 | Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox . |  |
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
176
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.
| Remains of the Rev. Carlos Wilcox . | |