Thoughts in Prison, in Five Parts viz. The Imprisonment--The Retrospect--Public Punishment--The Trial--Futurity; By the Rev. William Dodd. To which are added, His Last Prayer, Written in the Night before his Death; The Convict's Address to his Unhappy Brethren; and Other Miscellaneous Pieces: With an account of the author, and a list of his works ... The fourth edition, with additions |
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| 5. | WEEK THE FIFTH.
Futurity.
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 | Thoughts in Prison, in Five Parts |  |
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WEEK THE FIFTH. Futurity.
“To death devote!” Thus in the vernal bloomOf redolent youth and beauty, on the cross
Hung high her motto ;—she, in name and choice
Of that far better part, like her so fam'd
In story evangelical,—Sweet saint,
Friend of my soul, and soother of my grief,
Shall I then dread in age, and worn with woe,
To meet the king of terrors?—Coward fear
Of what we all must meet: The primal curse
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And “Dust to dust,” the charter of mankind!
Miss Mary Bosanquet, whose motto, encircling a cross, is, “Devoted to Death.” From fourteen years of age she dedicated herself to sincere religion, and to the present hour has persevered in the most exemplary line of duty. Her letters to the author, in his last distress, afforded him peculiar comfort.
To stretch the narrow span, grown tedious, stale,
With dull recurrence of the same dull acts,
Ev'n in its happiest state! A toilsome care,
A wearying round of clothing, food, and sleep:
While chequer'd over with a thousand ills
Inevitably painful!—In our frame
Dwell (death's artillery) diseases dire,
And potent to dislodge the brittle life
With agonies heart-rending! In the soul
Lurks sin, the serpent, with her fiery sting
Of sorrow, rankling in the conscience deep,
Source of all mental misery!—From without,
In close battalion, a black troop of ills
Level their deep-drawn arrows at our peace;
And fail not, as we pass thro' life's bad road,
To wound th'unguarded traveller! witness you
Who groan distress'd beneath oppression's scourge;
Ingratitude's sharp tooth; the canker'd tongue
Of slander; fortune's loss; or, bitterer far,
The loss of fame, and soul-connected friends!
Thus tax'd, thus wretched, can the man be wise
Who wishes to retain so poor a boon?
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To his blest hands who gave it? And who thus love
Beneficent hath rang'd his moral plan,
Thus good with evil mix'd; from earth's poor
(School of probation) suffering man to wean,
And raise his hopes to heaven! Silence then
The whisper of complaint; low in the dust
Dissatisfaction's dæmons growl unheard!
All, all is good, all excellent below:
Pain is a blessing; sorrow leads to joy,
Joy permanent and solid! Every ill
Bears with it love paternal: nay, ev'n death,
Grim death itself, in all its horrors clad,
Is man's supremest privilege! It frees
The soul from prison, from foul sin, from woe,
And gives it back to glory, rest, and God!
When will its welcome message lay at peace
My burden'd, beating heart?—Oh strange! to point
Thy darts, inexorable tyrant, there,
Where life laughs crown'd with roses; when these arms,
Familiar to thy sister Sorrow's fold.
Would so delighted hug thee! But thou lov'st
Full oft the noblest quarry, highest aim:
Lov'st, unsuspected, and with silent step,
To steal on the secure: Lov'st to deal round
Tremendous and impartial thy stern strokes,
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Thy empire irresistible: And now
At monarchs, now at mimics, grinning scorn,
Thy hand indifferent hurls the twanging shaft.
Ah, what a groupe of primest deer lie pierc'd,
Thou Hunter all-victorious, at thy feet;
Since to thy empire dedicate I fell
From life's bright hope, and languish'd in this grave,
This living, doleful sepulchre immur'd!
Not all thy gold or orient pearl could save
Thee, Lusitania's monarch, from the stroke
Impending long and dread! Nor, Terrick , thee,
Thy mitre and thy rochet! Ensigns blest,
When worn with sanctity; then surely chang'd
For crown of gold, and robe of spotless white!
See, neither can the coronet, nor garb
Of ermin'd pomp, from Temple turn aside
The level'd blow; nor, higher far in price,
Th'uplifted shield of Janssen's honest heart!
Lo! too, as if in scorn of purpled pride,
And all life's glories, in this high parade
Funereal marches, tragic-actor now
He who so late light on the comic sock
Trod the gay stage, and bade with laughter's burst
Involuntary the throng'd theatres resound!
Ah, food for worms, poor Woodward, thou, no less
Than patriots, princes, countesses and priests!
Death scorns distinctions: But, despotic power,
Cloth'd in his direst terrors, here he reigns,
Here revels! Here, with bitterest vengeance, shakes
O'er trembling convicts his determin'd shaft,
And gluts himself with horror! See him lead
From yonder darksome cell, all pale with woe,
That stranger sinking! who, in luckless hour,
With rash hand pierc'd the bosom he ador'd,
Nor drank of comfort more! half in his heart
The black lance festering sticks; and death himself,
Howe'er relentless, ere he drives it home,
Of strange commiseration feels a pang,
Reluctant to his office!—
Of ermin'd pomp, from Temple turn aside
The level'd blow; nor, higher far in price,
Th'uplifted shield of Janssen's honest heart!
Lo! too, as if in scorn of purpled pride,
And all life's glories, in this high parade
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He who so late light on the comic sock
Trod the gay stage, and bade with laughter's burst
Involuntary the throng'd theatres resound!
Ah, food for worms, poor Woodward, thou, no less
Than patriots, princes, countesses and priests!
Death scorns distinctions: But, despotic power,
Cloth'd in his direst terrors, here he reigns,
Here revels! Here, with bitterest vengeance, shakes
O'er trembling convicts his determin'd shaft,
And gluts himself with horror! See him lead
From yonder darksome cell, all pale with woe,
That stranger sinking! who, in luckless hour,
With rash hand pierc'd the bosom he ador'd,
Nor drank of comfort more! half in his heart
The black lance festering sticks; and death himself,
Howe'er relentless, ere he drives it home,
Of strange commiseration feels a pang,
Reluctant to his office!—
But, that shriek—
Thrilling with dread—whence is it? 'Tis the voice
Of female misery, bursting thro' the crowd
To the lone dungeon: view that lovely form
Deck'd in the neatest white,—yet not so white
And wan as her wild visage: “Keep me not,”
Raving she cries, “Keep me not, cruel, from him.
