Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. |
 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.
Oh! saw ye e'er a family
Poor, pious, and content
With the laborious lot in life
Which Heaven to them had lent:
Poor, pious, and content
With the laborious lot in life
Which Heaven to them had lent:
Thankful for life, and leave to toil,
And thankful for their health—
More thankful than the thoughtless rich,
For all their unearn'd wealth?
And thankful for their health—
More thankful than the thoughtless rich,
For all their unearn'd wealth?
Late, such a family I saw,
And gladden'd by the sight,
I felt my heart expand, and glow,
With warmer feelings, bright.
And gladden'd by the sight,
I felt my heart expand, and glow,
With warmer feelings, bright.
Peaceful and patient in their toil,
As one they seem'd to move;
Cordial in all their intercourse,
And constant in their love.
As one they seem'd to move;
Cordial in all their intercourse,
And constant in their love.
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And ne'er did novelist or bard
Invent a scene so fair,
As that ingenuous family
Met at their evening prayer.
Invent a scene so fair,
As that ingenuous family
Met at their evening prayer.
Twas then their venerable sire
The sacred volume took,
And read, for their instruction here,
A portion from that book:
The sacred volume took,
And read, for their instruction here,
A portion from that book:
And when they knelt around his chair,
And heard his spirit rise,
In solemn supplicating tones,
To One above the skies,
And heard his spirit rise,
In solemn supplicating tones,
To One above the skies,
There was a pathos and a power
In his paternal voice
Which thrilled each sympathetic heart
With pure and heavenly joys.
In his paternal voice
Which thrilled each sympathetic heart
With pure and heavenly joys.
Well might the vicious and the vain,
In all their pomp and pride,
Envy the quiet happiness
Which beam'd by that fireside;
In all their pomp and pride,
Envy the quiet happiness
Which beam'd by that fireside;
For if this earth afford a drop
Of pure unmingled bliss,
'Tis found by such a family,
At such an hour as this.
Of pure unmingled bliss,
'Tis found by such a family,
At such an hour as this.
But, oh! even virtue will not ward
The blow which Fate prepares;
Nor prudence, piety, or love,
Or warmest tears, or prayers,
The blow which Fate prepares;
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Or warmest tears, or prayers,
Avert the shaft by Heaven decreed,
The dearest to remove,
From fond affection upon earth,
To happiness above.
The dearest to remove,
From fond affection upon earth,
To happiness above.
I saw that venerable man,
At Duty's bidding, go
To where fierce Fever's fiery fang
Held a poor parent low;
At Duty's bidding, go
To where fierce Fever's fiery fang
Held a poor parent low;
And o'er the sufferer's sleepless bed
With anxious care he hung,
And held the cordial to his lips
To cool his burning tongue;
With anxious care he hung,
And held the cordial to his lips
To cool his burning tongue;
And o'er him bent his head in prayer,
Though conscious that his breath
Came, freighted, from a poison'd source,
With dire disease and death.
Though conscious that his breath
Came, freighted, from a poison'd source,
With dire disease and death.
Then each poor neighbour, when he heard
The tale, his head would shake,
And tremble for that faithful friend,
And for his family's sake.
The tale, his head would shake,
And tremble for that faithful friend,
And for his family's sake.
No idle fancies made them fear;
For Death was onward led
From house to house, triumphantly,
And pass'd from bed to bed.
For Death was onward led
From house to house, triumphantly,
And pass'd from bed to bed.
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The patient died!—and he who heard
His last expiring groan,
With slow and solemn step retired,
Ere long to breathe his own.
His last expiring groan,
With slow and solemn step retired,
Ere long to breathe his own.
The subtle poison of disease
Had reach'd the fount of life;
And soon within his throbbing veins
Commenced the fatal strife.
Had reach'd the fount of life;
And soon within his throbbing veins
Commenced the fatal strife.
He laid him down upon his bed,
And every art was vain:
Affection could not cool his blood—
Nor med'cine cure his pain.
And every art was vain:
Affection could not cool his blood—
Nor med'cine cure his pain.
Yet he was kindly watch'd, I ween,
By one with sleepless eye—
One who had shared in all his woes,
Nor shrunk for him to die.
By one with sleepless eye—
One who had shared in all his woes,
Nor shrunk for him to die.
If mortal power from her beloved
Had been endowed to take
Those direful pangs, all willingly
She 'd borne them for his sake.
Had been endowed to take
Those direful pangs, all willingly
She 'd borne them for his sake.
It might not be!—a look of love
Was all the speechless man
Could offer back to her who wept
The shortness of his span.
Was all the speechless man
Could offer back to her who wept
The shortness of his span.
At midnight, louder grew his moans,
And wilder grew his eye;
At morn, no sound was heard within,
Save sobs of agony.
And wilder grew his eye;
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Save sobs of agony.
The dim—the deep repose of death
Had closed that struggle brief;
And death, and death alone, can close
The widow'd mourner's grief.
Had closed that struggle brief;
And death, and death alone, can close
The widow'd mourner's grief.
Though loud the fatherless lament,
While life is in its spring,
A few short months fresh promises
Of future joy will bring.
While life is in its spring,
A few short months fresh promises
Of future joy will bring.
But to the widow's mourning heart,
Days, weeks, nor months, nor years
Shall ere restore its former joys,
Or fairly dry her tears.
Days, weeks, nor months, nor years
Shall ere restore its former joys,
Or fairly dry her tears.
Yet desolate as is her heart—
Sad as her lot hath been—
Hope holds a bless'd communion there
With piety, unseen:
Sad as her lot hath been—
Hope holds a bless'd communion there
With piety, unseen:
Hope points her husband in the skies,
Before the eternal throne;
And Piety presents the prize,
And bids her follow on:
Before the eternal throne;
And Piety presents the prize,
And bids her follow on:
Bids her with patience, prayer, and faith,
Still strive to enter in,
And reign with those who triumph there
O'er doubt, and death, and sin.
Still strive to enter in,
And reign with those who triumph there
O'er doubt, and death, and sin.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |