hold dear,
Confined in irons and to bondage doom'd?
Does this afford the shadow of a plea
In our behalf? Or makes it ought the less
Our duty to emancipate the whole?
But when and how may this be safely done?
Done it should be; with safety if it can,
With danger if it must. It ill becomes
Our name to shrink from suffering in our turn,
We who have reaped the profits of their fall
Selfish in all, shall we expect to make
Their rise our gain? Say not they are entail'd
Our sad inheritance, and we must bear
What we lament, but have not power to change.
Lament and bear! Is this the generous plaint
Of charity perplex'd and sorely griev'd?
No, 'tis the plea of avarice, who pays
Her court to charity to still her fears,
While safe possession is the end in view.
But more than calm endurance is our crime,
And more than reaping what our fathers sow'd.
Their very spirit lives, their very sin
In all its horrors, lives in spite of law.
Each year brings thousands o'er the groaning waves
To be sent in by stealth through our wide bounds:
And when discovered, forfeited like goods,
Like them too they are seiz'd and advertis'd
And sold at auction, to complete the crime.
Will not Jehovah visit for such things?
Will he not be aveng'd on such a land?
Go ye, whose feelings custom has not steel'd,
See men to market driv'n like fatten'd herds
There to be sold and parted, friend from friend,
Parted by scourges, yokes or galling chains,
Then judge if slavery is no more our crime,
But our calamity. Go first and view
Fair freedom's temple, while her chosen sons
From her confederated realms are met
To pay their yearly off'rings at her shrine.
Enter and hear the clap of loud applause,
When by some fav'rite voice, declaiming loud,
To crouded aisles and galleries adorn'd
With forms of beauty rang'd in brilliant rows,
This matchless land is blazon'd to the stars
For liberty, equality, and joy:
Then go and view a drove of human souls,
Immortal beings for whom Jesus died,
To market driv'n, and by their fellow men
Whose blackness lies far deeper than their skin.
Go listen to the lashes and the shrieks
That mingling rend the air, while clinging friends
Husband and wife, the mother and the child,
By various purchasers are torn apart
And doom'd to different regions of the land,
Never to see each other's faces more;
Never to hear by letter or report
Of other's welfare dearer than their own;
Never to know their death, till after years
'Tis learnt by meeting them beyond the grave.
O proud Columbia, hide thy towering head
Low in the dust, in shame and penitence,
Till from thy robes be wash'd the stain of blood;
Then like a goddess rising from the sea,
Then rising in thy glory, prove thyself
“The queen of earth, the daughter of the skies.”
I see thy glory with prophetic eye,
I see thee with thy crown of many stars
On thy fair head, and clothed in spotless robes,
Moving in state toward the Atlantic shore:
With one hand casting to the waves below
The last of all thy slave-oppressing chains,
And with the other holding to thy breast
The book of God. I hear the shouts of joy
That ring from end to end of thy domain.
I hear the sounds prolong'd from wave to wave
And now they strike and echo on the coast
Of joyful Africa. The time will come—
Sure as the groans of earth shall all be lost
In the hosannas of millennial bliss—
The time will come when slavery shall cease,
When this whole nation, like that favour'd part
Northward and eastward stretching from the shores
Of Susquehannah, shall enjoy the smiles
Of freedom, equal, common, as the air.
At such a prospect, who, that has a heart
With one remaining spark of generous fire,
Feels not an inward glowing of delight?
Who that can pray, will cease to importune
The Lord of all to hasten the event.
From those who purchase of their own accord
The blood and sinews of their fellow men,
No pity is expected; but from them
On whom the sad possession is entail'd
Without the power to set the pris'ners free,
At least from all the pious and humane,
Much may be hoped in aid of every plan
For hastening on the day of full release.
These join'd with those whose blessing 'tis to live
Among the hills and vallies of the north,
“Where all born free inherit equal rights,”
Will form a host not armed, but inspir'd
By reason, right, humanity and Heav'n,
To undertake and to effect the work
Of liberating brethren from their chains.
O for some Wilberforce to lead the van!
To rise and say, “It must and shall be done;”
To rise the hundredth time, unaw'd by frowns,
Undamp'd by failures, and repeat the same,
Till vict'ry crown him with a fairer wreath
Than hero ever won or poet feign'd.
The patriot, philanthropist and saint
To great exertions, what more loudly calls
On either, than the miserable state
Of Afric's sons in iron bondage held?
Where held in bondage? In what savage land?
Where learning and religion never shed
Their meliorating beams; and where the rights,
The natural rights of man were never known?
In no such land, such corner of the world;
But in the midst of the united realm
Of learning and religion; and where, too,
The natural rights of man are clearly known;
Nay, more, are owned, and made a public boast.
All are born free, and all with equal rights.
So speaks the charter of a nation proud
Of her unequall'd liberties and laws,
While in that nation, shameful to relate,
One man in five is born and dies a slave.
Is this my country? this that happy land,
The wonder and the envy of the world?
O for a mantle to conceal her shame!
But why, when Patriotism cannot hide
The ruin which her guilt will surely bring
If unrepented; and unless the God
Who pour'd his plagues on Egypt till she let
162
In earthquakes and tornadoes on the isles
Of western India, laying waste their fields,
Dashing their mercenary ships ashore,
Tossing the isles themselves like floating wrecks,
And burying towns alive in one wide grave
No sooner ope'd but closed; let judgment pass
For once untasted till the general doom,
Can it go well with us while we retain
This cursed thing? Will not untimely frosts,
Devouring insects, drought, and wind and hail,
Destroy the fruits of ground long till'd in chains?
Will not some daring spirit born to thoughts
Above his beast-like state, find out the truth
That Africans are men; and catching fire
From Freedom's altar raised before his eyes
With incense fuming sweet, in others light
A kindred flame in secret, till a train
Kindled at once, deal death on every side?
Cease then, Columbia, for thy safety cease,
And for thine honour, to proclaim the praise
Of thy fair shores of liberty and joy,
While thrice five hundred thousand wretched slaves
In thine own bosom, start at every word
As meant to mock their woes, and shake their chains,
Thinking defiance which they dare not speak.
Ye sons of Liberty, who rally round
Her standard at her yearly festival,
Flourish the sword and bid the cannon roar
Defiance to all tyrants, shout huzzas
O'er flowing bowls, and with exulting voice
Sing “give us liberty or give us death;”
Your joy is merciless, while its glad sounds
From more than half the land return in groans;
Throw down your banners lifted to the sky,
They will not float on this impoisoned air.
Away with feast and song, come fast and weep—
Away with all defiance and disdain
163
For who are tyrants? they that make men slaves.
No more exult o'er kingdoms of the east
Where not a slave is found, till here are none.
Of more equality no longer boast.
Rail at usurping peers, when ye have shown
That fifty tenants to support a lord,
Is more at war with reason and with Heaven
Than fifty slaves a planter to support
In personal rights and privileges dear
The monarch rises not so far above
The meanest free-born subject of his realm,
As does the master o'er the helpless slave.
With needful food supplied, the slave, say some,
Desires no more, and void of care is blest.
If by kind treatment it be sometimes thus,
What does it prove, but that the man debased
By his condition, knows no higher good
Than what the brute enjoys? And is it just
To shut him from all rational delight
Until he feel no wants but those of sense,
Then call him happy to excuse the crime?
Or is it then no blessing to be free?
And were they fools who struggled to obtain
Our independence—to throw off a yoke
Far less oppressive than the one we bind
On Afric's sable sons? Are they not tax'd?
Yes! to the very blood that warms their veins.
No rights have they, not one for self-defence.
The master may inflict whate'er he will
On this side death! may lash, and maul, and kick,
All which these eyes have seen; may chain and yoke
And if the sufferer but a finger lift
Against the madman to preserve his life,
The law condemns him, friendless and unheard.
Hail land of liberty! Come all ye kings
And tyrants of the world, come near and view
This land of liberty, where men are free
164
At their own pleasure, and without the fear
Of any human bar. What man can plead
That such ill treatment is but seldom seen,
When every master, e'en the most humane,
Rules with the lash, and with the lash must rule:
Slaves can be governed only by the lash.
No obligations bind them, and no fears
Of ought but corporal punishment restrain.
Much more is granted, for their sake and ours
They must be kept in ignorance till freed.
A taste of knowledge would a torment prove,
Like joyful music to the sad in soul;
Or like a view of land beyond the reach
While sinking in the flood. Expand their minds
And they will know their rights; will learn the worth
Of freedom, and up starting from the ground
Will burst their chains and raise our mad'ning cry,
“Or give us liberty or give us death.”
Keep them in ignorance and we are safe;
Press them to earth like brutes, and they will bear
Nor rise against us till the judgment day.
'Tis mockery to soothe whom we oppress.
'Tis insult to attempt to put them off
By mitigating means, to make amends
For loss of liberty—to make them feel,
And make mankind believe, that they are blest.
All short of full deliverance is in vain.
'Twill not suffice to lessen wrongs like theirs:
To soften hardships so severe at best.
No! chains are chains, though half concealed with flowers,
No! Slavery is a tyger, even when it seems
Most like a lamb. Its kindest smiles are frowns,
Its tender mercies cruel as the grave.
It is a monster that cannot be tamed;
Hard as a rock of adamant his heart.
Then will ye play with him as with a bird?
Attempt to lead him with a silken string,
165
His iron scales? Beware lest he despise
Such mock caresses; lest they stir him up
To put forth in a rage, his latent strength.
I will not say religion can do nought
To ease the heavy load of men enslaved
Nor will I say, to teach them sacred truths,
Truths that require submission and content,
Tending to humble not elate the heart,
Will be to plant the seeds of civil war.
Much less would I be thought to intimate
That this is not our duty, or this all.
What then? Because religion is a balm
For every wound, may wounds be multiplied?
Because the martyr triumphed in the flames,
Was it the less a crime to light the fire?
Because religion made its converts yield
Subjection to each ordinance of man,
Even when Nero swam in christian blood,
Was persecution of its horrors stripp'd?
And so, because the slave when taught from Heaven,
May bear the worst in peace, without complaint,
Trusting in Him whose vengeance will repay,
Is slavery no oppression? What if some,
Finding in this strange land the precious pearl
Which they had always wanted in their own,
Will bless forever the once-cursed day
When they were torn from all that men hold dear,
Confined in irons and to bondage doom'd?
Does this afford the shadow of a plea
In our behalf? Or makes it ought the less
Our duty to emancipate the whole?
But when and how may this be safely done?
Done it should be; with safety if it can,
With danger if it must. It ill becomes
Our name to shrink from suffering in our turn,
We who have reaped the profits of their fall
Selfish in all, shall we expect to make
166
Our sad inheritance, and we must bear
What we lament, but have not power to change.
Lament and bear! Is this the generous plaint
Of charity perplex'd and sorely griev'd?
No, 'tis the plea of avarice, who pays
Her court to charity to still her fears,
While safe possession is the end in view.
But more than calm endurance is our crime,
And more than reaping what our fathers sow'd.
Their very spirit lives, their very sin
In all its horrors, lives in spite of law.
Each year brings thousands o'er the groaning waves
To be sent in by stealth through our wide bounds:
And when discovered, forfeited like goods,
Like them too they are seiz'd and advertis'd
And sold at auction, to complete the crime.
Will not Jehovah visit for such things?
Will he not be aveng'd on such a land?
Go ye, whose feelings custom has not steel'd,
See men to market driv'n like fatten'd herds
There to be sold and parted, friend from friend,
Parted by scourges, yokes or galling chains,
Then judge if slavery is no more our crime,
But our calamity. Go first and view
Fair freedom's temple, while her chosen sons
From her confederated realms are met
To pay their yearly off'rings at her shrine.
Enter and hear the clap of loud applause,
When by some fav'rite voice, declaiming loud,
To crouded aisles and galleries adorn'd
With forms of beauty rang'd in brilliant rows,
This matchless land is blazon'd to the stars
For liberty, equality, and joy:
Then go and view a drove of human souls,
Immortal beings for whom Jesus died,
To market driv'n, and by their fellow men
Whose blackness lies far deeper than their skin.
167
That mingling rend the air, while clinging friends
Husband and wife, the mother and the child,
By various purchasers are torn apart
And doom'd to different regions of the land,
Never to see each other's faces more;
Never to hear by letter or report
Of other's welfare dearer than their own;
Never to know their death, till after years
'Tis learnt by meeting them beyond the grave.
O proud Columbia, hide thy towering head
Low in the dust, in shame and penitence,
Till from thy robes be wash'd the stain of blood;
Then like a goddess rising from the sea,
Then rising in thy glory, prove thyself
“The queen of earth, the daughter of the skies.”
I see thy glory with prophetic eye,
I see thee with thy crown of many stars
On thy fair head, and clothed in spotless robes,
Moving in state toward the Atlantic shore:
With one hand casting to the waves below
The last of all thy slave-oppressing chains,
And with the other holding to thy breast
The book of God. I hear the shouts of joy
That ring from end to end of thy domain.
I hear the sounds prolong'd from wave to wave
And now they strike and echo on the coast
Of joyful Africa. The time will come—
Sure as the groans of earth shall all be lost
In the hosannas of millennial bliss—
The time will come when slavery shall cease,
When this whole nation, like that favour'd part
Northward and eastward stretching from the shores
Of Susquehannah, shall enjoy the smiles
Of freedom, equal, common, as the air.
At such a prospect, who, that has a heart
With one remaining spark of generous fire,
Feels not an inward glowing of delight?
168
The Lord of all to hasten the event.
From those who purchase of their own accord
The blood and sinews of their fellow men,
No pity is expected; but from them
On whom the sad possession is entail'd
Without the power to set the pris'ners free,
At least from all the pious and humane,
Much may be hoped in aid of every plan
For hastening on the day of full release.
These join'd with those whose blessing 'tis to live
Among the hills and vallies of the north,
“Where all born free inherit equal rights,”
Will form a host not armed, but inspir'd
By reason, right, humanity and Heav'n,
To undertake and to effect the work
Of liberating brethren from their chains.
O for some Wilberforce to lead the van!
To rise and say, “It must and shall be done;”
To rise the hundredth time, unaw'd by frowns,
Undamp'd by failures, and repeat the same,
Till vict'ry crown him with a fairer wreath
Than hero ever won or poet feign'd.
The wrongs of Africa must be redress'd
Extensive as her injuries, her claims
For compensation are upon the world.
A handful honoured with the christian name,
Buried in dungeons in the savage coast
Of Barbary, have summon'd from afar
The fleets of mighty nations to their aid.
'Twere noble, though but just, in nations once
Inhumanly employ'd in forging chains
For unoffending Africa, to draw
A line of ships, to build therewith a wall
Around her, to defend her helpless shores
From ruffian out-laws; to explore the holds
Of all suspected ships, whatever flag
May dance on high, to cover what's below;
And from these loathsome dungeons, floating graves,
To raise to life, to light and liberty,
The pining, dying captives there confin'd,
Bound down in irons, and to hardships doom'd
That ending in the loss of half their lives,
Thus rob the murderers before they reach
Their destin'd port. In that tremendous day
When from her vast unfathomable depth
The opening sea shall yield her rising dead;
Oh! what a host, in one continuous line,
Marking to gazing worlds the wonted course
Of this infernal traffic o'er the main,
Through floods divided by the trumpet's sound,
Like that divided by the sacred rod
Of Israel's leader, shall ascend to fill
The persecuting nations with dismay.
Then let the nations tremble and reform.
Let those who have begun, pursue the work
Of restitution, till no slave be found.
And let my country be the first to pay
The full arrears of justice, still the due
Of injured Africa, that at the bar
Of final retribution, she may stand
The first forgiven, or the last condemn'd.
Extensive as her injuries, her claims
For compensation are upon the world.
A handful honoured with the christian name,
Buried in dungeons in the savage coast
Of Barbary, have summon'd from afar
The fleets of mighty nations to their aid.
'Twere noble, though but just, in nations once
Inhumanly employ'd in forging chains
For unoffending Africa, to draw
A line of ships, to build therewith a wall
Around her, to defend her helpless shores
From ruffian out-laws; to explore the holds
Of all suspected ships, whatever flag
May dance on high, to cover what's below;
169
To raise to life, to light and liberty,
The pining, dying captives there confin'd,
Bound down in irons, and to hardships doom'd
That ending in the loss of half their lives,
Thus rob the murderers before they reach
Their destin'd port. In that tremendous day
When from her vast unfathomable depth
The opening sea shall yield her rising dead;
Oh! what a host, in one continuous line,
Marking to gazing worlds the wonted course
Of this infernal traffic o'er the main,
Through floods divided by the trumpet's sound,
Like that divided by the sacred rod
Of Israel's leader, shall ascend to fill
The persecuting nations with dismay.
Then let the nations tremble and reform.
Let those who have begun, pursue the work
Of restitution, till no slave be found.
And let my country be the first to pay
The full arrears of justice, still the due
Of injured Africa, that at the bar
Of final retribution, she may stand
The first forgiven, or the last condemn'd.
171
EXTRACTS FROM BOOK IV.
The good man's body ere it can ascendTo its appointed place 'mid angel forms,
Must drop its load of perishable flesh,
Its burden of infirmities and pains;
Must throw off its corruption, and put on
The incorruption of a spirit pure.
Address'd for flight, it stretches its new wings
And with fresh immortality inspir'd,
Claps them in triumph o'er its empty grave,
Then springs aloft; and like a bird uncag'd,
Flies far away from all its former haunts
With death and danger fearfully beset.