“He dies this morn; I know it: he's condemn'd;
“The dreadful judge has done it! He must die,
“My husband! and I'm come, clad in my best,
“To go and suffer with him! I have brought
“Sweet flowers to cheer him, and to strew his corse,
“Pale, pale, and speechless lies it!—Husband, come!
“The little infant, fruit of our glad loves,
“Smil'd on me, as with parting breath I blest,
“And kiss'd the dear babe for thee! 'Tis but young;
“'Tis tender yet;—seven days is young in life:
“Angels will guard my little innocent:
“They'll feed it, tho' thou could'st not find it food,
“And its poor mother too!—And so thou dy'st!
“For me and it thou dy'st! But not alone,
“Thou shalt not go alone; I will die with thee:
“Sweet mercy be upon us! Hence, hence, hence!”
Impetuous then, her white arms round his neck
She threw; and, with deep groans would pierce a rock,
Sunk fainting. Oh the husband's, father's pangs,
Stopping all utterance! Up to Heaven he roll'd
His frantic eyes; and staring wildly round
In desperation's madness, to his heart
Drove the destructive steel!—Fell death,
Would'st thou a fuller triumph?—Oh my wife,
How dismal to our ears the shrieks, the groans!—
And what a crowd of wild ideas press
Distracting on the soul! “Merciful Heaven,
“In pity spare us! Say, It is enough,
“And bid the avenging angel stay his hand!”
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Of female misery, bursting thro' the crowd
To the lone dungeon: view that lovely form
Deck'd in the neatest white,—yet not so white
And wan as her wild visage: “Keep me not,”
Raving she cries, “Keep me not, cruel, from him.
“He dies this morn; I know it: he's condemn'd;
“The dreadful judge has done it! He must die,
“My husband! and I'm come, clad in my best,
“To go and suffer with him! I have brought
“Sweet flowers to cheer him, and to strew his corse,
“Pale, pale, and speechless lies it!—Husband, come!
“The little infant, fruit of our glad loves,
“Smil'd on me, as with parting breath I blest,
“And kiss'd the dear babe for thee! 'Tis but young;
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“Angels will guard my little innocent:
“They'll feed it, tho' thou could'st not find it food,
“And its poor mother too!—And so thou dy'st!
“For me and it thou dy'st! But not alone,
“Thou shalt not go alone; I will die with thee:
“Sweet mercy be upon us! Hence, hence, hence!”
Impetuous then, her white arms round his neck
She threw; and, with deep groans would pierce a rock,
Sunk fainting. Oh the husband's, father's pangs,
Stopping all utterance! Up to Heaven he roll'd
His frantic eyes; and staring wildly round
In desperation's madness, to his heart
Drove the destructive steel!—Fell death,
Would'st thou a fuller triumph?—Oh my wife,
How dismal to our ears the shrieks, the groans!—
And what a crowd of wild ideas press
Distracting on the soul! “Merciful Heaven,
“In pity spare us! Say, It is enough,
“And bid the avenging angel stay his hand!”
Alluding to Tolosa, a poor unhappy Spaniard, lately executed for the murder of his female friend. He took scarce any sustenance from the time of the fact, and was more than half dead when conveyed to the place of execution.
This also alludes to a miserable catastrophe, which happened here on the morning of a late execution. The poor young woman who came to visit her husband, had lain-in but seven days. As soon as the husband's fetters were knocked off, he stepped aside, and cut his throat in a dismal manner; but not quite sufficiently to finish his existence:—And in that shocking state—paid his debt—at the destined place.
Brushing beside us, calls, in solemn sound,
Heed to his dart grief-pointed. Its keen stroke,
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Relief to thy o'er-burden'd breast! to ours
Anguish unutterable! 'Tis ours he wounds,
Thou amiable friend!—whose languid eye
Ne'er rais'd a look from earth since that sad hour
When sunk my sun! Thou, who from earliest youth
Hast humbly sought thy God, thou art at peace:
Happy, thrice happy, on that golden shore,
Where from the tossing of these troublous waves
We soon shall land. Oh stay, affectionate,
Oh wait, and welcome us! Or, if in Heaven
Blest saints retain concern for those on earth
Held in the dearest amity, become
Thy darling sister's guardian! As from youth,
From childhood's dawn, her dear maternal guide,
Be now, lov'd spirit, in this hour of woe
Her angel-comfort, her support! Alas,
What talk I of support! thou mercy's God!
When all her conduct, by the grace inspir'd—
When all her patient gentleness and love,
Her fortitude unparallel'd, and peace,
Have thee their Author: Be the glory thine!
Mrs. Dodd's sister; who, in the midst of our sorrows, did—what she never did before—augment them, by dying of a heart broken with grief for our calamity. Oh misery!
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This dread familiarity with death;
Our common debt, from infancy's first cry
Denounc'd, expected, tho' its sure approach
Lurks in uncertainty's obscurest night;—
Our common debt, which babes and palsied seers,
Princes and pilgrims, equally must pay;—
Say, canst thou feel reluctance to discharge
The claim inevitable? Senseless he,
Who in life's gaudiest moments fondly strives
To turn his eyes unheeding from the view
Instructive. 'Midst those moments, deep it dwelt
On my reflecting mind ! a mind which liv'd
More in the future than the present world;
Which, frequent call'd by duty's solemn voice
From earth's low scenes, on those sublimer far
Hath ever thought delighted; and those thoughts
Conveying to mankind, in them desires
Its real transcript, its resemblance true
May be survey'd—the picture of itself.
For, whatsoe'er may be our earthly state,
The mind's the man. My humble labours, then,
When rests my part corporeal in the dust,
Hang up my living portrait!—And to give
Those labours all their force, summon'd I stand
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The theoretic lessons I have taught.
And lo! compos'd, I fix my dying seal
In attestation to their truth, their power,
Felt at my heart, my inmost conscience felt;
Imparting triumph o'er life's love; o'er death
Consummate exultation! while my soul
Longs to go forth, and pants for endless day!
