The bard of the dales or poems and miscellaneous pieces; with a life of the author, written by himself. By John Castillo |
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ON THE DEATH OF JANE WOOD, OF FRYUP.
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 | The bard of the dales |  |
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ON THE DEATH OF JANE WOOD, OF FRYUP.
MOST OF WHICH WAS COMPOSED ON HER WAKE NIGHT.
Awake, my midnight muse, and catch the flame,
Which staggers neither at reproach nor fame;—
Improve those solemn moments as they fly;
Hark! something says, “think! what it is to die.”
Which staggers neither at reproach nor fame;—
Improve those solemn moments as they fly;
Hark! something says, “think! what it is to die.”
Struck by affliction, see a victim lies!
And bids adieu to all beneath the skies;
Snatch'd from the arms of those she lov'd most dear,
No more in prayer and praise her voice we hear.
And bids adieu to all beneath the skies;
Snatch'd from the arms of those she lov'd most dear,
No more in prayer and praise her voice we hear.
Fill with religious awe, and solemn dread,
My heart, while I survey the silent dead!
Sink deep,—ye ghostly warnings in my soul,
And all unruly passions there control.
My heart, while I survey the silent dead!
Sink deep,—ye ghostly warnings in my soul,
And all unruly passions there control.
She dies,—the lov'd, and much lamented Jane,—
But only dies, we hope, to live again;
Which greatly ought to soothe her parent's grief,
And to their troubled souls afford relief.
But only dies, we hope, to live again;
Which greatly ought to soothe her parent's grief,
And to their troubled souls afford relief.
But some to this will no attention give,
Though dead already, yet they think they live;—
Yet none but those who die in Christ on earth
Can 'scape the regions of the second death.
Though dead already, yet they think they live;—
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Can 'scape the regions of the second death.
The fairest flowers the weeping mother seeks,
To ornament her dearest daughter's cheeks;
Where healthful colours glow'd the other day,
Now pale and lifeless, and as cold as clay.
To ornament her dearest daughter's cheeks;
Where healthful colours glow'd the other day,
Now pale and lifeless, and as cold as clay.
Another flower is wither'd in its bloom,
Where health had promis'd many years to come;
Which makes the aged bosom deeply sigh,
And fills with tears many a sparkling eye.
Where health had promis'd many years to come;
Which makes the aged bosom deeply sigh,
And fills with tears many a sparkling eye.
She's fled!—but yet not without hope, we mourn,
Nor hesitate much whither she is gone;
In hopes that she's through Christ for ever blest,
My worthless tears must flow among the rest.
Nor hesitate much whither she is gone;
In hopes that she's through Christ for ever blest,
My worthless tears must flow among the rest.
Full twenty-one eventful years she'd seen,
And “known the Lord,” 'ere since but fourteen;—
Ah, blessed date! see mercy here unfold,
And Jesus stamps His seal upon her soul.
And “known the Lord,” 'ere since but fourteen;—
Ah, blessed date! see mercy here unfold,
And Jesus stamps His seal upon her soul.
In youth, she learnt the lessons of her God,
Which greatly sweeten'd His afflicting rod;
And arm'd with fortitude her pious mind,
While to her Maker's will she all resign'd.
Which greatly sweeten'd His afflicting rod;
And arm'd with fortitude her pious mind,
While to her Maker's will she all resign'd.
The love of Jesus did her soul possess,
The depth of which no mortal can express;
This prov'd her source of comfort day and night,
To dwell upon it was her heart's delight.
The depth of which no mortal can express;
This prov'd her source of comfort day and night,
To dwell upon it was her heart's delight.
Oft in God's house we've met with thankful hearts,
Where He his blessings still to us imparts;
And there with heartfelt joy, or downcast eyes,
Have breath'd our feeble offering to the skies.
Where He his blessings still to us imparts;
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Have breath'd our feeble offering to the skies.
Ah! Jane is gone! her hand we take no more;
Now gone to Him, whose grace we still implore,
That we like her may here our lives employ,
Then wing our way to yonder realms of joy.
Now gone to Him, whose grace we still implore,
That we like her may here our lives employ,
Then wing our way to yonder realms of joy.
A blooming hope is left to those behind,
That she, “the Church of the first born,” hath join'd;
Where hosts of angels strike their harps of gold,
Where Zion's king His beauty does unfold:—
That she, “the Church of the first born,” hath join'd;
Where hosts of angels strike their harps of gold,
Where Zion's king His beauty does unfold:—
On which, she's with the rest allow'd to gaze,
And ever more extol her Saviour's praise:—
In white array, a lovely chosen band,
To bear Jane home, each lends a trembling hand.
And ever more extol her Saviour's praise:—
In white array, a lovely chosen band,
To bear Jane home, each lends a trembling hand.
With virgin mildness, slow they march along,
While stout hearts shiver'd at the funeral song:—
Mortality! again the truth foretel;—
Again the sexton tolls the doleful bell.
While stout hearts shiver'd at the funeral song:—
Mortality! again the truth foretel;—
Again the sexton tolls the doleful bell.
Again with hoary hairs he forms the grave,
Which levels all;—the simple and the brave,—
In cold embrace, the lovely damsel weeps,
And o'er her grave each tender virgin weeps.
Which levels all;—the simple and the brave,—
In cold embrace, the lovely damsel weeps,
And o'er her grave each tender virgin weeps.
Ye that would wish your end to be like her's,
Attend to what her dear advice refers;
“Remember, now! before it be too late,
In youth your God, and shun the things he hates!”
Attend to what her dear advice refers;
“Remember, now! before it be too late,
In youth your God, and shun the things he hates!”
Ah! could the dead address you all once more,
Who thus lament, who thus your loss deplore!
Methinks the striking language it would be
Like His;—the Man who groan'd on Calvary:
Who thus lament, who thus your loss deplore!
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Like His;—the Man who groan'd on Calvary:
“When He her dull, her gloomy brow did climb,
And weeping multitudes did follow Him;
On turning round, with piercing look,” said he,
“Jerusalem's daughters! weep ye not for me—
And weeping multitudes did follow Him;
On turning round, with piercing look,” said he,
“Jerusalem's daughters! weep ye not for me—
But for yourselves, and for your children!”
“Ah, friends! weep not for me, but for your sin.”
Now, since we know not who the next must die,
Each of us ought to say, “Lord, is it I?”
“Ah, friends! weep not for me, but for your sin.”
Now, since we know not who the next must die,
Each of us ought to say, “Lord, is it I?”
Am I prepar'd to meet Thee in the skies?
For I shall fall, and sink no more to rise!
Have I repented? am I born again?
Or I, a guilty rebel, still remain!
For I shall fall, and sink no more to rise!
Have I repented? am I born again?
Or I, a guilty rebel, still remain!
If such, where thou art I must never come,
If death thus seize me, Hell must be my doom!
Have I been wash'd from sin's polluted stain?
Or like the sow, am I unclean again!
If death thus seize me, Hell must be my doom!
Have I been wash'd from sin's polluted stain?
Or like the sow, am I unclean again!
Of all the rest, my case the worst must be,
Should I be launch'd into Eternity!
O Thou that weighs the matters of the heart!
To me, to all, Thy light and truth impart:
May each frail child of man their folly see,
Weep and believe, and give their hearts to Thee!
Should I be launch'd into Eternity!
O Thou that weighs the matters of the heart!
To me, to all, Thy light and truth impart:
May each frail child of man their folly see,
Weep and believe, and give their hearts to Thee!
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