Henceforth not one of all those maladies,
So thick between the cradle and the tomb,
Clinging so close through all this mortal life,
Spurring it on more eagerly, the more
They load it down, can e'er molest or touch
The liberated body, in the realms
Of perfect bliss. No violent disease
Racks it with pain, its heart-strings breaks at once,
And tears it from its griping hold on life.
No pale consuming sickness by degrees
Drinks its vitality before it kills,
Leaving a breathing skeleton behind;
Lays on its victim's head a gentle hand,
And flatters it to death; its thoughtless guards
172
Mines its deep way into the vital part.
Th' imperishable frame knows no fatigue
From long activity, and hence no need
Of rest, or sleep, to strengthen or refresh.
It fears no with'ring from the frost of age,
And from its winter no decrease of warmth.
It feels no lassitude from length of years,
No feebleness of limbs, no blunted sense,
No clogging of the wheels of life, no loss
Of youthful relish for the sweets of heav'n.
If converse with Jehovah forty days
Amid the terrors of mount Sinai, made
A mortal's countenance like an angel's shine,
O how eternal converse with the Lamb,
Upon mount Sion, 'mid its signs of peace,
While all around is calm and beautiful,
Will make the face of an immortal glow.
How will his lips, in his Redeemer's praise
Hosannas chanting, burn with fervour pure,
His very fingers, flying o'er the strings
Of his melodious harp, with rosy tinge
Shall grow resplendent, half transparent grow,
Like those of some fair hand before a lamp,
Held near to guard it from the passing air.
The saint redeem'd, his glory not innate,
From his Redeemer constantly received,
The mere reflection of his solar blaze,
May, hence, perhaps, outshine an angel, clad
With native splendour; as the moon, adorn'd
With lustre borrow'd from the source of day,
Outshines a star with light inherent deck'd.
Death is not a door
That leads into some unknown abode
Of long forgetfulness, but a bright gate
Which opens into paradise direct.
The deathless spirit, disembodied flies
As swift as thought to its eternal home.
Transporting change! from earth to heav'n at once,
Through no long, cheerless intermediate state.
To fall asleep in this benighted world
And in an instant wake in realms of day.
Unnumber'd suns on this deep midnight rise,
And harps unnumber'd this dead silence break.
One moment, rack'd with pain, the good man lies
Gasping in death, the next, he mounts on high
Fir'd with the raptures of immortal life.
One moment, he beholds himself confin'd
Within a narrow chamber, hut obscure,
Or dreary dungeon, and the next, through realms
Of boundless joy, expatiating wide,
Without restraint. One moment he beholds
Himself 'mid weeping mortals, and the next
'Mid seraphs smiling bright; one moment, hears
The painful sobs of sympathizing grief,
The next, the shouts of gratulating joy.
With such a change before him, who would dread
An early death, amid the fairest scenes
And brightest prospects, that the earth presents?
That leads into some unknown abode
173
Which opens into paradise direct.
The deathless spirit, disembodied flies
As swift as thought to its eternal home.
Transporting change! from earth to heav'n at once,
Through no long, cheerless intermediate state.
To fall asleep in this benighted world
And in an instant wake in realms of day.
Unnumber'd suns on this deep midnight rise,
And harps unnumber'd this dead silence break.
One moment, rack'd with pain, the good man lies
Gasping in death, the next, he mounts on high
Fir'd with the raptures of immortal life.
One moment, he beholds himself confin'd
Within a narrow chamber, hut obscure,
Or dreary dungeon, and the next, through realms
Of boundless joy, expatiating wide,
Without restraint. One moment he beholds
Himself 'mid weeping mortals, and the next
'Mid seraphs smiling bright; one moment, hears
The painful sobs of sympathizing grief,
The next, the shouts of gratulating joy.
With such a change before him, who would dread
An early death, amid the fairest scenes
And brightest prospects, that the earth presents?
The comfort of his parents, and the flow'r
Of all their offspring, lovely from a child,
For years devout, with genius bright endow'd,
With academic honours crown'd, prepar'd
For sacred functions, and withal betroth'd
To one well worthy of his fondest love;
Was young Horatio when consumption lit,
High on his sunken cheek, her hectic flush
Death's sure but timely warning, in its hue
Distinguished from the ruddy glow of health,
As the dead leaf of autumn from the rose,
Nor less by its distinctness, unobscur'd
By intermixture with the whiteness round.
The nightly sweat, cold, clammy and profuse,
Left him each morning, scarce an infant's strength.
But while his tender frame was wasting fast,
Its vigour unimpair'd his mind retain'd,
Nay gather'd force as oft in that disease
Which weigh'd him down; incurable, but kind
To suffering excellence. That sacred fire
Seem'd fed with the vitality consum'd,
And brighter shone through its decaying shrine.
Fresher and fairer grew th' ingrafted germ
Of immortality, the more its stock
Was gently stript of its degenerate bloom.
He saw his end at hand, and was the first
To give up ev'ry hope of longer life.
His friends began to flatter, to assume
A cheerful tone and wear a smiling look,
In his endearing presence, all but one
Who could not smile, so heavy was her heart;
And when she tried to speak some cheering words,
Her feeble, trembling voice and starting tears
Betray'd the anguish of despairing love.
But all the kind attempts of friendship fail'd
To hide his danger from himself, or raise
The expectation of returning health;
And soon he check'd them with far dearer hopes.
Calmly he turn'd his eyes away from earth
And fix'd them stedfastly on Christ and heav'n,
Till the one thought of his approaching change
Absorb'd his soul and fill'd it with delight
Unfelt before. Dismiss'd without a sigh
Were earthly plans and prospects; in their stead
Shone so invitingly and now so near
Celestial glories. Ardent love to Christ
And the near view of heav'n inspired his heart
With such a longing to be on the wing,
That e'en to her, from whom his earthly schemes
For happiness deriv'd their brightest charm,
He spoke of his departure in a strain
Of mingled joy and tenderness, that calm'd
Her troubled mind. The evening ere his last,
While yet the window curtain drawn aside
At his request, show'd him the setting sun,
And all were speechless with prophetic grief
To see him gaze on that departing orb
By love embolden'd on his bed-side sate
This mourner dear, his cold and slender hand,
Of bloodless white, between her warm soft palms
Tenderly holding, on his alter'd face
Gazing intently with an eloquent look
Of fond solicitude, when as he turn'd
His eyes on her, and feebly press'd her hand,
Her struggling bosom and her gushing tears
Rous'd all his sympathy; yet even then,
Soon as that momentary shock was past
He rais'd his thoughts and hers to fairer skies
Than these below, whose sun shall not go down,
And where these days of mourning have an end.
His few remaining hours were spent in prayer
For his own soul and for each friend apart;
Save when employ'd in heav'nly converse sweet.
Soon as he felt the chilling touch of death,
For ev'ry absent member he inquir'd
Till the whole mournful family stood round,
When silence for one thrilling moment reign'd;
First broken by a universal burst
Of sorrow, witness'd with a pitying eye
But with unshaken firmness, till he heard
The sympathetic cry of one too young
To know her loss, but not too young to love,
His little sister in her father's arms,
Lifted that she might see him and be seen.
Her mournful cry, and half-averted look,
Went to his heart, but soon compos'd again
He tried to soothe her with the kindest words;
Then with his eyes suffus'd with glist'ning tears,
His parents thank'd for their unwearied care,
And bade them look for comfort from above,
To each one present gave that kind advice
Which suited each, repeated, and enforc'd
As the last counsel of a dying friend,
Just leaving all things here for things unseen,
The world of spirits and the God of heav'n.
These duties done, awhile he lay absorb'd
In deep devotion. On their elbows propp'd
His wither'd arms were raised, and o'er his breast
His fingers interlock'd. His eyes were closed
As when in pleasant sleep; his lips at times
Mov'd gently, but no whisper could be heard.
A fixed serenity not quite a smile,
More sober, but as beautiful and sweet,
O'erspread his countenance, until the pains
Of dissolution, pains yet unreveal'd,
Began to loose and break the tender strings
That bind the spirit to its partner frail
In mystic union; when, at ev'ry pang
A sudden brightness o'er his features came,
As ev'ry pang the dying dolphin feels
Sends a fresh lustre to its beauteous sides.
Conven'd to witness his triumphant death
Some friendly neighbours, strains of his own choice
Were softly singing, when with lifted eyes,
And aspect luminous as with the light
Of heaven's opening gate, he strove to join
His voice with theirs, and breathe out all he felt;
But in the effort feeble nature sunk
Exhausted; and while ev'ry voice was hush'd
His fluttering spirit, struggling to get free
Rose like the sky-lark singing up to heav'n,
Follow'd in thought by friends devoutly still,
And there at once, united with the blest
In chanting hallelujahs to the Lamb.