Like a swoln torrent, which with frightful roar
Have burst destructive o'er me; 'midst the loss
Of all things dear, Fame, Honour, Peace, and Rest;
Amidst the cruel spoiling of my goods,
The bitterest rancour of envenom'd spite,
And calumny unfeeling ;—what surprize
That my wean'd soul, above this worldly wreck,
With anxious expectation waits the call
From melancholy mourning and dim grief,
To everlasting gladness? Powerful Hope,
And all-sufficient to sustain the soul,
Tho' walking thro' the darkest vale of woe!
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By subtle sophistry that soul to rob
Of its chief anchor, choicest privilege,
And noblest consolation—“Stedfast Faith
“In great Futurity's extended scene:
“Eternity of Being?” All things round
Arise in brightest proof: I see it, feel it,
Thro' all my faculties, thro' all my powers,
Pervading irresistible. Each groan
Sent from my sorrowing heart; each scalding tear
From my convicted eyes; each fervent prayer
By meek repentance offer'd up to Heaven,
Asserts my immortality! proclaims
A pardoning Deity and future world.
Nor less the thought, chill, comfortless, abhorr'd,
Of loath'd annihilation!—From the view,
Humiliating, mean, unworthy man,
Almost unworthy reptiles,—glad I turn,
And triumph in existence! Nay, each ill
And every mundane trouble preaches loud
The same important truth. I read it fair
And legibly engrav'd on all below:
On all the inequalities discern'd
In this perplexing, mix'd, and motley scene;
In every rank and order of mankind ;
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Inadequate, imperfect,—and full oft
Unjust and cruel; in this dismal jail,
And in the proudest palaces alike
I read, and glory to trace out the marks
Irrefragably clear of future life;
Of retribution's just and equal state.
Numberless letters, of a most unchristian, horrid, and cruel nature, were continually sent to him in the height of his distresses. Yet some of these letters were subscribed, A Lady, A Christian, or, A Christian Brother.
At this sweet season , joyfully throws in
Her attestation lovely: bids the sun,
All-bounteous, pour his vivifying light,
To rouse and waken from their wint'ry death
The vegetable tribe! Fresh from their graves,
At his resistless summons, start they forth,
A verdant resurrection! In each plant,
Each flower, each tree to blooming life restor'd,
I trace the pledge, the earnest, and the type
Of man's revival; of his future rise
And victory o'er the grave,—compell'd to yield
Her sacred, rich deposit, from the seed
Corrupt and mortal, and immortal frame
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The Sun of righteousness, whose living power
The mighty work shall operate! Yes, bright source
Of spiritual life!—the immaterial world
Pervading, quickening, gladdening,—in the rays
Full-orb'd of Revelation, thy prime gift,
I view display'd, magnificent, and full,
What reason, nature, in dim darkness teach,
Tho' visible, not distinct: I read with joy
Man's high prerogative; transported read
The certain, clear discovery of life
And immortality, announc'd by thee,
Parent of truth, celestial Visitant,
Fountain of all intelligence divine!
Of that high immortality the King,
And of that life the Author! How man mounts,
Mounts upon angel-wings, when fies'd, secur'd
In that sublime inheritance; when seen
As a terrestrial stranger here; a god
Confin'd a while in prison of the flesh,
Soon, soon to soar, and meet his brother-gods,
His fellows, in eternity!—How creeps,
How grovels human nature! What a worm,
An insect of an hour, poor, sinful, sad;
Despis'd and despicable, reptile-like
Crawls man, his moment on his ant hill here:
—Marking his little shining path with slime,—
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His painful, narrow views! Like the poor moth,
By lights delusive to destruction led;
Still struggling oft its horrors to evade,
Still more and more involv'd; in flame he lives
His transient toilsome minute, and expires
In suffocating smoke.
Spring. See my Poem on the Epiphany, ver. 131, &c. I would have that Poem considered, in dependence with this, as my serious thoughts on these awful subjects, in an early period of my life; and which, in this last and dreadful one, I find no reason to alter.
Amidst the catalogue of those mow'd down
By time's huge scythe, late noted ; Thou, be sure,
Wast not forgotten! Author thou hast gain'd
Thy vast ambition's summit: Fame was thine;
Wealth too, beyond thy amplest wish's bound,
Encompass'd thee: And lo, the pageant ends!
For who, without compassion's generous tear,
Thy mind at once capacious and humane,
Can view, to truth, to hope immortal dead?
Thy penetrating reason, subtile, strong,
Hoodwink'd by dark infatuation's veil;
And all thy fine and manly sense employ'd,
Ev'n on eternity's thrice awful verge,
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Respectably alarming! of a state
Whose being gives to man—had given to thee
(Accepted by the humble hand of faith)
True glory, solid fame, and boundless wealth!
Treasures that wax not old.
See Mr. Hume's Life, written by himself; with a letter by Dr. Smith, giving an account of his Death.
Man's first and richest grace! Of virtue, truth,
Knowledge, and exaltation, certain source,
And most abundant: Pregnant of all good;
And, poor in shew, to treasures infinite
Infallibly conducting; her sure gift!
So, when old Hyems has deform'd the year,
We view, on fam'd Burgundia's craggy cliffs,
The slow vines, scarce distinct, on the brown earth
Neglected lie and grovelling;—promise poor,
From plant so humble, of the swelling grape
In glowing clusters purpling o'er the hills:—
When all impregnating rolls forth the sun,
And from the mean stalk pours a luscious flood
Of juice nectareous thro' the laughing land!
Nervous essayist! haply had thy pen,
Of masculine ability, this theme
Pursued intelligent; from lowly heart
Delineating true the features mild
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Now 'wilder'd by thy sophistry, had bless'd
And honour'd well thy teaching: Whilst thyself
Secure had sail'd and happy, nor been cast
On pride's black rocks, or empty scorn's bleak shore!
Proud scorn, how poor and blind—how it at once
Destroys the sight, and makes us think we see!
While desperate ridicule in wit's wild hands
Implants a dangerous weapon! How it warps
From clear discernment, and conclusions just,
Ev'n captive reason's self! How gay soe'er—
(Ah misplac'd gaiety on such a theme)
In life's last hour!—on Charon's crazy bark,
On Tartarus and Elysium, and the pomp
Solemn and dreaded of dark pagans Hell!
Thy reasoning powers knew well, full well to draw
Deductions true from fables gross as these,
By poets fancy heighten'd! Well thou knew'st
The deep intelligence, the solid truth
Conceal'd beneath the mystic tale; well knew'st
Fables like these, familiar to mankind
In every nation, every clime, through earth
Widely disseminate, through earth proclaim'd
In language strong, intelligent and clear,
“A future state retributive:” Thou knew'st,
That in each age the wife embrac'd the truth,
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Which thou, amidst the blaze, the noon-day blaze
Of christian information, madly scorn'dst
And diedst insulting! Hail of ancient times,
Worthies and fam'd believers! Plato, hail!
And thou, immortal Socrates, of Rome
Prime ornament and boast! my Tully, hail;
Friend and companion of my studious life,
In eloquence and sound philosophy
Alike superlative!—with minds enlarg'd,
Yet teachable and modest, how ye sought,
You and your kindred souls,—how daily dug
For wisdom as the labourer in the mines!
How grop'd, in fancy's and dark fable's night,
Your way assiduous, painful! How discern'd
By the mind's trembling, unassisted light,—
(Or, haply, aided by a scatter'd ray
Of distant revelation, half extinct)
The glimmer of a dawn; the twinkling star
Of day-light far remote! How sigh'd sincere
For fuller information! and how long'd,
How panted for admission to that world
O'er which hung veils impervious! Sages, yes,
Your search ingenuous proves it: every page
Immortal of your writings speaks this truth!
Hear, ye minute philosophers; ye herd
Of mean half-thinkers, who chief glory place
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And think that singularity is sense!
Hear, and be humbled: Socrates himself —
And him you boast your master,—would have fall'n
In humble, thankful reverence at the feet
Of Jesus—and drank wisdom from his tongue!
Then drink we freely, gladly, plenteous draughts
Of ever-living wisdom; knowledge clear,
And otherwise attainless of that state
Supernal, glorious; where, in angel-form
And angel-blessedness , from Death's dread pow'r,
From Sin's dominion, and from Sorrow's sense
Emancipated ever, we shall share
Complete uninterrupted, boundless bliss;
Incessant flowing forth from God's right hand,
Well of perennial joy ! Our moral powers,
By perfect pure benevolence enlarg'd,
With universal sympathy, shall glow
Love's flame ethereal! And from God himself,
Love's primal source, and ever-blessing sun,
Receive, and round communicate the warmth
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From dregs of sordid interest defecate,
Immortal friendship. Then too shall we trace—
With minds congenial and athirst for truth
Sincere and simple, the Creator's works,
Illumin'd by the intellectual soul,
Refin'd, exalted!—Animating thought!
To talk with Plato, or with Newton tread
Thro' empyrean space the boundless track
Of stars erratic, or the comet vague
With fiery lustre wandering thro' the depths
Of the blue void, exhaustless, infinite;
While all its wonders, all its mystic use,
Expand themselves to the admiring sight!
Of planetary worlds, how blest to walk
And trace with thee, nature's true lover, Hale,
—In science sage and venerable—trace
Thro' vegetation's principle, the God!
Read in each tube, capillary, and root,
In every leaf and blossom, fruit and flower,
Creative energy, consummate art,
Beauty and bounty blended and complete!
Oh what a burst of wisdom and delight,
Intelligence and pleasure, to engage
Th'enraptur'd mind for ages! 'Twere too short
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To search, to contemplate great nature's God
Thro' all his nature's works! Suns, stars, and skies,
With all their vast and elemental store:
Seas, with their finny myriads: birds that wing
With glittering pinions the elastic air,
And fill the woods with music: Animals,
That feed, that clothe, that labour for their lord,
Proud man; and half up to his reason climb
By instinct marvellous! Fruits, that infinite
In glow and taste refresh creation's toil;
And flowers, that rich in scent their incense sweet
—Delicious offering both to God and man,—
Breathe free from velvet variegated hues,
And speak celestial kindness then from these
His lesser wonders—Fam'd anatomists,
Ye, who with scrupulous, but still painful search,
Pore doubtful in the dark recess of life;—
Then turn we, Cheselden, to man; so form'd
With fear and wonder by the master-hand,
And learn we, from discovery of the springs
Of this divine automaton: the blood
In nimble currents coursing thro' the veins
And purple arteries; the fibres fine;
The tubal nerves, so ramified, and quick
To keen sensation; all the various parts
So complicate, yet distinct; adapted each
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While to the one great end concuring all
With harmony unvarying!—Learn we hence
The wisdom exquisite, which gave to life,
To motion, this his prime, his chief machine!
And superadded, in his love's display,
The soul's superior, intellectual rule,
Connection wonderful! and till that hour
Of all-expanding knowledge, to man's mind
Inexplicable still, and still unknown!
How rise upon the thought, to truth attent,
Truths new and interesting, 'midst this field
Of universal science!—Nor shall then
The spirit's seat and influence on our frame,
Gross and material, be alone evolv'd
To our astonish'd view. Spirit itself,
Its nature, properties, distinctions, powers,
—Deep subject of investigation deep,
And chief resolver of man's anxious doubts;
Tho' to his sight impossible, or search,
While darken'd by mortality—shall rise,
Soon as he bursts the barrier of the grave,
Clear and familiar on his sight enlarg'd:
Seen in himself, beatify'd, and cloth'd
With spiritual glory: in the angelic world
Seen and admir'd. And—oh ecstatic view,
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Seen and ador'd in Thee, great first and last,
Sole, self-existent Thou the gracious cause
Of all existence; Infinitely blest,
Yet pleas'd with life and being to impart
That blessing to innumerous creatures round!