Of all their offspring, lovely from a child,
For years devout, with genius bright endow'd,
With academic honours crown'd, prepar'd
For sacred functions, and withal betroth'd
To one well worthy of his fondest love;
Was young Horatio when consumption lit,
High on his sunken cheek, her hectic flush
Death's sure but timely warning, in its hue
Distinguished from the ruddy glow of health,
As the dead leaf of autumn from the rose,
Nor less by its distinctness, unobscur'd
By intermixture with the whiteness round.
The nightly sweat, cold, clammy and profuse,
174
But while his tender frame was wasting fast,
Its vigour unimpair'd his mind retain'd,
Nay gather'd force as oft in that disease
Which weigh'd him down; incurable, but kind
To suffering excellence. That sacred fire
Seem'd fed with the vitality consum'd,
And brighter shone through its decaying shrine.
Fresher and fairer grew th' ingrafted germ
Of immortality, the more its stock
Was gently stript of its degenerate bloom.
He saw his end at hand, and was the first
To give up ev'ry hope of longer life.
His friends began to flatter, to assume
A cheerful tone and wear a smiling look,
In his endearing presence, all but one
Who could not smile, so heavy was her heart;
And when she tried to speak some cheering words,
Her feeble, trembling voice and starting tears
Betray'd the anguish of despairing love.
But all the kind attempts of friendship fail'd
To hide his danger from himself, or raise
The expectation of returning health;
And soon he check'd them with far dearer hopes.
Calmly he turn'd his eyes away from earth
And fix'd them stedfastly on Christ and heav'n,
Till the one thought of his approaching change
Absorb'd his soul and fill'd it with delight
Unfelt before. Dismiss'd without a sigh
Were earthly plans and prospects; in their stead
Shone so invitingly and now so near
Celestial glories. Ardent love to Christ
And the near view of heav'n inspired his heart
With such a longing to be on the wing,
That e'en to her, from whom his earthly schemes
For happiness deriv'd their brightest charm,
He spoke of his departure in a strain
Of mingled joy and tenderness, that calm'd
Her troubled mind. The evening ere his last,
175
At his request, show'd him the setting sun,
And all were speechless with prophetic grief
To see him gaze on that departing orb
By love embolden'd on his bed-side sate
This mourner dear, his cold and slender hand,
Of bloodless white, between her warm soft palms
Tenderly holding, on his alter'd face
Gazing intently with an eloquent look
Of fond solicitude, when as he turn'd
His eyes on her, and feebly press'd her hand,
Her struggling bosom and her gushing tears
Rous'd all his sympathy; yet even then,
Soon as that momentary shock was past
He rais'd his thoughts and hers to fairer skies
Than these below, whose sun shall not go down,
And where these days of mourning have an end.
His few remaining hours were spent in prayer
For his own soul and for each friend apart;
Save when employ'd in heav'nly converse sweet.
Soon as he felt the chilling touch of death,
For ev'ry absent member he inquir'd
Till the whole mournful family stood round,
When silence for one thrilling moment reign'd;
First broken by a universal burst
Of sorrow, witness'd with a pitying eye
But with unshaken firmness, till he heard
The sympathetic cry of one too young
To know her loss, but not too young to love,
His little sister in her father's arms,
Lifted that she might see him and be seen.
Her mournful cry, and half-averted look,
Went to his heart, but soon compos'd again
He tried to soothe her with the kindest words;
Then with his eyes suffus'd with glist'ning tears,
His parents thank'd for their unwearied care,
And bade them look for comfort from above,
To each one present gave that kind advice
Which suited each, repeated, and enforc'd
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Just leaving all things here for things unseen,
The world of spirits and the God of heav'n.
These duties done, awhile he lay absorb'd
In deep devotion. On their elbows propp'd
His wither'd arms were raised, and o'er his breast
His fingers interlock'd. His eyes were closed
As when in pleasant sleep; his lips at times
Mov'd gently, but no whisper could be heard.
A fixed serenity not quite a smile,
More sober, but as beautiful and sweet,
O'erspread his countenance, until the pains
Of dissolution, pains yet unreveal'd,
Began to loose and break the tender strings
That bind the spirit to its partner frail
In mystic union; when, at ev'ry pang
A sudden brightness o'er his features came,
As ev'ry pang the dying dolphin feels
Sends a fresh lustre to its beauteous sides.
Conven'd to witness his triumphant death
Some friendly neighbours, strains of his own choice
Were softly singing, when with lifted eyes,
And aspect luminous as with the light
Of heaven's opening gate, he strove to join
His voice with theirs, and breathe out all he felt;
But in the effort feeble nature sunk
Exhausted; and while ev'ry voice was hush'd
His fluttering spirit, struggling to get free
Rose like the sky-lark singing up to heav'n,
Follow'd in thought by friends devoutly still,
And there at once, united with the blest
In chanting hallelujahs to the Lamb.
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THE RELIGION OF TASTE.
181
Ye Quietists in homage to the skies.—
Night Thoughts.
Night Thoughts.
I.
Deep in a vale, half open to the sea,With mountains half enclosed, there grew a wood
Of many a low and many a lofty tree,
Sheltering the sparrow's and the raven's brood;
But not in its own native dress it stood,
Untrimmed and pathless, for within its heart
Dwelt an Enchantress of romantic mood,
And she had wrought of all with wondrous art
A labyrinth, from which, none entering could depart.
II.
Her name Imagination,—tall her form;Elastic with eternal youth her tread;
Her high and polished brow defied each storm
Of grief and time; o'er all her face was spread
A shade of happy thought that never fled,
But lighter grew or deeper, as she raised
Her large bright eyes and nature's volume read,
Or fixed them on the ground, or upward gazed
As in devotion wrapt while glory round her blazed.
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III.
A band of Nymphs and Graces with her dwelt,Lived in her smiles, upon her accents hung,
And by her impulse moved and thought and felt;
Love, Beauty, Pleasure, Hope, were first among
The blooming troop, and nearest to her clung,
Reflecting every charm till made their own,
And till they bore her likeness, as if sprung
From her, their foster-mother, on her thrown
Till she had won each heart, and proud of each had grown.
IV.
I thought to paint them, but enamoured stopt:—Some muse, a pencil of soft sunbeams dip
In heaven's pure dew on rose and lily dropt,
To draw the brow, the cheek, the smiling lip,
Tinged, as of cup enchanted, wont to sip,
The eye in liquid light, the long bright hair,
And all the slender, rounded forms that trip
O'er the green earth half buoyant in the air,
And with sweet glances thrown, unwary hearts to snare.
V.
I see them passing in the blended lightOf their own forms, as in an atmosphere
Of rosy lustre;—but they mock my sight;
Now as they flit along in order clear
Each seems herself, and now they all appear
Lost in each other, like some sister band,
Giving and taking loveliness, as here
And there, they dance and mingle hand in hand;
Now in a sunny mist they vanish where they stand.
VI.
And let them go;—two others rise to view,That may far better wake my deep-toned lyre,—
Calm Contemplation with clear eye of blue
And bright Enthusiasm with dark orbs of fire,—
Each with a form and spirit that aspire
To seeming rivalry with their loved queen,—
One wrapt in thought, and one in high desire,
One bold, one gentle, both of lofty mien,—
A burning seraph one, a cherub one serene.
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VII.
With the soft lustre of thick flaxen hairAnd cheek of snowy white, that milder one
Seemed of some land of tempered beams and air;—
The other's cheek was tinged as by the sun
Of sultry climes; but no eye sought to shun
That pure transparent olive, while beneath
The bright vermil blood is seen to glow and run,
And tresses of the deepest chesnut wreath
Her round and polished neck as light the zephyrs breathe.
VIII.
Wandering together oft, and oft alone,They mused o'er all the fair, the wild, and vast,
And drank in pleasure, when all nature shone
In sunny bloom and calm, and when o'ercast
With solemn shade, or swept by stormy blast:—
Deep and delicious was their waking dream.
Through placid smiles, or warm tears falling fast
How from each feature did their spirits seem
To breathe in silence sweet, or in quick rapture beam.
IX.
'Twas by her own soft magic, or the charmsImparted to some favourite of her train,
Their Queen would hush her captive's first alarms,
Then lead him on as by a silken chain,
Through all the windings of her fair domain,
To fountain, lake, and grotto, grove and bower,
'Mid murmuring brooks, or birds of tuneful strain,
O'er grassy paths inlaid with many a flower,
And at each bright and glad, or calm and fragrant hour.
X.
Oft with a motion of her wand, she wroughtSome work of fresh enchantment; to his view
A long-forgotten scene of beauty brought,
Made every feature clearer, every hue,
And over all a lovelier aspect threw;
Or full before him visions of each clime,
She spread as quickly, formed creations new
Or changed her own loved wood, with art sublime
Hastened, or backward turned, or stopt the wheels of time.
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XI.
Just in the centre of that wood was rearedHer castle, all of marble, smooth and white;
Above the thick young trees, its top appeared
Among the naked trunks of towering height;
And here at morn and eve it glittered bright,
As often by the far off traveller seen,
In level sunbeams, or at dead of night
When the low moon shot in her rays between
That wide spread roof and floor of solid foliage green.
XII.
Through this wide interval the roving eyeFrom turrets proud might trace the waving line
Where meet the mountains green, and azure sky,
And view the deep when sun-gilt billows shine;—
Fair bounds to sight, that never thought confine,
But tempt it far beyond, till by the charm
Of some sweet wood-note or some whispering pine
Called home again, or by the soft alarm
Of Love's approaching step, and her encircling arm.
XIII.
Through this wide interval, the mountain sideShowed many a sylvan slope and rocky steep:—
Here roaring torrents in dark forests hide;
There silver streamlets rush to view and leap
Unheard from lofty cliffs to vallies deep:
Here rugged peaks look smooth in sunset glow,
Along the clear horizon's western sweep;
There from some eastern summit moon-beams flow
Along o'er level wood, far down to plains below.
XIV.
Now stretched a blue, and now a golden zoneRound that horizon; now o'er mountains proud
Dim vapours rest, or bright ones move alone:
An ebon wall, a smooth portentous cloud,
First muttering low, anon with thunder loud,
Now rises quick and brings a sweeping wind
O'er all that wood in waves before it bowed;
And now a rainbow, with its top behind
A spangled veil of leaves, seems heaven and earth to bind.
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XV.
Above the canopy, so thick and green,And spread so high o'er that enchanted vale,
Through scattered openings oft were glimpses seen
Of fleecy clouds, that linked together, sail
In moonlight clear before the gentle gale
Sometimes a shooting meteor draws a glance;
Sometimes a twinkling star, or planet pale,
Long holds the lighted eye as in a trance;
And oft the milky-way gleams through the white expanse.
XVI.
That castle's open windows, though half hidWith flowering vines, showed many a vision fair:
A face all bloom, or light young forms that thrid
Some maze within, or lonely ones that wear
The garb of joy with sorrow's thoughtful air,
Oft caught the eye a moment; and the sound
Of low, sweet music often issued there,
And by its magic held the listener bound,
And seemed to hold the winds and forests far around.
XVII.
Within, the Queen of all, in pomp or mirth,While glad attendants at her glance unfold
Their shining wings and fly through heaven and earth,
Oft took her throne of burning gems and gold,
Adorned with emblems that of empire told,
And rising in the midst of trophies bright,
That bring her memory from the days of old,
And help prolong her reign, and with the flight
Of every year increase the wonders of her might.
XVIII.
In all her dwelling, tales of wild romance,Of terror, love, and mystery dark or gay,
Were scattered thick to catch the wandering glance,
And stop the dreamer on his unknown way;
There too was every sweet and lofty lay,
The sacred, classic, and romantic, sung
As that Enchantress moved in might or play;
And there was many a harp but nowly strung,
Yet with its fearless notes the whole wide valley rung.
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XIX.
There from all lands and ages of her fame,Were marble forms, arrayed in order due,
In groups and single, all of proudest name;
In them the high, the fair, and tender, grew
To life intense in love's impassioned view,
And from each air and feature, bend and swell,
Each shapely neck, and lip, and forehead, threw
O'er each enamoured sense so deep a spell,
The thoughts but with the past or bright ideal dwell.
XX.
The walls around told all the pencil's power;There proud creations of each mighty hand
Shone with their hues and lines as in the hour,
When the last touch was given at the command
Of the same genius that at first had planned,
Exulting in its great and glowing thought:
Bright scenes of peace and war, of sea and land,
Of love and glory, to new life were wrought,
From history, from fable, and from nature brought.
XXI.
With these were others all divine, drawn allFrom ground where oft, with signs and accents dread,
The lonely prophet doomed to sudden fall
Proud kings and cities, and with gentle tread
Bore life's quick triumph to the humble dead,
And where strong angels flew to blast or save,
Where martyred hosts of old, and youthful bled,
And where their mighty Lord o'er land and wave
Spread life and peace till death, then spread them through the grave.
XXII.
From these fixed visions of the hallowed eye,Some kindling gleams of their etherial glow,
Would oft times fall, as from the opening sky,
On eyes delighted, glancing to and fro,
Or fastened till their orbs dilated grow;
Then would the proudest seem with joy to learn
Truths they had feared or felt ashamed to know;
The skeptic would believe, the lost return;
And all the cold and low would seem to rise and burn.
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XXIII.
Theirs was devotion kindled by the vast,The beautiful, impassioned, and refined;
And in the deep enchantment o'er them cast,
They looked from earth, and soared above their kind
To the blest calm of an abstracted mind;
And its communion with things all its own,
Its forms sublime and lovely; as the blind,
Mid earthly scenes, forgotten, or unknown,
Live in ideal worlds, and wander there alone.
XXIV.
Such were the lone enthusiasts, wont to dwellWith all whom that Enchantress held subdued,
As in the holiest circle of her spell,
Where meaner spirits never dare intrude,
They dwelt in calm and silent solitude,
Rapt in the love of all the high and sweet,
In thought, and art, and nature, and imbued
With its devotion to life's inmost seat,
As drawn from all the charms which in that valley meet.
XXV.
Of them and their religion, though by creedOr grave observance known not, Heaven inspire
My wayward heart to sing as Truth shall lead,
And Love, my lips shall hallow with her fire,
And to her harmony shall tune my lyre:—
Wide as the realm of taste I find my theme,
And rich as nature's charms that never tire;
'Tis bright or dark as fancy's changing dream,
Yet pure as truth and love in their united stream.
XXVI.
'Tis not for me, in weak revenge to warWith beauty's reign, or e'en to wish it less;
'Tis not for me, ungratefully to mar
Delight, so ready and so rich to bless
That but to lift the eye is to possess;
Nor would I, with a soul that ill could brook
To lose the sense of nature's loveliness
For one short day, bid others cease to look
O'er all the works of God, content with his one book.
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XXVII.
To love the beautiful is not to hateThe holy, nor to wander from the true;
Else why in Eden did its Lord create
Each green and shapely tree to please the view?
Why not enough that there the fruitful grew?
But wherefore think it virtue pure and blest
To feast the eye with shape and bloom and hue?
Or wherefore think it holier than the zest
With which the purple grape by panting lips is prest.
XXVIII.
The rose delights with colour and with form,Nor less with fragrance; but to love the flower
For either, or for all, is not to warm
The bosom with the thought of that high Power,
Who gathered all into its blooming hour:
As well might love of gold be love to Him,
Who on the mountain poured its pristine shower,
And buried it in currents deep and dim,
Or spread it in bright drops along the river's brim.
XXIX.
Yet Taste and Virtue are not born to strife;'Tis when the earthly would the heavenly scorn,
Nor merely spread with flowers, her path to life,
But would supplant when bound to cheer and warn,
Or at the touch of every wounding thorn
Would tempt her from that path, or bid her trust
No truth too high for fancy to adorn,
And turn from all too humble with disgust;
'Tis then she wakes a war, when in her pride unjust.
XXX.
But oft in Taste when mindful of her birth,Celestial Virtue owns a mortal friend,
A fit interpreter of scenes of earth,
And one delighting thought with hers to blend
Amid their loveliness, and prompt to lend
The light and charm of her own smile to all;—
Thus when to heaven our best affections tend,
Taste helps the spirit upward at the call
Of Faith and echoing Hope, or scorns to work its fall.
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XXXI.
The path we love,—to that all things allure;We give them power malignant or benign;
Yes, to the pure in heart all things are pure;
And to the bright in fancy, all things shine;
All frown on those that in deep sorrow pine,
Smile on the cheerful, lead the wise abroad
O'er Nature's realm in search of laws divine;
All draw the earthly down to their vile clod;
And all unite to lift the heavenly to their God.
XXXII.
The universe is calm to faith serene;And all with glory shines to her bright eye;
The mount of Sion, crowned with living green
By all the beams and dews of its pure sky,
She sees o'er clouds and tempests rising high
From its one fountain pouring streams that bear
Fresh life and beauty, ne'er to fade and die,
But make the blasted earth an aspect wear,
Like that of its blest prime, divinely rich and fair.
XXXIII.
The eye which she has opened, rolls in lightO'er a creation, in which God is viewed,
In all that blooms by day and shines by night,
Without him all a cheerless solitude;
The heart that with her spirit is imbued,
At nature's mingled works of power and love
Trembles with awe and swells with gratitude,
And pants for the swift pinions of a dove,
To waft the soul away to Him who reigns above.
XXXIV.
But while upon her high and holy groundFaith stands and makes the universe her own,
Her votaries with its splendour to surround,
To add to her pure light, and hers alone,
And help to raise them to her promised throne,
Slaves of fine sense there are, that think to climb,
E'en by a path on which she never shone
Up nature's lone steps to a height sublime
Of triumph o'er the gloom of sin and death and time.
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XXXV.
The Piety of faith from nature drawsHer chief delight where most of love appears,
Love in the round of its eternal laws,
In the wide flow of light from rolling spheres,
In genial showers, mild climes, and fruitful years,
In sights of happy life and songs of praise,
In all the care that wins the heart and cheers
And all the bounty, like the sun's full blaze
Pouring its tide of blessings o'er revolving days.
XXXVI.
The Piety of taste her pleasure finds,Where power in bright pre-eminence is seen,
By tender spirits and exalted minds,
In all the grand and fair, wild and serene,
In heaven's clear blue and earth's contrasted green,
In mountain-tops and clouds around them driven,
In boundless seas, high stars, and night's pale queen,
In all the hues and notes of morn and even,
In all the charms of earth and all the pomp of heaven.
XXXVII.
Who boasts the power of piety, so weakIn all its loveliness, whene'er he deigns
The book of God to open, turns to seek
Its melting histories and lofty strains,
Or learn what flowers once filled Judea's plains,
What gems her mountains, and what beasts her wood,
What cities flourished once where silence reigns,
What deeds were wrought where monuments have stood,
How earth from chaos rose, how rolled beneath her flood.
XXXVIII.
As o'er this field of poetry he strays,He culls what truths are lovely and sublime,—
Existence with no first or last of days,
And goodness with no bound of space or time,
Souls from the earth kept ever in their prime,
Angels attending men to virtue dear,
A heaven where both towards their Maker climb,
A day when all the dead his voice shall hear
And o'er a world made new, songs burst on every ear.
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XXXIX.
Thus on the fair in nature, and the vast,And on the truths revealed that charm the eye
Of Fancy bright, and open through the past
And future, many a range of vision high,
And wide and glorious as the starry sky,
He builds a proud religion ill refined,
And from it hopes of immortality
Draws for himself and all of kindred mind,
The amiable and great and brilliant of mankind.
XL.
To these when gone he gives high seats amongThe robed in white, with joys on earth untold,—
To all the beautiful among the young,
And all the venerable amid the old,
To bards, philosophers, and patriots bold,—
Sweet rest he gives them in ambrosial bowers,
With crowns of amaranth and harps of gold,
While on their graves descend the gentlest showers,
And brightest moonbeams sleep and bloom the earliest flowers.
XLI.
Such in the pride of all its glittering dross,To truth's revealed eternity so blind,
Is that religion which o'erlooks the cross,
While in a rose-bud it affects to find,
Or in a mountain, much to fill the mind
With thoughts of God, and fire the heart with love;
And yet e'en this, by genius oft enshrined
In numbers sweet, with these alone can move,
Or seem to move the heart, or lift the thoughts above.
XLII.
Who learns to hold communion with the GodOf this material frame, by gazing o'er
Its beauty near and vastness far abroad,
While yet he never bowed the knee before
The reigning God of love? What sees he more
To fill with joy or awe than he might see,
Had earth and heaven no Maker to adore,
Had they been always, or begun to be
Without creating power, mid shouts of melody.
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XLIII.
Grows he devout from all the spring's sweet bloom,Or all the pride of summer rich and gay?
From autumn's fading hues and placid gloom,
Or pomp of winter in its white array,
With sunbeams twinkling from each icy spray,
And meteors shooting thick and howling storms?
Or from the lights and shades of night and day,
In cloudless climes, with all the perfect forms
Of grandeur that exalts, and loveliness that warms?
XLIV.
Then wherefore are not they who dwell apartFrom the great world, upon some lofty plain
Amid the Andes, nearest heaven in heart?
Why are not they whose home is on the main,
The least unmindful of Jehovah's reign,
In calm and storm, on every sea and shore?
Or why do men of creed and life profane
Return not after earth is travelled o'er
And half its mountains climbed, less impious than before?
XLV.
Where are the virtues and the calm delightsOf the lone cottage 'mid embowering trees,
Far from the worlds tumultuous sounds and sights,
On some hill-side o'erlooking smooth blue seas,
Or in some vale where but the hum of bees,
The chant of birds, and the rill's murmur break
The charmed air's stillness, and the roughest breeze
Can stir no more than into life just shake
The green grove's perfect image in the glassy lake?
XLVI.
Draw near ye sons of romance and beholdYour boasted calm of happy virtue gone;
See foul intemperance and profaneness bold,
And pride in rags as rank as if in lawn;
See all enchantment from the scene withdrawn
By the first touch of truth's celestial ray;
As golden dreams all vanish at the dawn,
So quick your bright creation fades away,
And your etherial beings sink to things of clay.
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XLVII.
Leave bards behind and seek the hermit's cell,High converse holds he, in his solitude
With angels shedding round as by a spell
A radiance into which no clouds intrude
From earth, or earthly passions unsubdued?
Or musing on bright skies and mountains wild
Communes he with their Maker, till imbued
With pure and lofty thoughts and feelings mild,
By error duped no more, no more by sin defiled.
XLVIII.
But love of nature feasted high and longWithout controlling faith, while it inspires
No heavenly flame, oft feeds amid a throng
Of fancies soft and wild, far other fires,—
False feeling, airy hopes, and foul desires,
And helps to form an idler unconfined,
Or visionary, whom the truth soon tires,
Or profligate, or hater of mankind,
Or all in one, and more, a skeptic cold and blind.
XLIX.
All these was Byron, and was doubly theseFrom his unhallowed genius revelling free
Amid the charms of loveliest lands and seas:—
'Twas here he nursed the daring liberty
Of dreaming what man is, and is to be,
In spite of all the unimpassioned prose
Of truth divine, when with sweet poetry
All nature lives, luxuriates and glows,
Tempting to pleasure here, leaving to fate its close.
L.
How did he send to Heaven defiance proud,While bounding lightly o'er the billowy world,
Or gazing round him when the midnight cloud
Its massy folds o'er Alpine heights unfurled,
And round from cliff to cliff its light'nings hurled,
With dark red gleams now showing wood and lake,
Swept in broad waves, or in deep eddies whirled,
Now leaving all a blank, while thunders break
In one redoubling peal and all the mountains shake.
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LI.
And when with all the elements at peaceHe breathed the air of Italy's soft vales,
Or of the verdant shores and isles of Greece,
To him the deities of classic tales
Seemed to return to groves and hills and dales,
Their former haunts, made theirs from beauty bright
As on Arabian plains, by poisonous gales
And burning suns laid waste, the skies of night
With deities are filled for their cool placid light.
LII.
To him the Cyprian queen resumed her throneWhere once the pencil, pen, and chisel vied,
By borrowing nature's charms to raise her own;—
On roses she must feed and sleep, must glide
A form of light o'er the cerulean tide,
Or towards her temple through green shady groves
With garlands crowned, in pomp serene must guide
Her ivory chariot drawn by swans and doves,
With Graces dancing round and all her winged Loves.
LIII.
Tis oft the unhallowed fancy that delightsO'er the sublime and fair of earth to glance,
To wander long where earth with heaven unites,
To sail on smooth wings o'er the blue expanse,
Or on bright clouds in a voluptuous trance,
Or soar 'mid worlds, above, below, around,
Approaching and retreating in a dance
Of light and harmony, and with that sound
Of fabled music sweet, filling the vast profound.
LIV.
From flights so high, how quick can man descend,—From realms so bright and calm,—and roll in dust,
A slave to passions that like vultures rend
Ere they devour, and from the bosom thrust
All feelings kind and pure, and wake mistrust
Of every friend, and enmity to all
The good and happy, from the cold disgust
Of senses pampered till their pleasures pall;
When at the world he murmurs, to revenge his fall.
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LV.
Sick of the world, a glad farewell he singsTo all its living scenes; and, worse than vain,
Sighs without meaning for the dove's light wings,
To waft him to some island of the main,
Or far-off desert, where he may complain
To woods and waters, fortune may defy,
And there restored to nature's boasted reign,
Feel free to pour contempt on every tie,
That man to man unites, and to the God on high.
LVI.
Or weary of his life, he madly throwsThe burden down, or drags it on in dread
Of each day's added weight, while no repose
He looks for here, but longs to lay his head
Among the silent and forgotten dead;—
And this is greatness that the young betimes
Learn to admire; and though his joys are fled,
Still in the fancies from which sprung his crimes
They think to find their joys, as if in fairy climes.
LVII.
They seek a paradise that from them fliesAnd leaves them oft bewildered, like the band
Of Indian youths, who searched with eager eyes
Through Florida's vast swamp for unknown land,
By hunters praised as rising with firm strand
Just in their utmost need, and in full view,
Where waving many an inviting hand,
The daughters of the sun to safety drew,
And cheered them with rich fruits, their labours to renew.
LVIII.