Spirit of the universe, thro' all diffus'd,
And animating all! Dread Triune God ,
With beams exhaustless of eternal love,
Of life, of glory, from thy central throne
Shining beneficent: and kindling warm
In every being subject to thy rule,
Devotion's rapture and thanksgiving's song;
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There must be sympathy in the future state, to render it uniformly complete and perfect. We can have no pleasure in God, or God in us, but from that sympathy arising from similitude. We must be made like God to enjoy beatific vision. Bring a bad man to Heaven, with a soul encrusted and sensualized, he would have no pleasure in it; nor could he endure the sight, any more than reptiles that grovel in a cave amidst filth and darkness, could endure the splendors of the mid-day fun. Shakespeare's description is, in this view, highly animated:
“For Vice, tho' to a radiant Angel link'd,
“Would sate itself in a celestial bed,
“And prey on garbage.”
“Would sate itself in a celestial bed,
“And prey on garbage.”
By contemplation up to nature's God
From nature's works ascending, shall the soul
Beatified receive in future bliss
Accessions of delight through endless day:—
Lo, what a scene, engaging and profound,
Presents itself the darkening curtain drawn—
From the high acts of Providence, display'd
In one clear view consistent; in one end
Important, grand, concentering: one design
Superlatively gracious, through the whole
Pursued invariably; even from the hour
When pass'd the sentence on the serpent's head,
To that thrice-awful moment, when the Son
His victor-car o'er death and Hell shall drive
Triumphant, and bolt fast the gates of time!
Unroll'd the mystic volume, we behold
In characters of wisdom strong pourtray'd
The rise and fall of empires; in thy hand
Omnipotent, or instruments of good,
Or of thy justice punitive and dread
Awful dispensers! There, of heroes, kings,
Sages, and saints, of prophets and of priests,
Thy distributions, difficult but wise,
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And in the long, long chain of seeming chance,
And accidents fortuitous, shall trace
Omniscience all-combining, guiding all!
No dispensations then will seem too hard,
Through temporary ills to blissful life
Leading, tho' labyrinthal! All will shine
In open day: all, o'er the mighty plan,
Discover Thee, with wisdom infinite
Presiding glorious: All thy stedfast truth,
And love paternal, manifest; while falls
The prostrate world of spirits, angels, saints,
In adoration's homage 'fore thy throne!
Nor to our earth, or earth's poor confines bound:
The soul dilated, glorified and free,
On seraph's wings shall soar, and drink in glad,
New draughts of high delight from each survey
Of its Creator's kingdoms! Pleas'd shall pass
From star to star; from planetary worlds,
And systems far remote, to systems, worlds
Remoter still, in boundless depths of space;
Each peopled with its myriads: and shall learn
The wise and strict dependence of the whole;
Concatenation striking of thy works,
All-perfect, mighty Master! Wonder-lost
In the vast view of systems numberless,
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Of beauteous order rolling! All design'd
With skill consummate, tending to one goal;
And manifesting all, in characters
Transparent as the diamond's brilliant blaze,
Their Sovereign Ruler's unity of will,
His all-efficient wisdom, and his love,
In grace and glory infinite; the chain
Connecting firm, and through its every link
Transfusing life's ineffable delights!
Oh goodness providential! sleepless care!
Intent, as ever blest, to bless the whole!
What plaudits from that whole are due, shall burst
From full creation's universal choir!
Then, oh transporting! shall the scheme profound,
Heaven's labour, and of angels anxious thought
Sublimest meditation;—then shall blaze
In fullest glory on the race redeem'd,
Redemption's boundless mercy! High in Heav'n,
To millions blest, rejoicing in its grace,
And hymning all its bounties, shall the cross,
Thy cross, all-conquering Saviour, be display'd,
While seraphs veil their glories, and while men,
Thronging innumerable, prostrate fall
Before thy feet, and to the bleeding Lamb
Ascribe their free salvation!—
Heaven's labour, and of angels anxious thought
Sublimest meditation;—then shall blaze
In fullest glory on the race redeem'd,
Redemption's boundless mercy! High in Heav'n,
To millions blest, rejoicing in its grace,
And hymning all its bounties, shall the cross,
Thy cross, all-conquering Saviour, be display'd,
While seraphs veil their glories, and while men,
Thronging innumerable, prostrate fall
Before thy feet, and to the bleeding Lamb
Ascribe their free salvation!—
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'Midst that throng
Of spirits justified, and thro' thy blood
Cleans'd, perfected, and blest, might I be found,
To scenes so high exalted; to such views
Ennobling brought, such intellect refin'd,
Such light and love, such holiness and peace;
Such spheres of science, and such realms of rest!
Ah, how I'd scorn the passage strait of death,
How doleful e'er and horrid! How I'd look
With stedfastness unshaken through the grave,
And smile o'er all its sadness! How I'd rise
Exulting, great Forerunner, o'er the waves
And bitterness of life! How, smiling, court
Ev'n the fell hand of horror, to dismiss
From earth, from darkness, my delighted soul
To Heaven, to God, and everlasting day!
Teacher of truth, blest Jesu!—On the throne
Of spirits justified, and thro' thy blood
Cleans'd, perfected, and blest, might I be found,
To scenes so high exalted; to such views
Ennobling brought, such intellect refin'd,
Such light and love, such holiness and peace;
Such spheres of science, and such realms of rest!
Ah, how I'd scorn the passage strait of death,
How doleful e'er and horrid! How I'd look
With stedfastness unshaken through the grave,
And smile o'er all its sadness! How I'd rise
Exulting, great Forerunner, o'er the waves
And bitterness of life! How, smiling, court
Ev'n the fell hand of horror, to dismiss
From earth, from darkness, my delighted soul
To Heaven, to God, and everlasting day!
Of majesty co-equal thou who sitt'st
From all eternity in glory's blaze
With thy Almighty Father! Thou, benign,
From bosom of that Father hast brought down
Intelligence to man of this blest state
Consolatory, rational; and fraught
With every good beyond the highest reach
Of man's supreme conception! How shall then
In equal language man his homage pay,
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Or ye, who in old times, of sevenfold Nile,
Proud Tyber, or the Ganges' sacred flood
Religious drank, and to your dæmons dark
Paid superstition's tribute;—tho' I trace
Delighted, in your visions of the world
Beyond the grave, your dreams of future life,—
Proofs of that life's firm credence, of your faith
In the soul's deathless nature;—yet with tears
Of human pity, humbled o'er the sense
Of human imbecility, I read
Your futile fables, puerile and poor;
To the soul's life, to virtue's godlike love
Unanimating, useless; while illum'd
By gospel-splendor,—else, no doubt, as dark
And worthy pity—owns my heart rejoic'd,
That gospel's eminence of wisdom, truth,
And heavenly emanation, in its traits
Of future life superlatively drawn!