But when with those immortal ones they thoughtTo live and share in their unfading prime,
They saw them flee; and when they fondly sought
To follow to their chosen isle, and climb
Its verdant shores and cloudless heights sublime,
The waters round them rose with threatening roar,
The isle receding vanished many a time,
Then re-appeared but distant as before,
As if to bid them go content and seek no more.
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LIX.
And thus do nature's scenes of beauty giveThe spirit rest, when but an hour enjoyed;
Life's fainting traveller thus they oft revive,
They calm the soul by earthly cares annoyed,
Refine the sense by earthly pleasures cloyed,
The sad heart cheer, and ease the toiling mind;
But sought life's ills and labours to avoid,
They mock with visions of delight that blind
The eyes to truth, then fly, and leave despair behind.
LX.
And in the tender gloom of that despairAll vigour dies, all virtue high and bold,
The will to labour and the strength to bear;
And man becomes a thing of passive mould,
As helpless as the Sybarite of old,
Who on his bed of roses could not rest,
If out a leaf retained a single fold;
Listless inquietude pervades his breast,
And trifles from without, each moment's peace molest.
LXI.
All at the mercy of surrounding things,A passing cloud or bird of thrilling strain,
Bears him away through wild imaginings,
Like and unlike, combined in one long train;
Or all resigned to fancy's gloomy reign,
He melts in reveries, begun from nought,
Prolonged at random and then closed in vain,
A mere delirium of soft feeling wrought,
With but the semblance left, of deep, continuous thought.
LXII.
But his is sickly feeling ill refined,Nursed in the luxury of causeless tears,—
Tears that foment a fever in the mind,
Yet chill and harden all within that cheers
This mournful life, and man to man endears;
Like Niobe he weeps himself to stone;
Nought now of others woes he sees or hears,
With his lost hopes his sympathies are flown,
And in a social world, he lives and dies alone.
197
LXIII.
Or if his feeling e'er the heart dilateWith touch of pity till a tear be shed,
'Tis more for trifles than for things of weight,
Resembling much the superstitious dread
The Hindoo feels, lest his incautious tread
Should crush an insect, while he views unmoved
The living mortal burning with the dead,
A sacrifice by favourite gods approved,
And by his listless spirit borne till it is loved.
LXIV.
Rosseau could weep,—yes, with a heart of stoneThe impious sophist could recline beside
The pure and peaceful lake, and muse alone
On all its loveliness at even tide,—
On its small running waves in purple died
Beneath bright clouds or all the glowing sky,
On the white sails that o'er its bosom glide,
And on surrounding mountains wild and high
Till tears unbidden gushed from his enchanted eye.
LXV.
But his were not the tears of feeling fineOf grief or love; at fancy's flash they flowed,
Like burning drops from some proud lonely pine
By lightning fired; his heart with passion glowed
Till it consumed his life, and yet he showed
A chilling coldness both to friend and foe,
As Etna, with its centre an abode
Of wasting fire, chills with the icy snow
Of all its desert brow the living world below.
LXVI.
Was he but justly wretched from his crimes?Then why was Cowper's anguish oft as keen,
With all the heaven-born virtue that sublimes
Genius and feeling, and to things unseen
Lifts the pure heart through clouds, that roll between
The earth and skies, to darken human hope?
Or wherefore did those clouds thus intervene
To render vain faith's lifted telescope,
And leave him in thick gloom his weary way to grope?
198
LXVII.
He too could give himself to musing deep,By the calm lake at evening he could stand,
Lonely and sad, to see the moon light sleep
On all its breast by not an insect fanned,
And hear low voices on the far-off strand,
Or through the still and dewy atmosphere
The pipe's soft tones waked by some gentle hand,
From fronting shore and woody island near
In echoes quick returned more mellow and more clear.
LXVIII.
And he could cherish wild and mournful dreams,In the pine grove, when low the full moon fair
Shot under lofty tops her level beams,
Stretching the shades of trunks erect and bare,
In stripes drawn parallel with order rare,
As of some temple vast or colonnade,
While on green turf made smooth without his care
He wandered o'er its stripes of light and shade,
And heard the dying day-breeze all the boughs pervade.
LXIX.
'Twas thus in nature's bloom and solitudeHe nursed his grief till nothing could assuage;
'Twas thus his tender spirit was subdued,
Till in life's toils it could no more engage;
And his had been a useless pilgrimage,
Had he been gifted with no sacred power,
To send his thoughts to every future age;—
But he is gone where grief will not devour,
Where beauty will not fade, and skies will never lower.
LXX.
To that bright world where things of earth appearStript of false charms, my fancy often flies,
To ask him there what life is happiest here;
And as he points around him and replies
With glowing lips, my heart within me dies,
And conscience whispers of a dreadful bar,
When in some scene where every beauty lies,
A soft sweet pensiveness begins to mar
The joys of social life, and with its claims to war.
199
LXXI.
'Twas one of summer's last and loveliest days,When at the dawn, with a congenial friend
I rose to climb the mount, that with the gaze
Of expectation high we long had kenned,
While travelling towards it as our journey's end:—
Height after height we reached that seemed the last
But far above, where we must yet ascend,
Another and another rose, till fast
The sun began to sink ere all but one were past.
LXXII.
Upon that loftiest one awhile we stoodSilent with wonder and absorbing awe;
A thousand peaks, the lowest crowned with wood,
The highest of bare rock at once we saw,
In ranges spread till seeming to withdraw
Far into heaven, and mix their softer blue;
While ranges near, as if in spite of law,
With all wild shapes and grand filled up the view
And o'er the deep dark gulf fantastic shadows threw.
LXXIII.
Here billows heaved in one vast swell, and thereIn one long sweep, as on a stormy sea,
Drawn to a curling edge, seemed held in air,
Ready to move as from a charm set free,
And roar, and dash, and sink, and cease to be;
While firm and smooth as hewn of emerald rock,
Below them rose to points of one proud tree
Green pyramids of pine, that seemed to mock
In conscious safety proud, their vainly threatened shock.
LXXIV.
Here while the sun yet shone, abysses vastLike openings into inner regions seemed
All objects fading, mingling, sinking fast,
Save few that shot up where the sun yet beamed;
But soon as his last rays around us streamed
Thick darkness wrapt the whole, o'er which the glow
Of western skies in feeble flashes gleamed,
While bright from pole to pole extending slow
Along the wide horizon ere it sunk below.
200
LXXV.
'Twas midnight, when from our sequestered bowerI stole with sleepless eyes to gaze alone;
For tis alone we feel in its full power,
The enchantment o'er a scene so awful thrown:—
Through broken flying clouds the moon now shone,
And light and shade crossed mountain-top and vale;
While with imparted motion, not their own,
The heavens and earth to fancy seemed to sail
Through boundless space like her creation bright but frail.
LXXVI.
Ere long the clouds were gone, the moon was set;When deeply blue without a shade of gray,
The sky was filled with stars that almost met,
Their points prolonged and sharpened to one ray;
Through their transparent air the milky-way
Seemed one broad flame of pure resplendent white,
As if some globe on fire, turned far astray,
Had crossed the wide arch with so swift a flight,
That for a moment shone its whole long track of light.
LXXVII.
At length in northern skies, at first but small,A sheet of light meteorrous begun
To spread on either hand, and rise and fall
In waves, that slowly first, then quickly run
Along its edge, set thick but one by one
With spiry beams, that all at once shot high,
Like those through vapours from the setting sun;
Then sidelong as before the wind they fly,
Like streaking rain from clouds that flit along the sky.
LXXVIII.
Now all the mountain-tops and gulfs betweenSeemed one dark plain; from forests, caves profound
And rushing waters far below unseen,
Rose a deep roar in one united sound,
Alike pervading all the air around,
And seeming e'en the azure dome to fill,
And from it through soft ether to resound
In low vibrations, sending a sweet thrill
To every finger's end from rapture deep and still.
201
LXXIX.
Spent with emotion, and to rest resigned,A sudden sleep fell on me, and subdued
With visions bright and dread my restless mind;—
Methought that in a realm of solitude,
All indistinctly like the one just viewed,
With guilt oppressed and with foreboding gloom,
My lonely way bewildered I pursued,
Mid signs of terror that the day of doom,
And lovely nature's last dissolving hour had come.
LXXX.
The sun and moon in depths of ether sunkTill half extinct, shed their opposing light
In dismal union, at which all things shrunk;—
Anon they both, like meteors streaming bright,
Ran down the sky and vanished—all was night;
With that a groan as from earth's centre rose,
While o'er its surface ran, o'er vale and height,
A waving as of woods when wild wind blows,
A heaving as of life in its expiring throes.
LXXXI.
Far in the broad horizon dimly shoneA flood of fire, advancing with a roar,
Like that of ocean when the waves are thrown
In nightly storms high on a rocky shore;—
Spreading each way it came, and sweeping o'er
Woodlands like stubble, forests wide and tall
In thick ranks falling, blooming groves before
Its fury vanishing too soon to fall,
And mountains melting down—one deluge covering all.