And who could paint that life, that scene describe
Immortal, and all-glorious, from the view
Of mortals shrouded ever,—save the Son,
Who from eternity that life enjoyed;
And came in condescension to reveal
A glimpse of its perfection to mankind?
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To think of sketching with his weak, faint line,
A scene so much above him! And behold
That vain presumption punish'd as it ought,
In Araby's Impostor, dark and lewd;
Who dar'd, with temporary follies fraught,
And low self-interest, stalking in the van
Of mad ambition's route—to cheat his train,
Deluded by his darings, with the hope
Of sensual ravishment, and carnal joys
Perpetual in the Paradise of God;
Reserv'd—for sons of murder and of lust!
Shame on the impious madness!—Nor less shame
Must truth indignant dart on those who boast
Exclusive Christianity; yet dare,
Presumptuous, in their fancied penal fire
To fetter the free soul, “till the foul sins
“Done in its days of nature be purged out
“And burn'd away ;” unless by lucky chance
The oft-repeated mass, thro' potent gold,—
All-sacred influence!—gain'd, unlocks the door
Of dismal prison-house, and gives the soul
Enfranchis'd, up to Peter's better care!
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To Christian sapience, and to manly sense!
But not to Christ's true gospel, and the code
Of Revelation pure; before whose light,
Resplendently informing, fables old
Like these, and vain (of ignorance the birth,
Or coinage sacerdotal, in an age
Of gross Cimmerian darkness), growling hide
Their ignominious heads: as birds of night,
Reptiles, and beasts of prey before the sun,
Mounting the misty hills, in splendor rob'd,
And beaming all around refulgent day!
Other, far other, from that luminous code
Breaks on the rational, enlighten'd mind
In perfect beauty that exalted state,
Of whose high excellence our fight hath dar'd,
How dim soe'er, to take an humble glimpse,
And peep into its wonders!—But what tongue
Of man in language adequate can tell,
What mortal pencil worthily pourtray
That excellence, those wonders—where nor death,
Nor sin, nor pain shall enter ever;—where,
Each ill excluded, every good shall reign;
Where day shall ne'er decline; but ceaseless light
—The Lamb's eternal lustre—blazing bless
With salutary glory! where shall smile
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Spontaneous with exuberance of bounty!
Where, in immortal health, the frame sublim'd,
Refin'd, exalted thro' the chymic grave,
In union with the soul made perfect, pure,
And to the likeness of its God transform'd,
Shall find for every sense divine employ,
Gratification ample, exquisite,
Angelical, and holy: Chief in sight,
In vision beatific of its God;
In blest communion of his love; in praise,
High choral praise, strung to the golden harp
In unison eternal, with the throng,
Thousands of thousands that surround the throne,
And feel his praise, their glory, and their bliss!
There too his works constant th'adoring soul
Shall pleas'd investigate; and constant find
Fresh well-spring of delight; there constant share
The lov'd society and converse high
Of all the good, the wise, the truly great
Of every age and clime; with saints and seers
Divine communication holding, rapt
Perpetually in new and deep displays
Of wisdom boundless, and of perfect love.
Then too, oh joy! amidst this blaze of good,
This consummation rich of highest bliss;
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Dear, dear, departed friends! and then enjoy
Eternal amity. My parents then,
My youth's companions !—From my moisten'd cheeks
Dry the unworthy tear! Where art thou, Death?
Is this a cause for mourning?—What a state
Of happiness exalted lies before me!
Lo, my bar'd bosom! Strike:—I court the blow:
I long, I pant for everlasting day,
For glory, immortality, and God!
Comes a chill cloud? Such triumph well besuits
The faithful christian; thee had suited well,
If haply persevering in the course,
As first thy race exultingly began.
But thou art fallen, fallen! Oh my heart,
What dire compunction!—sunk in foul offence
A prisoner, and condemn'd: an outcast vile;
Bye-word and scorn of an indignant world,
Who reprobate with horror thy ill deeds;
Turn from thee loath'd, and to damnation just
Assign, unpitying, thy devoted head,
Loaded with every infamy!
Dread God
Of Justice and of Mercy! wilt thou too,
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My anguish'd soul, the door of pity close,
And shut me from thee ever?—Lo! in dust,
Humiliant, prostrate, weeping 'fore thy throne—
Before thy cross, oh dying Friend of man,
Friend of repentant sinners, I confess,
And mourn my deep transgressions; as the sand
Innumerous, as the glowing crimson red:
With every aggravation, every guilt
Accumulate and burden'd! Against light,
'Gainst love and clearest knowledge perpetrate?
Stamp'd with ingratitude's most odious stain;
Ingratitude to thee; whose favouring love
Had bless'd me, had distinguish'd me with grace,
With goodness far beyond my wish or worth!
Ingratitude to man; whose partial ear
Attended to my doctrine with delight;
And from my zeal conspicuous justly claim'd
Conspicious example!—Lord, I sink
O'erwhelm'd with self-conviction, with dismay,
With anguish and confusion past compare!
And could I weep whole seas of briny tears
In painful penitence; could I deplore
From my heart's aching fountain, drop by drop,
My crimes and follies; my deep grief and shame.
For vile dishonour on thy gospel brought;
For vile discredit to my order done;
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For deep offence to pity and to man,—
A patriarchal age would be too short
To speak my sorrows and lament my sins;
Chief, as I am, of sinners! Guiltier far
Than he who, falling, at the cock's shrill call
Rose, and repented weeping: Guiltier far—
I dare not say, than Judas; for my heart
Hath ever lov'd,—could never have betray'd,
Oh never, never Thee, dear Lord! to death;
Tho' cruelly, unkindly and unwise
That heart hath sacrific'd its truth and peace,
—For what a shameful, what a paltry price!—
To sin, detested sin; and done thee wrong,
Oh blessed source of all its good, its hope!
For, tho' thus sunk, thus sinful, sorrowing thus,
It dare not, cannot Judas' crime commit,
Last crime,—and of thy mercy, Lord despair!
But, conscious of its guilt; contrite and plung'd
In lowest self-abjection, in the depths
Of sad compunction, of repentence due
And undissembled, to thy cross it cleaves,
And cries for—ardent cries for mercy, Lord!
Mercy, its only refuge! Mercy, Christ!
By the red drops that in the garden gush'd
'Midst thy soul's anguish from thee! By the drops
That down thy precious temples from the crown
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From thy pierc'd hands and blessed feet so free;
By all thy blood, thy sufferings, and thy death,
Mercy, oh Mercy, Jesus! Mercy Thou,
Who erst on David, with a clement eye,
When mourning at thy footstool, deign'dst to look
Thou, who th'adulterous Magdalen forgav'st,
When in the winning garb of penitence
Contrite she knelt, and with her flowing tears
Wash'd lowly thy lov'd feet! Nor thou the thief,
Ev'n in the last, the bitterest hour of pain,
Refusedst, gracious! Nor wilt thou refuse
My humble supplication, nor reject
My broken bleeding heart, thus offer'd up
On true contrition's altar; while thro' Thee,
Only thro' Thee acceptance do I hope,
Thou bleeding love! consummate Advocate,
Prevailing Intercessor, great High Priest,
Almighty Sufferer! Oh look pitying down!
On thy sufficient merits I depend;
From thy unbounded mercies I implore
The look of pardon and the voice of grace,—
Grace, Grace!—Victorious Conqueror over sin,
O'er death, o'er Hell, for me, for all mankind;
For grace I plead: repentant at thy feet
I throw myself, unworthy, lost, undone;
Trusting my soul, and all its dear concerns,
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Grace,—still on grace my whole reliance built:
Glory to grace triumphant!—And to thee,
Dispenser bounteous of that sovereign grace!
Jesus, thou King of glory! at thy call
I come obedient: lo, the future world
Expands its views transporting! Lord, I come;
And in that world eternal trust to 'plaud,
With all redemption's sons, thy glorious grace!
Then farewell, oh, my friends! light o'er my grave
The green sod lay, and dew it with the tear
Of memory affectionate! and you
—The curtain dropt decisive, oh my foes,
Your rancour drop; and, candid, as I am
Speak of me, hapless! Then you'll speak of one
Whose bosom beat at pity's gentlest touch
From earliest infancy: whose boyish mind
In acts humane and tender ever joy'd;
And who,—that temper by his inmost sense
Approv'd and cultivate with constant care,—
Melted thro' life at Sorrow's plaintive tale;
And urg'd, compassionate with pleasure ran
To soothe the sufferer and relieve the woe!
Of one, who, though to humble fortune bred,
With splendid generosity's bright form
Too ardently enamour'd, turn'd his sight,
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And parsimony needful! One who scorn'd
Mean love of gold, yet to that power,—his scorn
Retorting vengeful,—a mark'd victim fell!
Of one, who, unsuspecting, and ill-form'd
For the world's subtleties, his bare breast bore
Unguarded, open; and ingenuous, thought
All men ingenuous, frank and open too!
Of one, who, warm with human passions, soft
To tenderest impressions, frequent rush'd
Precipitate into the tangling maze
Of error;—instant to each fault alive
Who, in his little journey through the world—
Misled, deluded oft, mistook his way;
Met with bad roads and robbers, for his steps
Insidious lurking: and, by cunning craft
Of fellow-travellers sometimes deceiv'd,
Severely felt of cruelty and scorn,
Of envy, malice, and of ill report ,
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—From ignorance, from indiscretion blind,—
Ills numerous on his head; but never aim'd,
Nor wish'd an ill or injury to man!
Injur'd, with cheerful readiness forgave;
Nor for a moment in his happy heart
Harbour'd of malice or revenge a thought:
Still glad and blest to avenge his foes despite
By deeds of love benevolent!—Of one—
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In duty, plac'd the summit of his joy;
Yet left that God, that blissful duty left,
Preposterous, vile deserter! and receiv'd
A just return—“Desertion from his God,
“And consequential plunge into the depth
“Of all his present—of all human woe!”
The following is a striking instance, and an alarming proof, that calumny and slander will one day grievously afflict the conscious mind.—A clergyman, with whom I had lived in much friendship, always ready to shew him every proof of civility, and for whom I had much esteem; after an absence of a twelve-month and more, sent me a line, that he was then in a dangerous state, apprehensive of speedy death. I flew to my friend with all zeal and speed; and found him, as it seemed, in a very dangerous way. Almost as soon as he saw me he burst into tears, and clasping my hands vehemently, said, “Oh, my dear Doctor, I could not die in peace without seeing you, and earnestly imploring your pardon. For amidst all the seeming friendship I shewed, I have been your bitter enemy. I have done all I could on every occasion to traduce and lessen you: Envy, base envy alone, being my motive; for I could not bear the brilliancy of your reputation, and the splendor of your abilities.—Can you forgive me?”
I was shocked; but with great truth told him to be perfectly at peace; that he had my most sincere forgiveness.—I did all I could to soothe his mind. He recovered; and surely must ever be my friend! Would to God what he then suffered may be a warning to him, and to all, how they indulge such diabolical passions; which, as being most opposite to the God who is love, cannot but sooner or later woefully distract the heart!
His feeble song to win attention) hear
And heed his dying counsel! Cautious, shun
The rocks on which he split. Cleave close to God,
Your Father, sure Protector, and Defence:
Forsake not his lov'd service; and your cause
Be sure he'll ne'er forsake. Initiate once
Happy and prosperous, in religion's course
Oh persevere unfainting! Nor to vice
Or tempting folly slightest parley give:
Their black tents never enter: On the watch
Continue unremitting, nor e'er slack
The necessary guard. Trivial neglects,
Smallest beginnings , to the wakeful foe
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Thro' the minutest leak once sprung, the ship
In gayest and most gallant tackle trim.
By small neglects he fell!—
Principiis obsta: fero medicina paratur,
Cum mala per longas convaluere moras.
Sed propera; nec te venturas differ in horas.
Quil non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.
Cum mala per longas convaluere moras.
Sed propera; nec te venturas differ in horas.
Quil non est hodie, cras minus aptus erit.
Ov. R. A. lib., 1. L. 91.
Blest ministers of peace, by his sad fall;
Gather increase of caution and of zeal;
And, seeing on what slippery edge ye stand,
Or foul and fatal lapse take the more heed;—
With deeper thankfulness he'd bow the knee,
While thus his fate productive prov'd of good
To you, of truth blest heralds! whom he views
With heart-felt anguish scandaliz'd, impugn'd
By his atrocious follies: But for that
Not honour'd less, or honourable, if rous'd,
Ev'n by his errors, wisely you maintain
Your high profession's dignity, and look
With single eye intent on the great work
Thrice holy, of your calling; happiest work
Of mortals here, “Salvation of mens souls.”
Oh envied pastor, who thus occupied
Looks down on low preferment's distant views
Contemptible; nor e'er his plotting mind
To little, mean servilities enslaves;
Forgetting duty's exercise sublime,
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In frivolous converse on the rise of this,
Nor prospects flattering of that worldly clerk;
Strange inconsistency! marching aloft
With step superior and ambition's paw
To dignity's wish'd summit!—Nor allows
Envious, or spreads malicious the low tales
Diminishing of brethren, who by zeal,
Or eminence of merit in the cause,
The common cause of Christ, distinguish'd shine:
Of futile politics and party rage
Who, heedless, ever for the powers that be
In meek sincerity implores; and lives
Only to spread around the good, the peace,
The truth, the happiness, his open heart
Innocuous possesses, as the gift
Of him, the God of peace he serves and loves!
Much envied pastor! Ah, ye men of God,
Who crowd the levee, theatre, or court;
Foremost in each amusement's idle walk;
Of vice and vanity the sportive scorn,
The vaunted pillars;—ah, that ye were all
Such happy, envied pastors! how mankind
With eyes of reverence would devoutly look,
How would yourselves with eyes of pleasure look
On characters so uniform! while now,
What view is found less pleasing to the sight!
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Can inward look complacent where a void
Presents its desolations drear and dark.
Hence 'tis you turn (incapable to bear
Reflection's just resentment) your lull'd minds
To infantine amusements, and employ
The hours,—short hours, indulgent Heaven affords
For purposes most solemn,—in the toil
Of busy trifling; of diversions poor,
Which irritate as often as amuse:
Passions most low and sordid! With due shame,
With sorrow I regret—Oh pardon me
This mighty wrong!—that frequent by your side
Silent I've sat, and with a pitying eye
Your follies mark'd, and unadmonish'd left,
Tho' tenderly lamenting! Yet, at last,
—If haply not too late my friendly call
Strike on dead ears, oh profit by that call!
And, to the grave approaching, its alarms
Weigh with me all-considerate! Brief time
Advances quick in tread; few hours and dark
Remain: those hours in frivolous employ
Waste not impertinent; they ne'er return!
Nor deem it dulness to stand still and pause
When dread eternity hath claims so high.
Oh be those claims fulfill'd!
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Whom life's gay sunshine warms with laughing joy,
Pass you those claims unheeding!—In the bud
Of earliest rose oft have I sorrowing seen
The canker-worm lurk blighting; oft, ere noon,
The tulip have beheld drop its proud head
In eminent beauty open'd to the morn!
In youth, in beauty, in life's outward charms
Boast not self-flattering; virtue has a grace,
Religion has a power, which will preserve
Immortal your true excellence! Oh give
Early and happy your young hearts to God,
And God will smile in countless blessings on you!
Nor, captivate by fashion's idle glare,
And the world's shews delusive, dance the maze,
The same dull round, fatiguing and fatigu'd,
Till, discontented, down in folly's seat,
And disappointment's, worthless, toil'd, you sink,
Despising and despis'd! Your gentle hearts
To kind impressions yet susceptible,
Will amiably hear a friend's advice;
And if, perchance, amidst the giddy whirl
Of circling folly, his unheeded tongue
Hath whisper'd vanity, or not announc'd
Truth's salutary dictates to your ears,
Forgive the injury, my friends belov'd;
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That and each fault, each error; with full eyes
Intreating you, by all your hopes and fears,
By all your dear anxieties; by all
You hold in life most precious, to attend,
To listen to his lore! to seek for bliss
In God, in piety; in hearts devote
To duty and to Heav'n! and seeking thus,
The treasure is your own. Angels on earth,
Thus pure and good, soon will ye mount, and live
Eternal angels with your Father—God!
Of admonition due, just self-contempt,
And frank expostulation's honest charge,
The needful debt thus paid; haste thou, my song,
As hastes my life,—brief shadow,—to its close!
Then farewell, oh my friends, most valued! bound
By consanguinity's endearing tye,
Or friendship's noble service, manly love,
And generous obligations! See, in all
—And spare the tear of pity—Heaven's high will
Ordaining wise and good. I see, I own
His dispensation, howsoever harsh,
To my hard heart, to my rebellious soul
Needful and salutary! His dread rod
Paternal, lo, I kiss; and to the stroke
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It weans me from the world; it proves how vain,
How poor the life of erring man!—hath taught,
Experimentally hath taught, to look
With scorn, with triumph upon death;—to wish
The moment come!—Oh were that moment come,
When, launch'd from all that's sinful here below,
Securely I shall sail along the tide
Of glorious eternity! My friends,
Belov'd and honour'd, oh that we were launch'd,
And sailing happy there, where shortly all
Must one day sail! Oh that in peaceful port
We all were landed! all together safe
In everlasting amity and love
With God, our God; our pilot thro' the storms
Of this life's sea!—But, why the frivolous wish?
Set a few suns,—a few more days decline,
And I shall meet you.—Oh the gladsome hour!
Meet you in glory,—nor with flowing tears
Afflicted drop my pen, and sigh Adieu?
END OF THE FIFTH WEEK.
| Thoughts in Prison, in Five Parts | |