LXXXII.
Before it, striking quick from cloud to cloud,Streamed its unearthly light along the sky,
Flashing from all the swift wings of a crowd
Of frighted birds at random soaring high,
And from the faces of lost men that fly
In throngs beneath, as back they snatched a look
Of horror at the billows rolling nigh
With thundering sound at which all nature shook,
And e'en the strength of hope their sinking hearts forsook.
202
LXXXIII.
No more I saw, for while I thought to fleeWhat seemed the swoon of terror held me fast,
My senses drowned, and set my fancy free,
Waked not, but back to sleep unconscious cast
My troubled spirit; one dark moment passed,
And, all revived again, my dream went on;
But in that interval what changes vast!
The earth and its lost multitudes were gone;
A new creation blessed eternity's bright dawn.
LXXXIV.
Myself I found borne to a heavenly climeI knew not how, but felt a stranger there;
Still the same being that I was in time,
E'en to my raiment; on the borders fair
Of that blest land I stood in lone despair;
Not its pure beauty and immortal bloom,
Its firmament serene and balmy air,
Nor all its glorious beings, broke the gloom
Of my foreboding thoughts, fixed on some dreadful doom.
LXXXV.
There walked the ransomed ones of earth in whiteAs beautifully pure as new-fallen snow,
On the smooth summit of some eastern height,
In the first rays of morn that o'er it flow,
Nor less resplendent than the richest glow
Of snow-white clouds, with all their stores of rain
And thunder spent, rolled up in volumes slow
O'er the blue sky just cleared from every stain,
Till all the blaze of noon they drink and long retain.
LXXXVI.
Safe landed on these shores, together henceThat bright throng took their way to where insphered
In a transparent cloud of light intense,
With starry pinnacles above it reared,
A city vast the inland all appeared,
With walls of azure, green, and purple stone,
All to one glassy surface smoothed and cleared,
Reflecting forms of angel guards that shone
Above the approaching host as each were on a throne.
203
LXXXVII.
And while that host moved onward o'er a plainOf living verdure, oft they turned to greet
Friends that on earth had taught them heaven to gain;
Then hand in hand they went with quickened feet;
And bright with immortality, and sweet
With love etherial, were the smiles they cast;
I only wandered on with none to meet
And call me dear, while pointing to the past
And forward to the joys that never reach their last.
LXXXVIII.
I had not bound myself by any tiesTo that blest land; none saw me and none sought;
Nor any shunned, or from me turned their eyes;
And yet such sense of guilt had conscience wrought,
It seemed that every bosom's inmost thought
Was fixed on me; when back as from their view
I shrunk, and would have fled or shrunk to nought
As some I loved and many that I knew
Passed on unmindful why or whither I withdrew.
LXXXIX.
Whereat of sad remembrances a floodRushed o'er my spirit, and my heart beat low
As with the heavy gush of curdling blood:—
Soon left behind, awhile I followed slow,
Then stopped and round me looked my fate to know,
But looked in vain;—no voice my doom to tell;—
No arm to hurl me down to depths of wo;—
It seemed that I was brought to heaven to dwell
That conscience might alone do all the work of hell.
XC.
Now came the thought, the bitter thought of yearsWasted in musings sad and fancies wild,
And in the visionary hopes and fears
Of the false feeling of a heart beguiled
By nature's strange enchantment, strong and wild;
Now with celestial beauty blooming round,
I stood as on some naked waste exiled;
From gathering hosts came music's swelling sound
But deeper in despair my sinking spirit drowned.
204
XCI.
At length methought a darkness as of deathCame slowly o'er me, and with that I woke;
Yet knew not in the first suspended breath
Where I could be, so real seemed the stroke
That in my dream all earthly ties had broke;
A moment more, and melting in a tide
Of grateful fervour, how did I invoke
Power from the Highest to leave all beside,
And live but to secure the bliss my dream denied.
XCII.
The day soon dawned, and I could not but viewIts purple tinge in heaven, and then its beams
Revealing all around me, as they flew
From peak to peak, and striking in soft gleams
On the white mists that hung o'er winding streams
Through trackless forests, and o'er clustering lakes
In vallies wide, where many a green height seems
An isle above the cloud that round it breaks,
As with the breeze it moves and its deep bed forsakes.
XCIII.
Yet all was viewed with calm and thoughtful joy,As but reminding me that earth was still
My bright abode of hope, to high employ
Inviting me through all its good and ill,
Its smiles to flatter and its frowns to chill:—
The one dread thought of an hereafter reigned
Within me, followed me, nor ceased to fill
My heart and soul through days of peace unfeigned,—
Would Heaven that till this hour its freshness had remained.
XCIV.
With thoughts sublimed and yet chastised by truth,'Tis sweet to see from our maturer years
How vain the fond imaginings of youth,—
'Tis sweet to see, while faith the bosom cheers,
The withering of the flowers that fancy rears,
The fading of her visions once so bright,
And when her bubbles burst, to smile in tears
That we could trust so much in things so light,
So sure to lead astray and then to take their flight.
205
XCV.
A bright or dark eternity in view,With all its fixed unutterable things,
What madness in the living to pursue,
As their chief portion, with the speed of wings
The joys that death-beds always turn to stings!
Infatuated man, on earth's smooth waste
To dance along the path that always brings
Quick to an end, from which with tenfold haste
Back would he gladly fly till all should be retraced!
XCVI.
Our life is like the hurrying on the eveBefore we start on some long journey bound,
When fit preparing to the last we leave,
Then run to every room the dwelling round,
And sigh that nothing needed can be found;
Yet go we must, and soon as day shall break;
We snatch an hour's repose, when loud the sound
For our departure calls; we rise and take
A quick and sad farewell, and go ere well awake.
XCVII.
Reared in the sunshine, blasted by the storms,Of changing time, scarce asking why or whence,
Men come and go like vegetable forms,
Though heaven appoints for them a work immense,
Demanding constant thought and zeal intense,
Awaked by hopes and fears that leave no room
For rest to mortals in the dread suspense,
While yet they know not if beyond the tomb
A long, long life of bliss or wo shall be their doom.
XCVIII.
What matter whether pain or pleasures fillThe swelling heart one little moment here?
From both alike how vain is every thrill
While an untried eternity is near!
Think not of rest, fond man, in life's career;
The joys and grief that meet thee, dash aside
Like bubbles, and thy bark right onward steer
Through calm and tempest till it cross the tide,
Shoot into port in triumph, or serenely glide.
206
XCIX.
And thou to whom long worshipped nature lendsNo strength to fly from grief or bear its weight,
Stop not to rail at foes or fickle friends,
Nor set the world at nought, nor spurn at fate;
None seek thy misery, none thy being hate;
Break from thy former self, thy life begin;
Do thou the good thy thoughts oft meditate,
And thou shalt feel the good man's peace within,
And at thy dying day his wreath of glory win.
C.
With deeds of virtue to embalm his nameHe dies in triumph or serene delight;
Weaker and weaker grows his mortal frame
At every breath, but in immortal might
His spirit grows, preparing for its flight;
The world recedes and fades like clouds of even,
But heaven comes nearer fast, and grows more bright,
All intervening mists far off are driven;—
The world will vanish soon, and all will soon be heaven.
CI.
Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold;
'Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
Its life and beauty; not, when all unrolled,
Leaf after leaf its bosom rich and fair
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
CII.
Wake thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers,Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours
To take take their swift and everlasting flight;
Wake ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed;
Do something—do it soon—with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself inactive were no longer blest.
207
CIII.
Some high or humble enterprise of goodContemplate till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined;
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose—to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fixed and feelings purely kind,
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.
CIV.
No good of worth sublime will heaven permitTo light on man as from the passing air;
The lamp of genius though by nature lit,
If not protected, pruned, and fed with care,
Soon dies or runs to waste with fitful glare,
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare,
That 'mid gay thousands with the suns and showers
Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.
CV.
Has immortality of name been givenTo them that idly worship hills and groves,
And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven?
Did Newton learn from fancy as it roves,
To measure worlds and follow where each moves?
Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease,
By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves?
Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace
By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece?
CVI.
Beware lest thou from sloth, that would appearBut lowliness of mind, with joy proclaim
Thy want of worth; a charge thou couldst not hear
From other lips, without a blush of shame,
Or pride indignant; then be thine the blame,
And make thyself of worth; and thus enlist
The smiles of all the good, the dear to fame;
'Tis infamy to die and not be missed,
Or let all soon forget that thou didst e'er exist.
208
CVII.
Rouse to some work of high and holy love,And thou an angel's happiness shalt know,—
Shalt bless the earth while in the world above,
The good begun by thee shall onward flow
In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
The seed that in these few and fleeting hours,
Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow,
Shall deck thy grave, with amaranthine flowers,
And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.
| Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox . | |