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 Library 
 
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 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022181493 
 
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 "WHAT NATUBE THEN — THE POETESS OF GOd! 
 
 HAD SWEETLY SUNG, AS ON HER EMERALD HILLS 
 MORNING AND EVE SHE WALK'd, WITH CROWS OP STARS 
 AND DEWY SANDALS," — 
 
POEMS: 
 
 ^utoMogragljic anb ot^cr ftotts. 
 
 (illustrated by barley, hoppiNj and others.) 
 
 BY T. H. STOCKTON, 
 
 CHAPLAIN to CONGRESiJ. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA : 
 WILLIAM S. & ALFRED MARTIEN, 
 
 606 CHESTNUT STKEET. 
 
 1862. or 
 
 m 
 
Eatered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, 
 
 BY THOMAS H. STOCKTON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Bistrict Court of the United States in 
 
 and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 WILLIAM S. YOUNG, PRINTER. 
 
50 
 
 jS/VT OJVJS 
 
 WTio finds either (pleasure or (profit in its (Perusal ; 
 
 from 
 
 The sprightly Youth at Home or School, 
 
 up to 
 
 OUIi Qji(PIT^L-(PI^E8I(XiEJi9r: 
 
 This Volume is 
 
 dedicated 
 
 z' With most sincere Ilespect and Jiffection 
 
 Sy 
 
 The fiuthor. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It may seem strange that such a book as this should 
 appear at all; especially, that it should venture abroad 
 under present circumstances. But the truth is simple, 
 and the case clear. 
 
 When I returned from Washington, in March; before 
 the war began, and while we hoped it might be avoided; 
 I was so debilitated as to be unfit for my ministry, even 
 in the feeblest form of it, and had reason to think that 
 life drew near its close. Being again in my study, wish- 
 ing light employment, and having occasionally been called 
 upon for a collection of poems, chiefly written in my 
 youth, and long out of print; I concluded that, if unable 
 to fulfil my larger designs, I might prepare a somewhat 
 better volume than the former, and, perhaps, give a little 
 pleasure and do a little good by its publication. Com- 
 mencing thus, I urged the printer to quick progress, lest 
 I should not see it through the press. But, the war 
 
 1» 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 opened; the extra session of Congress came on; my 
 health, by the grace of God, responded to my duty; and 
 the book, of course, was suspended. Afterward, its com- 
 pletion seemed necessary; and so — here it is! As a 
 father very naturally said of his son — " Nobody thinks 
 more of him than I do!" so, if this volume shall an- 
 swer any worthy purpose, no one will be more glad of 
 it than myself. Indeed, I will be deeply grateful for it. 
 The Title might have been — Poems of Thirty-five 
 Years : for, as will be seen by their dates, they range 
 through the whole interval from boyhood to the present. 
 Other particulars will be found in the Appendix. 
 
 T. H. S. 
 
 Philadelphia: December 1, 1861. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 RHYTHM. PAGE 1-205. 
 
 Date. ntle. 
 
 1834. TAITH AND SIGHT, PART I. . 
 
 " FAITH AND SIGHT, PART II. 
 
 1S31. SNOW, — RURAL AND CITY SCENES, 
 
 " MAN, SKETCHES OP OUR EARTH-HOME, 
 
 1835. MAY IN THE WOODS, . 
 
 1838. THE DUEL, GRATES AND CILLEY, 
 
 1855. THE THREE HARPS, 
 
 1838. THE FIRST MAN, 
 
 " THE FIRST WOMAN, 
 
 1855. MELTING THE ICE, . 
 
 1852. SOUND OF THE MIDHIGHT TRAIN, 
 
 1855. THE CATHEDRAL BELL, 
 
 1855. THE TWO ANGELS, 
 
 1849. A PLEASANT SPIRIT, 
 
 1852. DEATH OP HENRY CLAY, 
 
 1858. TRUE-HEARTED GRIEF, 
 
 1858. BIDE YOUR TIME, 
 
 1831. VISIT TO A mother's grate, 
 
 1832. thanksgiving foe the bible, 
 1837. the bible, — ITS three distinctions, 
 
 1831. A MAN in hell, 
 
 1832. TUB moment of death. 
 
 1 
 
 25 
 43 
 59 
 77 
 91 
 104 
 112 
 117 
 122 
 127 
 129 
 131 
 ]32 
 134 
 136 
 138 
 140 
 144 
 147 
 150 
 154 
 
(■ O N T E N T S . 
 
 1839. 
 
 UNCHECKED VEKSE, 
 
 166 
 
 1840. 
 
 INDULGENCE, 
 
 IfiO 
 
 1844. 
 
 THE PLEASANT SURPEISE, 
 
 103 
 
 1829. 
 
 WASHINGTON AT PRAYER, 
 
 165 
 
 " 
 
 THE GENIUS OF POETRY, 
 
 170 
 
 1828. 
 
 MELANCHOLY, .... 
 
 175 
 
 " 
 
 DEATH OF REV. S. DOUGHTY, 
 
 179 
 
 1842. 
 
 DEATH OF REV. W. KESLEY, 
 
 184 
 
 1831. 
 
 THE FUNERAL, .... 
 
 187 
 
 1829. 
 
 GENIUS, ..... 
 
 192 
 
 1827. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE YEAE, 
 
 195 
 
 H 
 
 PROSPECTS OF DEATH, 
 
 197 
 
 it 
 
 IMMORTALITY, ..... 
 
 198 
 
 (( 
 
 THE EESUERECTION, 
 
 199 
 
 1844. 
 
 DUTY, ...... 
 
 200 
 
 n 
 
 SYMBOLS, ..... 
 
 200 
 
 1839. 
 
 THE REFUGE, ..... 
 
 201 
 
 1831. 
 
 TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 
 
 202 
 
 " 
 
 PBAYEE FOE A FAMILY OF MY FBIENDS, 
 
 203 
 
 1855. 
 
 MOESE AND BEMOBSE, 
 
 205 
 
 EHYME. PAGE 207-285. 
 
 1850. 
 
 COLUMBUS, OB THE DISOOTBEY OF THE NEW WOELD, 
 
 207 
 
 1850. 
 
 HOESEBACK ON THE HEIGHT, .... 
 
 218 
 
 1828. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION, 
 
 221 
 
 1837. 
 
 THE RAIN- CLOUDS, ..... 
 
 225 
 
 1855. 
 
 COMMUNION WITH GOD, .... 
 
 227 
 
 1836. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT EAPTUEE, .... 
 
 230 
 
 1831. 
 
 MY daughter's birth-day, 
 
 232 
 
 1828. 
 
 THE INVITATION, ..... 
 
 234 
 
 1831. 
 
 TO MAEY, ...... 
 
 236 
 
 1828. 
 
 SATAN, ....... 
 
 237 
 
 1829. 
 
 FASHION, ...... 
 
 241 
 
 1827. 
 
 TO A .SKELETON, ..... 
 
 245 
 
 1831. 
 
 THE COMING OF THE 8H0WEII, 
 
 247 
 
 1827. 
 
 THE MOMENTAEY GLANCE, .... 
 
 248 
 
 1831. 
 
 APPROVED U.NTO GOD, 
 
 261 
 
 1827. 
 
 THE MOTHEe'S PRAYEE, .... 
 
 262 
 
 t< 
 
 MY SOEROWS, ..... 
 
 254 
 
 " 
 
 OPPORTINITY, .... 
 
 258 
 
ON TEN T S. 
 
 IX 
 
 1S5S. 
 
 FIFTY TF.ARS 0I.T1, . 
 
 1829. 
 
 TO A FIRE-FLY, 
 
 1S44. 
 
 PEAU, ..... 
 
 is2r. 
 
 THE CONTRITE, 
 
 1847. 
 
 EPITAPH, ..... 
 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 1S37. 
 
 THE EXISTF.NCE OP GOD, 
 
 ■' 
 
 THE UNITY OF GOO, 
 
 « 
 
 THE TRUTH OF GOD, . 
 
 1841. 
 
 THE lord's POOR, .... 
 
 1S5S. 
 
 "STAND UP FOR JESIS." 
 
 it 
 
 "GLORY TO GOD," . . . . 
 
 i. 
 
 "NOT UNTO US," 
 
 '•' 
 
 CHRIST'S DAY OF POWER, . 
 
 1844. 
 
 SUNDAY SCHOOL HYMN, 
 
 1855. 
 
 THE TRUE REFUGE, 
 
 1S58. 
 
 CHEERFUL GRATITUDE. 
 
 1845. 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN, . 
 
 •' 
 
 CrnjKCH DEBT, . 
 
 ISCl. 
 
 NATIONAL nVMN, 
 
 259 
 260 
 261 
 262 
 262 
 
 263 
 264 
 265 
 266 
 268 
 270 
 273 
 275 
 277 
 278 
 279 
 280 
 282 
 284 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC AND OTHER NOTES, 
 
 2S7-321 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Subject. 
 
 SATUKB, THE POETESS OF GOD, 
 
 THE pateiabch's inheritance, 
 
 CABE OP THE CATTLE, 
 
 OCEAN VIEW, 
 
 THE CITY SUXSET, 
 
 MAY IN THE WOODS, 
 
 COLUMBUS, 
 
 SCENE ON THE TOUGHIOGHEXV, 
 
 Engraver. 
 
 HOPPIN, FRANK K. STOCKTON. 
 
 HOPPIN, 
 
 FRANK B. STOCKTON. 
 
 HOPPIN, " 
 
 DARLEY, 
 DAELEY, 
 
FAITH AND SIGHT: 
 
 THE SPIRIT-WORLD AND SENSE- WORLD. 
 
 "Jihr we walk hy faith, not by sight.*'' — 2 Cor. v. 7. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 THEORY OF THE DIVINE GOVERNMENT OF THE WORLD. 
 
Sections. — I. The Invitation ; II. The Authority; III. A Sinless 
 World; IV. The Sinful World; V. The Will of God— Redemption ; 
 VI. Summaries of Progress; VII. Current Will of God — Foundation 
 Facts; VIII. Illustrations; IX. Review; X. The Great Trial; XI. 
 Improvement; XII. Transition. 
 
PART FIRST. 
 
 THE THEORY. 
 
 I. — THE INVITATION. 
 
 We are immortal. Hence the open page, 
 
 Poetic, breathes a brother's first desire 
 
 For fit communion. Come, whoe'er thou art : 
 
 However high, disdain not, Prince of pomp ! 
 
 And thou, poor Slave of shame ! however low. 
 
 Distrust not, in thy lone, suspicious grief. 
 
 The equal numbers of fraternal love. 
 
 Gome, learn the lay ! it humbly seeks thy good, 
 
 And claims — a thoughtful mind, and feeling heart. 
 
 II. THE AUTHOKITT. 
 
 The Bible is the text-book of iny theme,: 
 And, though nor harp nor muse assist the song, 
 I gladly venture on sublimer help — 
 Invoke the holy, all-inspiring gifts 
 Of Him, our Father ! God of truth and grace ! 
 
 III. — A sinless wokld. 
 
 First, let the artless verse attempt to show 
 Some faint conception of a sinless world. 
 
 Had not the gentle Eve inclined her ear, 
 Touch'd with strange music, to the tempter's voice; 
 
And had not Adam, fondly, husband-like. 
 For weal or woe, his fair companion's fate 
 Embraced, in love — though not the less in sin ; 
 And had their hallow'd nature, never lost, 
 Supremely ruled in all their rising train 
 Of sons and daughters — as their evil, now; 
 Then, in the universal reign of peace, 
 The earth had never known a curse, and man. 
 With daily blessings, thick as sunbeams, pour'd 
 In rich diffusion round him, had gone forth, 
 Without a fear, to walk the world in joy. 
 
 Then, haply, had the even-balanced sphere 
 Kevolved in endless Spring; and Eden still 
 Beheld her flowers in fadeless beauty fresh. 
 And all her varied charms, of bloom or life, 
 In rapid transit spread through every land ; 
 Till, from, the rising to the setting sun, 
 Earth had become one boundless Paradise ; 
 And saintly nations, from the Trees of Life, 
 Waving their healthful boughs by every stream, 
 Had pluck'd the fruit of immortality. 
 
 Vision had then been harmless : sensual bliss 
 Kightly restrain'd by nature, taught of God, 
 With bonds that none had broken, none deplored, 
 Had been the spirit's free inheritance : 
 The bodily organs, perfect in their kind, 
 tJnerring in perception, all aglow 
 With instant sympathies, had been allied 
 To perfect objects, thronging heaven and earth : 
 And the whole man, among the works divine. 
 Had seem'd a living harp, so tenderly tuned. 
 That every breath, of power to lift a leaf. 
 Tranced him with self-enchanting harmony. 
 
What Nature, then — the Poetess of God ! 
 Had sweetly sung, as on her emerald hills, 
 Morning and eve she walk'd, with crown of stars, 
 And dewy sandals, while her golden lyre, 
 Quivering with music, glisten'd in the play 
 Of the first eastern or last western beams : 
 What Art — inspired by Him, Great Architect ! 
 Who built the universe, and served by hands 
 Of finest' skill, with vigor never tired — 
 Had rear'd, surpassing later works of sin. 
 In nobler ornament of height and plain. 
 Magnificent and firm; or framed to float. 
 With easier motion, graceful, swift and safe. 
 On fairer streams and smoother lakes and seas; 
 Or form'd of lighter texture, high to soar. 
 Through skies serene, ne'er darken'd by a storm. 
 O'er fragrant landscapes, lying low and calm — 
 The hearts of the familiar passengers. 
 Thrilling indeed with rapture, but, from fear 
 As free as though they slumber'd in the shade 
 Of the home-arbors whence they took their flight : 
 What then Philosophy — her brow unwreathed. 
 The image of a violet on her breast. 
 Meek student at the sacred feet of truth — 
 Had learn'd in joy and taught mankind in love : 
 And what Religion — ^beauteously array'd 
 In bloodless vestments whiter than the snow, 
 By rural altar, deck'd with fruits and flowers. 
 Standing in angel glory, had enjoin'd 
 On grateful subjects happy to obey: 
 All this ambitious thought might dare to tell. 
 But, ill succeed : so, let this dim-drawn sketch 
 
 Persuade thy soul, that, had not sin appear'd, 
 
 1* 
 
6 
 
 Had no avenging evil smote the scene 
 Of forfeited delight, and made our race 
 The weeping victims of remorse and death, 
 The things of vision had presented charms 
 That wisdom might have sought without a blush, 
 And man pursued the pleasant walk of sight, 
 No guilt to stain, no danger to deter. 
 
 And, not by sight aloue: but, so by faith 
 His easy journey would have won its way. 
 Not then, as often now, wovild faith have met 
 The check of doubts — however vain, still sad. 
 Tokens that none could question would have stay'd 
 His trusting spirit. Nature's ample frame. 
 Without one blemish in the perfect whole, 
 No sign of wrong, or pain, or grief, or death. 
 Had furnish' d naught an error to suggest: 
 But truth all round had glitter'd like the light — 
 Written in gold upon the azure sky, 
 In rippling silver on the green of earth : 
 And the pure heart, communing with its forms, 
 Had found the living rapture in them all. 
 Oft, too, some elder of the saintly tost. 
 His time of trial ended, and the hour 
 Of long-foreseen ascension come at last, 
 Blessing the groups that stood to watch his flight. 
 Would then, Elijah-like, have whirl'd away, 
 In car of fiery splendor, seen and lost; 
 Or else, like Enoch, vanish'd from the haunts 
 Where joyfully he walk'd with God on earth. 
 To walk forever with his God in heaven. 
 Nor these alone : but, frequent intercourse 
 With angel visitants, descending swift 
 In welcome glory, till they gently touch'd 
 
The stining lawn, and closed their brilliant plumes, 
 
 Themselves examples of the hosts above, 
 
 And eloquent in praises of their home. 
 
 Nor only these : but, oft the Voice Divine, 
 
 In garden bowers, or from the upper air, — 
 
 All nature hushing at the well-known sound — 
 
 Itself proclaiming universal laws. 
 
 And promises of everlasting love. 
 
 Had perfected the certainty of faith : 
 
 And man thus favor'd, with the better world 
 
 Grown quite familiar, would have felt and talk'd, 
 
 As surely of that far and fair abode. 
 
 As now the emigrant on Europe's shore. 
 
 The tide or wind awaiting, speaks of climes 
 
 Beyond the western wave, where friends long gone, 
 
 But heard from since and soon to be rejoin'd, 
 
 Have found a free and happy woodland home. 
 
 Thus, then, had earth remain'd unknown to sin, 
 By faith and sight combined would man have walk'd : 
 Sight — the perception of a perfect form, 
 'Mid myriad perfect objects strewn around; 
 Faith — the perception of a perfect soul. 
 Discerning glories from the. eye conceal'd; 
 And so, with such high faculties endow'd. 
 Allied to kindred worlds, so different still. 
 His days had pass'd in fellowship with both, 
 In due proportion drawing bliss from each. 
 Child of his G-od and heir to earth and heaven ! 
 
 IV. THE SINFUL WORLD. 
 
 Behold the fruit of sin ! what now his state ? 
 How cling unto his form disease and pain. 
 And countless frailties : all its organs gross, 
 
And fast decaying — tending to the tomb : 
 
 While all without betrays the ancient curse, 
 
 Its mingling smoke-wreaths darkening earth and sky. 
 
 Meantime the soul, enervate, languid, dull. 
 
 Laments faith lost, and all its aids withdrawn — 
 
 God, silent; angels, absent; and mankind. 
 
 Though daily passing to eternity. 
 
 Not rising radiant through the rosy air, 
 
 Flush'd with immortal youth, and girt with songs 
 
 Of circling seraphim, ascending all 
 
 As lightly as their music, seen and heard 
 
 By smiling groups long watching from below; 
 
 But — the illusion of their presence left. 
 
 The pale, cold motionless clay, which friends embrace 
 
 And bathe with tears — themselves escaping swift, 
 
 Invisibly, and quietly, away. 
 
 Thus, thrown on home resources; vision dim. 
 
 And all its fields in ruin; faith depress'd. 
 
 And things celestial hidden or forgot; 
 
 Man blindly wanders — both worlds veil'd in gloom ! 
 
 V. THE WILL OF GOD REDEMPTION. 
 
 What now the will of God ? He, when the earth 
 
 First swell'd into its place, and took its course 
 
 In finish'd fulness, round and orderly; 
 
 Beheld well pleased, and styled it very good. 
 
 His glory then the shining orb reveal'd — 
 
 The glory of His wisdom, power and love ; 
 
 And, from the happy hymns of human hearts. 
 
 Heard through all heavens. He caught the sweetest praise. 
 
 Returning still degrees of greater joy. 
 
 Say, then, shall man, his honors thus withdrawn, 
 
 Forever pine among these scenes impair'd ? 
 
9 
 
 'Mid vision's relics straying faint and sad, 
 Still nursing, as lie slowly passes on, 
 The merest semblance of his former faith ? 
 Tell me, World ! and has thy peerless lord 
 No hope above a worm's ? No hig-her good 
 Than dreams and vain amusements ending soon 
 In all-consuming, all-obscuring death? 
 Speak, Holy Truth ? Is this the will Divine? 
 Or shall not rather some redeeming plan 
 Of love and wisdom, save the fallen race ? 
 All hail, the happy answer! Heaven and Earth, 
 Responsive, cry — Redemption ! voices loud. 
 From Paradise and Calvary, repeat 
 The thrilling music; Time, exulting, shouts. 
 Charming all worlds within his luminous range ; 
 And elder Space, wakening the dark beyond, 
 Prolongs the tone in all his solitudes. 
 
 VI. SUMMARIES OF PROGRESS. 
 
 The day of mercy opens — one of God's 
 Long, spiritual days, that sweep o'er centuries. 
 The Patriarchs watch its slowly-kindling dawn, 
 Trace the symbolic flush on all its clouds. 
 And, trusting the atonement, die in peace : 
 The Prophets mark the broader, brighter rays 
 Of some transcendent wonder, yet unseen, 
 And mount, in cars of fire, to meet its coming : 
 While, last, the Apostles hail the full-orb'd Sun- 
 Bask in his blaze, chill in his strange eclipse, 
 Exult in his emergence, and proclaim 
 His after glory fix'd, supreme, eternal. 
 The Church, indeed, no more discerns his disc. 
 But merely transient vapors intervene : 
 
10 
 
 No gleam of light comes down to cheer her path 
 But from that hidden Sun, and soon the shades 
 Shall vanish from the clear, high noon, forever. 
 
 Or — Eden's exiles heard the promise first, 
 Through them the heritage of all mankind : 
 And, many ages after, he who dwelt 
 Beneath the oak in Moreh — ^friend of Grod ! 
 Learn'd fuller tidings, worthy of his faith : 
 And later seers, in coarse and homely garb, 
 But quick with genius lit by living fire. 
 The long succession of the chosen race 
 Aroused with strains of eloquence sublime, 
 And bade them 'wait the coming of their Prince — 
 The great Messiah ! till, at last. He came : 
 Came, the Desired of all ! in due time came. 
 With richest mercy ransoming the world. 
 
 "VII. CURRENT WILL OF GOD — ^FOUNDATION FACTS. 
 
 What now the will supreme ? to walk by sight ? 
 
 Nay, but by faith. Tet how conclude we thus? 
 
 The way is simple and the answer plain. 
 
 God has done all that could he done to malce 
 
 Our faith complete; and furnish' d ample meaits 
 
 To fit us for the unseen spheres of faith; 
 
 And, sending forth Sis duly-sanction! d Word, 
 
 Enjoins on all the pilgrimage of faith : 
 
 But, while these truths are certain, there exists 
 
 no proof historic, sacred or profane ; 
 
 no evidence in nature's ample bounds, 
 
 That G-od has ever touch'd the realm of sight, 
 
 Or wrought one moment to restore mankind 
 
 To perfect jot in sensual things of earth ! 
 
11 
 
 VIII. ILLDSTKATIONS. 
 
 Here wide extends an unobstructed field, 
 Where many views attract the solemn mind, 
 And thought would dwell — ^but time forbids delay, 
 And rapid outlines only mark the page. 
 
 Then tell me, — ^has our vaunting race improved. 
 In any of its faculties, since sin 
 First bound them all in slavish chains severe ? 
 Or does not Revelation clearly teach, 
 And human legends, like the clouds that float 
 In common day, reflect the same true light, 
 That man, in native attributes, in means 
 Of relative joyance, and in length of years. 
 Unceasingly has grown degenerate ? 
 
 In ages close succeeding to the Fall, 
 Did God revoke the curse ? renew the sons 
 Of Eden's exiles in immortal strength ? 
 Adorn their. daughters with immortal bloom? 
 And clothe the world in all its morning charms ? 
 This would have been an easy task to Him, 
 Who made with ease the whole. But, was it done ? 
 Nay — ^but the flowing vigor in their veins. 
 With lingering elements of endless life 
 Still thrilling, well sustain'd their portly forms. 
 And they, who, blest with fruit of Paradise, 
 Had lived forever, did, with grosser food, 
 Inhale the breezes of long centuries. 
 And walk in sunshine near a thousand years. 
 Earth, too, though faded, not convulsed and rent. 
 Still pictured beauty on her hills and dales, 
 And Nature, looking from her azure throne. 
 Blighted, not wreek'd, beheld her rolling sphere. 
 
12 
 
 But, not alone was power Divine withheld 
 From renovation, it was soon display 'd 
 In punishment — so terrible, that time 
 Still sighs at the remembrance and turns pale. 
 For all the families of all the earth. 
 With one exception, faithless, walk'd by sight. 
 A race of sensualists ! and He who made. 
 Determined to destroy them. Then arose — 
 Then rush'd — a tempest sweeping to the poles, 
 Alive with lightnings, flashing through the gloom ; 
 And shouting thunders, bounding on the spoil. 
 Then burst the lowest fountains of the deep, 
 And floods, outsurging, mingled with the storm — 
 Falling and rising, swelling, mounting all, 
 And, dashing proudly o'er the earth's last peak, 
 Triumphant roll'd above the buried world. 
 
 Turn, now, and see the ruptured sphere emerge 
 From wide subsiding oceans. What report ? 
 Did God its long-lost loveliness restore ? 
 And man — the lonely silence peopling fast 
 With noisy nations — gloriously endow 
 With choicer faculties that could not fail ? 
 Nay, but the riven orb, as though too fair 
 Its former likeness of primeval pomp, 
 Still too seductive for a race depraved, 
 Came from the wave with deeper, broader lines 
 Of cursing, on its rugged outlines stanip'd: 
 While man, composed of feebler elements, 
 Soon told his days, and, from the new-sown fields 
 Of swiftly ripening life, the greedy grave 
 Ingather'd full, more frequent harvestings. 
 
 Descend the stream of time. Mark all its way. 
 And tell me — are the scenes it waters now, 
 
More beauteous than the past ? Do they who live 
 Along its borders, nerve a stronger arm — 
 Or move with firmer, lighter step — or pierce 
 The distance or the shade with keener glance — 
 Or hear delightful music with a bliss 
 More exquisite — or breathe the air of life 
 A longer season than their sires of old ? 
 
 This night the world and its inhabitants 
 Are pressing on in their declining course. 
 Never has God renew'd the earth or man, 
 And call'd His creatures to a life of sense. 
 Such life, absorbing all the higher powers, 
 His law prohibits. This He does, alone — 
 And this demands unceasing praise and love — 
 Provides fit means for few probational years, 
 And wide distributes o'er the waste of ill. 
 The sweet remains of good, that none may faint : 
 And the meek pilgrim, shadow'd by a cloud, 
 Soon bless the warm returning light, and walk 
 "With quicker step the happy road to heaven. 
 
 And more: not only shines the open truth. 
 That man and nature languish unrepair'd. 
 Still waning both; but, warning voices loud. 
 By day and night, from soil and sky, far, near. 
 Appealing always to all human hearts. 
 Announce in tones of deep, assuring awe, 
 That God, the Glorious ! Holy Sire Supreme I 
 Must for his children destine nobler ends, 
 And mark, offended, such as heed them not. 
 
 Survey the globe. Let no unhallow'd dread, 
 In fair Religion's name, delude thy soul. 
 Is evil witness'd? call it so — nor dare 
 Xame i God's work, and thence presume it good. 
 
14 
 
 If Grod choose evil, 'tis an after-choice; 
 
 The sad corrective of foregoing sin : 
 
 All His original designs are good. 
 
 Look as a worshiper of heavenly Truth, 
 
 And speak as one regardful of his vows. 
 
 Range then the earth, with more deliberate thought 
 
 Than here presents the fleet, descriptive sketch. 
 
 See polar wastes of snow and ice immense : 
 
 See torrid deserts, vast as those of frost, 
 
 Fountless and shrubless, scorch'd with constant fires : 
 
 See the still wider reach of ocean's roll. 
 
 By frequent tempests swept, and strewn with wrecks, 
 
 3Ioaning with few survivors, faint and pale : 
 
 See the volcanic mountain, smoking yet 
 
 Above the buried spoil of ages past. 
 
 And living pomp, that eyes the height with fear : 
 
 See the strong earthquake, sporting with the pride 
 
 Of capital cities, cast in closing gulfs : 
 
 See the hush'd march of famine — all the land 
 
 Behind her, moving slow with thin wan groups. 
 
 Forsaking foodless homes for barren plains : 
 
 See the day darken'd with the settling train. 
 
 Of fierce diseases, filling every house 
 
 With pain and sorrow. Shrink not from the plague. 
 
 But follow in his sounding path, and hark I — 
 
 The wailing nations all the earth around : 
 
 Or writhing in their helpless agony, 
 
 Or fleeing wildly, smitten as they flee : 
 
 While death — triumphant tyrant I — proud exclaims : 
 
 Sun, moon and stars illuminate my reign; 
 
 The mountains are the pillars of my throne. 
 
 The hollow vales, my crowded sepulchres. 
 
 All space, all time, all life entirely mine ! 
 
ir, 
 
 Discern we truth? Then surely human bliss, 
 Well understood, no longer prompts the search 
 For sensual good: to walk by sight is sin, 
 Is folly, madness; and the light of faith 
 The only guide to glory and to God. 
 
 Turn, then, with grateful joy — another view. 
 And fairer far, invites the kindling eye. 
 Though no repairing power restores the realm 
 Of visual wonder to its first estate. 
 All has been done for faith ! All man could ask. 
 All God could grant, has freely been conferr'd. 
 Again review our course. In Eden's bowers, 
 Attend the voice Divine : in Bethlehem's stall. 
 Behold the mighty Victor, humbly born : 
 And all the solemn interval between — 
 Four thousand years slow rolling round the sun — 
 Fill with perpetual symbols of the plan : 
 Tradition, promise, prophecy and type, 
 Temple and altar, priest and sacrifice. 
 
 Here let reflection hold the heart in pause. 
 The soul's perceptions, by the films of sin 
 Obscured, had darker grown than those of sense. 
 The bodily eye yet glow'd with transient spark, 
 And nature's fading charms attracted still : 
 But faith, the spirit's vision, fell quite blind — 
 Its objects bright as ever, but unseen. 
 Then stray'd imperial nations: God unknown; 
 Immortal life and blest abode on high 
 At most a doubtful dream; the very world 
 Design'd its Maker's mirror, turn'd in whole 
 Into a house of idols — there they bow'd, 
 Adoring sun, moon, stars; men, birds, and beasts; 
 Reptiles and plants; and blocks and stones deform'd: 
 
IG 
 
 Though some, attempting wisdom, sage and bard. 
 Fancied vain schemes, exciting crime and woe, 
 Duping and duped, the darkness unrelieved. 
 But, faith's decline was seen by One in heaven, 
 AVho, while He left the body and the globe 
 Imperfect and unremedied, came down — 
 Down from the summit of eternal power, 
 To deepest earthly depths — relumed the soul, 
 Unveil'd its birth-right and redeem'd the race. 
 
 This, then, Messiah's mission. Mark His life. 
 Lo ! while He speaks, reviving faith beholds 
 Consummate glory beaming from afar : 
 Nor doubts the great Instructor. Holiness 
 Arrays Him, like a spotless, seamless robe : 
 His gentle lips distil perpetual love — 
 The best reward on faithful friends bestow'd. 
 The sole return for most malignant hate : 
 And daily wonders, starting at His touch. 
 Or to His call responding; watching close 
 The meaning of His eye, and reading well 
 The secret orders of His voiceless will. 
 In quick obedience seen; confirm the truth. 
 Nor yet His aim achieved. For not alone 
 He shows the beauty of the better world. 
 And proffers there the heirs of faith a home; 
 But, thus the work of light completed, now 
 Performs the work of purity — resigns 
 His sinless life in agony and shame 
 On thy dark cross, shuddering Calvary ! 
 There flows His blood, there full atonement flows 
 For all mankind ; there weeping faith exults. 
 Not only now her visual power restored, 
 Not only all her ancient orbs new risen, 
 Not only promised higher, happier range. 
 
17 
 
 But, fitted for possession : every stain 
 
 Wast'd in the cleansing fountain, every wish 
 
 In love consenting to her Maker's will. 
 
 Nor yet her evidence exhausted : soon 
 
 The buried Saviour from the tomb returns — 
 
 A mighty monarch, who, His foes subdued. 
 
 In rocky chamber sought a Sabbath's rest, 
 
 And now, awaked, the wounds of battle heal'd, 
 
 Crown'd with immortal majesty comes forth, 
 
 Triumphantly serene : Himself the pledge 
 
 Of all His people's victory. Nor yet 
 
 Thy last support display'd : behold, Faith ! 
 
 From Olivet's green cone to yon white cloud 
 
 That waits His coming in the blue expanse. 
 
 Thy Lord, ascending, slow retires from sight. 
 
 And thence regains the throne from which He came. 
 
 In faith's behalf thus wrought Redeeming Love, 
 On earth enshrined. And, since His glad return 
 To heavenly glory, whence His priestly hands 
 Still scatter blessings on the Church below; 
 His true apostles, quicken'd by His word. 
 And by His grace anointed, evermore 
 Have oall'd the grovelling nations to attempt 
 The heights of bliss supernal : while, with these 
 A matchless Agent, filling time and space, 
 Has moved in secret, touching every soul 
 Taught of the truth, with subtile light and sense, 
 On hardest hearts impressing clear and strong 
 Sin, evil, judgment; warning, wooing all 
 In solemn love. All hail, mysterious Power ! 
 Thou promised Paraclete Divine ! all hail ! 
 Still prompt the fallen to high, celestial aims, 
 Convict, convert, refine, and save the world! 
 
18 
 
 God has done all for faith. On peaceful wings^ 
 Fast flies the gospel to remotest lands — 
 Where, though pale nature still the curse deplores, 
 And human beauty, fading, fills the tomb; 
 Yet, theme of grateful rapture ! Christ's design 
 Extending seeks to purge the mental eye. 
 Disclose the scenes of never- withering bloom. 
 And never-ending life, and so allure 
 Dejected millions to estatic joy! 
 
 God has done all for faith. No more she pines, 
 Blind, deaf, and dumb, in unassisted woe. 
 With eye serene she sweeps the range of heaven. 
 With ear acute she catches all its songs, 
 And tells her transport with a tongue of fire. 
 No longer now she wears a spotted garb, 
 But folds around her robes of snowy gloss. 
 Fit for the holiest groups that grace the skies; 
 While o'er her shoulders spread her ample wings 
 Of golden plumage, nerved with tireless strength 
 To waft her lightly upward to the throne. 
 
 In every varied view, the truth is clear : 
 Jehovah wills not that His children walk 
 The way of vision, but, the path of faith. 
 Did He design a life of sense, then soon, 
 What now in distant prospect faith descries. 
 Would come at once and come alike to all. 
 Renewing might would traverse nature's frame, 
 And, the last trace of evil swept away, 
 Recover'd man, with youth immortal crown'd — 
 Prince royal in a commonwealth of bliss ! 
 Would hold his court mid scenes as fair and grand. 
 As all-contriving Wisdom could invent. 
 Omnipotence create, or boundless Love 
 
19 
 
 Prompt as a kingdom worthy of its heir. 
 
 But if, untaught, we could imagine such 
 
 As now God's will — the great intent would fail, 
 
 Fail universally, forever fail. 
 
 Though sanction'd by the Eternal's signet ring, 
 
 Labor, and pain, and death would stamp the plan 
 
 With fiendish scorn and triumph in the dust : 
 
 And impotence be written on the brow 
 
 Of all-producing, all-upholding power. 
 
 Who dare assert what thus in fancy smites 
 
 The shrinking heart, back falling on the truth. 
 
 The truth! To faith He calls us, calls us all. 
 
 In tones which none who heed uncertain deem. 
 
 We all are sojourners; and, this agreed, 
 
 Nature accords : her instant voices loud. 
 
 All voices of all things in heaven and earth, 
 
 Implore mankind — Be wise, and walk by faith ! 
 
 IX. REVIEW. 
 
 And now survey the world. Has God's design. 
 
 Begun so early, and so long pursued 
 
 In patient kindness, human life controU'd ? 
 
 What says the past ? Repair to Olivet, 
 
 And hear the lingering Saviour's last command : 
 
 "Go, range the world; proclaim to every soul 
 
 Faith and salvation ! " Lo ! the gates of heaven 
 
 Close on His rising form. From age to age. 
 
 Now slow returning, note the plain event : 
 
 And what the answer? Has the light of truth. 
 
 Excelling as it ought the partial sun, 
 
 From every moral depth expell'd the shades. 
 
 And bathed its cloudless sphere in common day? 
 
20 
 
 And is the earth confess'd the heavenward road 
 Of transient pilgrims, striving to become, 
 By private care, and mutual social aids, 
 Meet for their high and holy destiny ? 
 Nay, far inferior to the solar range, 
 Truth scarce illumes a quarter of her orb : 
 "While millions rove beneath her fulgent noon, 
 In wilful blindness dark as starless night. 
 Thus still, and eighteen centuries gone by ! 
 Disclose, Truth ! or ye who crowd her train : 
 Disclose the cause that so retards the day ! 
 Has Christ himself with sovereign will ordain'd 
 This unrelenting gloom ? Nay, else His lips 
 The great commission never had pronounced. 
 Christians have been too little like their Lord; 
 Christians have proved unfaithful to their trust. 
 Can any see the secret dawning here ? 
 How obvious rather is the sin — the shame ! 
 
 X. THE GREAT TRIAL. 
 
 A trial has been going on, a great 
 And solemn trial of the human heart; 
 Watch'd by superior powers with anxious eye. 
 See! Jesus died for every soul of man, 
 Then, life resuming, tenderly enjoin'd — 
 "Go forth, ye few, and bear the news to all!" 
 The work began. Resources deep and full, 
 Accessible each moment, well supplied 
 Their fainting courage and renew'd their strength. 
 And now, methinks, while came the Spirit down 
 To lend almighty help, the Father look'd; 
 And the Son look'd; and holy angels look'd; 
 To see the progress of this grand display, 
 
21 
 
 In mercy made to save a ruin'd world. 
 
 Faith was tlie watchword of the spreading Church; 
 
 And long as this was sounded, victory 
 
 With gorgeous trophies strew'd her onward march, 
 
 TiU Jove's imperial eagle fled the scene, 
 
 And the dove perch'd upon the crest of Rome. 
 
 What now ? Alas, the realm of sight subdued, 
 
 The fairest portion of the earth possess'd. 
 
 Remoter glories lost their former charms. 
 
 Surrounding joys attain'd ascendant power. 
 
 And the throned Church soon slept upon the throne. 
 
 With shouts of gladness she had left the plains 
 
 Of widow'd Judah, scorn'd and scourged, to move 
 
 In swelling triumph toward the central height 
 
 Of Gentile rule; but, that achievement gain'd. 
 
 Forgot the outer boundaries of gloom. 
 
 And clung inglorious to her hard-won rest. 
 
 Thus, when the sword of faith had clear'd her way. 
 
 The smiling scenes of vision stayed her course ; 
 
 And, as the world had been her aim, her heaven, 
 
 This won, her only duty seem'd repose. 
 
 How passed her time? Much in amusements vain, 
 
 And numberless inventions for the eye. 
 
 And not the eye alone : the boast became. 
 
 That true religion every sense regales. 
 
 And so, magnific temples, altars, shrines; 
 
 Sculptures and pictures; ornaments of gold, 
 
 Of silver, and of gems; with splendid lights 
 
 Sparkling on all; still added genial warmth, 
 
 Rare music, breath of flowers, difiiisive clouds 
 
 Of incense sweet to faintness; every art 
 
 Of princely priests, from princely palaces. 
 
 And princely festivals; in princely robes. 
 
22 
 
 With princely retinues and revenues, 
 
 And every seal of power and badge of pride : 
 
 In short, for sight, sense, all things — few for faith. 
 
 0, had the Church, in memory of her Lord, 
 
 E-epell'd the tempter, and pursued her toil; 
 
 Long ere to-day might truth have fill'd the earth. 
 
 And all the nations hail'd the Grod of all. 
 
 How — if a reverent mind may muse on themes 
 So high, with human feelings — how did Grod 
 The scenes of trial, passing thus, behold ? 
 And how, the wounded Son ? And how the hosts 
 Of holy angels, waiting to receive 
 With open arms their new associates ? 
 Would fancy err, to say, in solemn tones. 
 That G-od, and Christ, and angels, saw and felt 
 Man was so deeply sunk that scarce the hand 
 Divine could reach him — choosing still to sink? 
 The angels knew — for so had God ordain'd : 
 That none should mingle with their happy groups, 
 Who could not oiFer love for love, and join 
 Their lofty hymns of grateful harmony. 
 But here were some so void of gratitude, 
 So lost to feelings of fraternal love, 
 That when the blest Redeemer shed His blood 
 In rich atonement for their sins, and show'd 
 A shining path ascending to the skies. 
 And then desired them to extend the news, 
 And seek the proifer'd glory — they refused : 
 Nor yet for Him, their neighbors, or themselves, 
 Would yield compliance ! — but, acquired at last 
 Fair visual pleasures, cast their faith aside ; 
 And, while unnumber'd millions never knew 
 That Christ had walk'd the earth; or that heaven's gate, 
 
23 
 
 By Him unclosed, stood open for mankind; 
 Spent all their days in sporting with their spoils, 
 And let the world with twisted roses lead 
 The hosts that should have broken iron chains. 
 Sharp trial thus the human heart endures, 
 In every eye disgraced; and dull must be. 
 The hope, for many, of a home above. 
 
 But think not here a melancholy mind 
 Forgets the faithful and their noble deeds. 
 Rather, their virtues, sufferings, toils, success, 
 Beam forth in bright relief. These well portray 
 What all should be, by equal duties bound; 
 And intimate the beauty of the sphere. 
 When all shall be with equal grace adorn'd. 
 These have preserved the world — ^the very salt 
 That check'd corruption's working: men whose prayers, 
 Eaised in the name of Jesus, have prevail'd 
 With roused and incensed Justice, to restrain 
 The living thunders, waving for their flight 
 The plumes that sparkle with consuming fire. 
 
 If such the Church, no pencil need describe 
 The World — ^professional of sensual joys. 
 Thus, then, the clear conclusion : God has wrcmght 
 Froin times comrniencement on the scheme of faith; 
 While man, in contravention of the plan, 
 Bos spent Ms ages on the works of sight. 
 True, countless myriads ardently have sought 
 The better things above, and doubtless gain'd. 
 Yet these compared with scorners, are but few : 
 Like rain-drops, falling from the teeming clouds, 
 Innumerous, but mingling with the sea. 
 Bear small proportion to the boundless mass. 
 Touching the wave and in a moment lost. 
 
XI. IMPROVEMENT. 
 
 But brighter times have open'd. Zion, now, 
 Repenting of her long, inglorious rest. 
 Works daily wonders in her IMaker's name. 
 Fast grows the deep conviction, which at last 
 Must rule all hearts — Man's dufi/, tohole and sole, 
 Is to get good and do good: first embrace 
 The plan of mercy, saving one's own soul; 
 And then, by every holy means extend 
 The priceless blessing diligently round. 
 
 But, lest the opening scenes too long allure 
 The straying step, I pause. Another page, 
 Deferr'd for apt conclusion, may reveal 
 The thoughts that oft have trembled o'er this theme, 
 But never sought before the letter'd line. 
 Or hoped the tender aid of tuneful song. 
 
 XII. TRANSITION. 
 
 Meantime, communing with thy silent soul, 
 Whose eye indulgent still attends the verse, 
 I sketch the objects of the Christian's faith, 
 Of individual interest vast and deep, 
 And seeking thus to turn thine erring feet. 
 Still downward tending; or, the heavenward road 
 Imprinting, cheer thee onward to thy home; 
 Shall rest assured — if thine own weal be won. 
 Thy grateful love will prompt thy zeal, to spread 
 The name of Christ and save thy brother's soul. 
 
 (end or PART FIRST.) 
 
"ALL HE SEES, 
 HE HAILS HIS OWN; AND BURNS "WITH LORDLY TLAME." 
 
FAITH AND SIGHT: 
 
 THE SPIRIT- WORLD AND SENSE- WORLD. 
 
 "For we walk hy faith, not by sight," — 2 Cor. v. 7. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 EXAMPLE: 
 ABRAHAM— FRIEND OP GOD, AND FATHER OP THE PAITHFUL. 
 
Sections.— I. Introduction: II. The Walk of Faith : III. Ur of 
 the Chaldeea; IV. The Divine Call; V. Obedience; VI. Canaan; 
 VII. The Good Land; VIII. Incidental Survey; IX. Divine Inter- 
 view; X. Prophetic Vision; XL Review and Results. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 
 THE EXAMPLE. 
 
 I. INTRODUCTION. 
 
 As one who setteth jewels, when a few 
 
 Of rarest worth demand his nicest skill, 
 
 Sees no material equal to the stones 
 
 With beauty to enchase them; yet resolves. 
 
 Pleased with the honorable trust, to try 
 
 Upon the best he finds his utmost art : 
 
 So I, attempting to exhibit truths 
 
 Of highest value, though the humble verse 
 
 That shows may not adorn them, still pursue 
 
 My glad employ with quick but watchful care, 
 
 And leave no blemish that I know to shun. 
 
 Here, then, as beams the diamond on its frame. 
 
 May truth impart enchantment to the lay. 
 
 But now a jealous spirit in my heart 
 Starts up offended and propounds the thought : 
 Why truth degrade, comparing with a gem ? 
 This, though it burn as brightly as a star 
 On a virgin's brow, or shine in signet ring 
 Worn by a prince, is useless still; while that, 
 Superior far, not only charms — ^but saves ! 
 I see the just distinction, feel its force, 
 And further seek an illustration fit. 
 Thus then I come to lead from flowing founts, 
 
28 
 
 Of living water, fresh, reviving streams 
 
 Even to my neighbors' doors : meanwhile, assured 
 
 The noble aim is worthy patient toil, 
 
 I trust the channel will not stain the wave 
 
 But pass it on like crystal; and indulge 
 
 The ardent hope — 0, let it not be vain ! 
 
 That soon the vital rills shall prompt the soil 
 
 To bloomy growth, and so entice the feet 
 
 Of many to the brink, who, while they see 
 
 The verdant margin gay with sprinkled flowers : 
 
 Some proving by their breath — the brook is sweet; 
 
 Some by their spotless beauty — it is pure ; 
 
 And others, gratefully and meekly bent. 
 
 With gentle whisper saying — taste and live ! 
 
 Evincing as they bow their filial love, 
 
 The dimpled current kissing : shall consent 
 
 To such attractions, slight but sanctified. 
 
 And taste, and drink, and live, and love forever. 
 
 II. THE WALK OF FAITH. 
 
 The walk op faith ! This first invites our thought. 
 And here a light, long sphered above the sky, 
 Descending from its lofty home, may lead, 
 Like a near guide, our smooth and pleasant way. 
 
 The Father of the faithful! Abraham ! 
 Whose heavenly paradise, as Adam's fair, 
 But never cursed with blight and never closed, 
 Is still his countless children's happy home, 
 Where each reposes in unbroken rest. 
 As though reclining by the patriarch's side. 
 And leaning on his bosom — he pursued 
 The holy path, and hence his high renown. 
 
29 
 
 III. UR OP THE CHALDEES. 
 
 Beneath, the palm-trees of Chaldean Ur, 
 And by the willowy margins of its streams, 
 In humble duties pass'd his lengthen'd youth. 
 There oft, as years elapsed, his thoughtful soul 
 Held high communion with the Sire of all. 
 Sublime and holy doctrines, taught in tones 
 Of Hying glory touch'd with warmest love; 
 Or sent in silent inspirations, rife 
 With ever-present wisdom, felt like air; 
 Eedeem'd and raised his spirit, 'till he scorn'd 
 His idol rites ancestral, rapt in hope 
 To serve his Maker. Then the awful Voice 
 Outspoke again, and reverently he heard, 
 With deepest homage vowing to obey. 
 
 IV. THE DIVINE CALL. 
 
 It call'd him to dissolve the strongest ties 
 That bind our best affections to the earth: 
 Resign at once his country, kindred, home; 
 The dearest objects of his earliest love; 
 Forsake them, and forever : never more 
 To share their sweet enjoyments, never more 
 To look upon their charms; not e'en when age, 
 With youthful thoughts reviving, should desire 
 First scenes to visit, first delights regain. 
 It call'd him to go out — he knew not where; 
 To rest — ^he knew not when : his God his guide, 
 His duty onward, and the certain sound 
 Of blessed promise cheering all the road, 
 
 3* 
 
30 
 
 V. OBEDIENCE. 
 
 Thus went he forth from Ur. Thus went he on 
 From Haran's fertile precincts, where he left 
 The bones of Terah, and the pleasant home 
 Of Nahor, settled for a life of rest. 
 Though nearly fourscore years had fled away, 
 The pastoral prince had scarcely reach'd his prime; 
 And, daily wending southward, still in front 
 His tall, erect, commanding person moved, 
 With tireless step, and face of noble mien, 
 Leading his pilgrim band with all their train. 
 Camels, and lowing herds, and bleating flocks. 
 While ever and anon he caught the joy 
 Of sportive Lot's glad wonder, or was charm'd 
 By queenly Sarah riding graceful by. 
 Unveiling oft her dangerous beauty, still 
 In fadeless bloom as brilliant as the rose. 
 With smiling lips that utter'd naught but love. 
 
 VI. CANAAN. 
 
 At length the verdant bound of Canaan pass'd, 
 He pitch'd his tent in Sichem, 'neath the shade 
 Of Moreh's oaks umbrageous. Resting there — 
 The great command in perfect faith fulfill'd — 
 Again he saw the Holy One approach. 
 And heard the glorious promise of reward 
 Repeated, plighting all that lovely land 
 His seed's possession. Then the Form withdrew: 
 And soon the grateful stranger's pious hands 
 With zealous toil the spot of audience mark'd, 
 Rearing an humble altar; duly served 
 With simple rites of purest sacrifice. 
 
81 
 
 VII. THE GOOD LAND. 
 
 There was "a good land." Thus the voice Divine, 
 That erst the world in angel hearing blest, 
 Instructed Moses, when, in after years, 
 To Jordan's verge he led the chosen tribes. 
 A goodly land — where countless water-brooks 
 From valley depths and fountains welling up, 
 And springing down from rocky hills sublime, 
 Flow'd freshly on. A land in season rich 
 With golden wheat reposing ripe and full. 
 And earlier barley waved by vernal airs ; 
 Where cloud-like vines luxuriantly droop'd, 
 With clusters greater than a man could bear; 
 And shadowing fig-trees shower'd delicious fruit; 
 While cool pomegranates, flush'd with juicy seed; 
 And olive groves, distilling softest oil; 
 And honey, sweetening all the balmy cliffs; 
 Enhanced the common festival : a land 
 Not only thus with bounteous growth supplied 
 Of varied food, but stored with means of art — 
 Where iron vein'd the stones, and rugged slopes 
 Struck by a spear disclosed their copper hoards. 
 
 VIII. INCIDENTAL SURVEY. 
 
 From Moreh down to Bethel journey'd then 
 The joyful tribe; and there the Lord beheld 
 Another altar rear'd, and heard anew 
 The patriarchal priest invoke his name. 
 Still downward tending, lo ! in strange reverse 
 Of former plenty, famine smote the scene : 
 And the pale land, like blighted Eden, sat 
 Beneath her wither'd palm in silent grief 
 
82 
 
 Thus urged along, lie sought the fruitful shores 
 
 Of Egypt's "worship'd river. Safely thence 
 
 Returning full, he breathed the promised south 
 
 In brief but glad repose, and then repair'd 
 
 Again to Bethel's altar. All the land, 
 
 Like blooming Eden now, replenish'd, smiled. 
 
 High on the waiting pile renewing soon 
 
 The sacrificial flame, he woke the air 
 
 To olden strains of well-remember'd praise. 
 
 Ascending sweetly to the throne of God. 
 
 IX. DIVINE INTERVIEW. 
 
 The country thus survey'd, the wanderer's tent 
 On Ephraim's central mountain waving wide 
 Its breezy folds, and all his substance round- 
 Herds in the vales, and flocks upon the clifis : 
 Again his God appear'd. If fancy's tongue, 
 That seldom falters save with thoughts Divine, 
 Might dare to speak where voice of truth is still, 
 Fain would she dwell on this delightful scene. 
 Her eye is fix'd ! There stands the pious chief. 
 Apart from all his clan. His simple robe, 
 Ungirdled, loosely floats around his form — 
 Composed in silent thought. His graceful beard 
 Hangs low upon his breast, and while his soul 
 Feasts on its hidden bliss, his vacant eyes, 
 Scarce conscious, and forgetful of their fire. 
 Enjoy a dreamy pleasure, moving slow 
 From point to point, unbidden. Fresh the wind 
 That fans his brow, and stirring in its sound 
 Among the branches of the few tall trees 
 That cast the shadows of their rustling leaves 
 
33 
 
 Darkly around him, but lie feels and hears 
 As in a trance. The high and ample peak 
 Commands a view immense, but still his heart, 
 As though its outward blessings called for rites 
 Of inward worship, tends the secret flame 
 Of love-enkindled incense. Suddenly — 
 'TisGod! 
 
 His awe-struck eyes dilate, his soul 
 Starts at the vision. Every shadow melts 
 In more than sunshine, and the swift winds pause. 
 The mountain summit, like a golden throne. 
 Burns with the splendor of the King of kings. 
 And trembles at His step. And yet He comes 
 Enshrined as man, and veil'd in glowing robe 
 Of shaded glory — full of light and love. 
 Prone lies the noblest of the sons of earth. 
 Unworthy e'en to press the ground that gleams 
 With feet Divine : confess' d a very worm — 
 A worm ! but by the Highest own'd a friend ! 
 And hail'd with friendly words: "Lift up thine eyes, 
 Look boldly forth from this superior height, 
 The north and south, the east and west behold : 
 Thine all the boundless scene ! For thee it blooms : 
 To thee and thine I give the whole forever. 
 Thy seed shall measure with the dust, and none 
 Who counts not first the sand shall number them. 
 Arise, thou faithful one ! and walk the land ; 
 Explore its length and breadth, the ample space 
 Shall be thy fair possession ! " 
 
 This pronounced, 
 The Eadiant Form withdraws. And now return 
 Sunshine and shade, and cool, delicious airs, 
 Restoring common joys. The saintly chief 
 
34 
 
 Reviving, stands erect; and still his robes, 
 
 With lingering glory, make the noon-beams pale. 
 
 Soon all his senses feel the flowing soul, 
 
 Quick with new life and thrilling power intense. 
 
 His eyes, undazzled, drink the pouring sun. 
 
 And sweep entranced the swelling scene below — 
 
 Mountains, and hills, and plains, and lakes and streams. 
 
 0, blest, enchanting vision ! All around 
 Enrich'd with purest green, and all remote 
 Adorn'd with deepest blue; the bending sky 
 And farthest summits mingling fainter hues, 
 Walling the world with sapphire. All he sees, 
 He hails his own; and burns with lordly flame. 
 His the down-rushing torrents ; his the brooks, 
 Flashing from every vale; and his the lakes. 
 Wide sparkling bright, as though a shower of gems 
 On silver falling scatter'd countless lights. 
 His too the rolling woods, the laughing meads, 
 And rocks of waving grapes — ^his every wind, 
 Stirring the world with life and breathing far 
 Fragrance and music— his the silent cloud. 
 That fleetly glides along the soft mid-air, 
 Reflecting, moon-like, from its upper plain 
 Of snowy beauty, every ray from heaven ; 
 And o'er the under landscape leading on 
 Its shadowy darkness, running up and down 
 The ever-changing mountains. Who may tell 
 The many sources of his gushing joy? 
 Not only Jordan, and its palmy plains; 
 Lot's Citied Garden ; and the orient heights 
 Of fruitful Grilead, sweeping to the marge 
 Of Bashan's mellow pastures; not alone. 
 Around, though fair, and fairer still remote, 
 
35 
 
 The visual charms delight his ardent soul ; 
 
 But wider regions — lost in distant haze, 
 
 Or shut from sight by intercepting bounds — 
 
 Fairest of all. Far flies his circling thought 
 
 From Edom's southern plains to Hermon's brow, 
 
 Frost^wreathed, and lowlands steep'd in streaming dew, 
 
 And on to snow-crown'd Lebanon, with slopes 
 
 Of fadeless verdure, nursed by living founts. 
 
 And glorious cedars, swayed by balmy winds, 
 
 In whose high boughs the eagle builds her nest. 
 
 And on whose roots the fearful lion sleeps; 
 
 And thence to Tabor's central cone, and fields 
 
 Of Eden-like Esdrelon ; and the oaks 
 
 Of flowery Carmel, waving o'er the sea; 
 
 And Sharon's rosy bloom, and Eshcol'g vale. 
 
 Purple with vines from Hebron to the coast. 
 
 O'er all the range his ravish'd mind expands. 
 
 Warm with high hopes of wondrous days to come. 
 
 The promise — like a meteor — ^how it lights 
 
 The gloom of future ages ! Lonely there 
 
 The childless stranger stands — sublime in faith; 
 
 Sure that the ten throned nations reigning round, 
 
 In stately power, with pomp of idol shrines. 
 
 Shall yield to his descendants; shall behold 
 
 His mightier seed — thick as the sear-shore sands — 
 
 Countless as stars that crowd the clearest sky — 
 
 Pouring their myriads over hill and dale, 
 
 Casting the champion pride of princes down, 
 
 Dashing the templed monsters in the dust. 
 
 Sounding the trump of triumph through the land, 
 
 Thronging the scene with holier, happier homes. 
 
 And rearing high, to flame with heavenly fire. 
 
 Earth's Only Altar to the Only God ! 
 
36 
 
 X. PROPHETIC VISION. 
 
 What more may fancy venture ? Taught of God 
 In later truths that show the pilgrim's mind, 
 May not prophetic power be now inspired ? 
 Well then thy rapture turns to breathless awe, 
 Far-reaching seer ! Well dost thou fold thy robe 
 Close to thy form, and, sinking in the shade 
 Of those dark fir-trees, lean upon the rock, 
 Entranced by opening scenes that slowly move, 
 In vivid vision. Lo ! the ages come, 
 Solemn and grand. First, Egypt's teeming shores. 
 Where late he shrunk from peril, now display'd 
 In brighter glory, pass — ^but, throng'd with slaves, 
 Oppress'd with toil, and drinking to the dregs 
 The bitter cup of scorn. Are these thy seed? 
 Ay, these! But check thy deep, paternal groans; 
 For Justice bares his arm. The prince — see ! — smites 
 The haughty tyrant, cowering from his strokes 
 Of ten-fold wrath ! And onward move the tribes : 
 They reach the strand, through parted billows march, 
 Mount, the firm shore, and blend their victor songs 
 With the wild triumph of the waves, that toss 
 Their perish'd masters proudly at their feet. 
 — Now breaks a cloudless morning, and the sun 
 Fires the blue east : but dark as midnight towers 
 Yon mountain summit, and its deepen'd shade 
 Casts a chill dread on all the camp below. 
 The gather'd myriads stand aloof and quake; 
 Quake at the rolling thunder, and the blast 
 Of the long-sounding trumpet, and the glare 
 Of glancing lightnings quivering down the gloom, 
 And God's own voice announcing sovereign law. 
 
— But now, full Jordan, toucli'd by priestly I'cet, 
 Yields to a lioly ark an open way. 
 And lo ! the long-succeeding hosts come up 
 To win possession of tlieir promised home. 
 — Still pass the years, and with them war and blood. 
 The valiant tribes, 'neath brave judicial rule, 
 Subdued, in turn subdue; and rising kings 
 The heights of Zion crown with palace courts, 
 iind fair Moriah's sacred summit grace 
 With peerless temple own'd and blest of Grod. 
 There shines the nation's glory; there the eyes 
 Of distant wanderers turn ; there all the laud 
 Delights to take its tribute and adore. 
 — But darker visions follow: prophet-tongues, 
 Stern, eloquent and bold, proclaim the storm 
 Of coming wrath; and foreign legions rush, 
 Resistless as a whirlwind, and return. 
 With captive bands idolatrous and vile, 
 To far Chaldea's plains — where he, their sire ! 
 First heard the voice and wrought the will Divine. 
 — And yet, another change relieves the gloom : 
 Back moves the train, again the temple shines, 
 New princes rise, and olden pomp revives. 
 — At length, with many gather'd emblems bright. 
 And high expectance of some nobler chief — 
 Some great Messiah ! he beholds a star. 
 From melting haze outsparkling near the earth 
 And beaming on the birth-place. Shepherds there. 
 And sages led by wisdom more than man's. 
 Kneel by a manger honor'd more than thrones. 
 And breathe their blessings on the slumbering Babe : 
 While saints and angels hovering o'er the scene. 
 Illume the night with wings that shine like noon, 
 4 
 
38 
 
 And sing tlie songs that ravish earth and heaven. 
 
 There wakes the promised Wonder! There — but swii't 
 
 The charming vision fades, and hurrying years 
 
 Rush by, and then — a pause, and with it change : 
 
 The birth-time's sad reverse. Now, noon is night : 
 
 And on a cross, that rises on a hill, 
 
 Near a vast city's darken'd walls and towers. 
 
 In manhood's prime, the Blessed One expires ! 
 
 Heaven is a silent solitude; the earth 
 
 Still as a sepulchre ; and walls and towers. 
 
 And that stain'd hill, all tremble in the gloom ; 
 
 And thrills the wood that bears the sacred Corpse. 
 
 — But yet another view. There stand a group 
 
 Of meek disciples. Who is He that breathes 
 
 His parting blessing on them ? See, He mounts — 
 
 Unwing'd, unaided, mounts above the clouds ! 
 
 Who thus ascends on high? The cotiquer'd grave, 
 
 Chain'd by her victim Victor, gives reply ! 
 
 — Well may the favor'd patriarch wake in smiles, 
 
 Well may he rise in rapture ! More than all, 
 
 He sought the vision of his mightiest seed, 
 
 The opening of the day to bless the world, 
 
 The day of Christ — he saw it, and was glad ! 
 
 XI. REVIEW AND RESULTS. 
 
 Here, then, if fancy's colors have not hid 
 The point intended, in the patriarch see 
 The walk of faith! No metaphoric veil 
 Dims the clear truth. An oral call was heard. 
 Step after step a weary way pursued. 
 And outward good supplied a rich reward. 
 But haply some will breathe a fervent wish 
 
39 
 
 That such a call and promise would invite 
 Their ready feet. How gladly would they bid 
 Their friends and home and native land farewell, 
 And that forever ! Staif in hand, their robes 
 Well girded, and their sandals surely bound, 
 How freely start ! how steadily proceed ! 
 So strong the attraction still of earthly bliss. 
 
 But had no higher object here been sought, 
 The Lord had never spoken; nor the groves 
 Of Ur, or Haran, lost the wanderer's track. 
 Else, settled once in Canaan, there the prince 
 Had reign'd immortal o'er immortal tribes 
 Of children's children spreading far and wide, 
 With other nations melting round like snow, 
 And their own glory lasting as the sun. 
 But God had higher aim, and Abraham felt 
 A power was in it tending to the sky. 
 Hence, while th' Almighty thus unseal'd the plan 
 Long form'd of man's redemption — calling one 
 From all the world of idol worshipers 
 To know and serve Him : one whose chosen seed 
 Should smite the heathen, cleanse the land, and rear 
 A holy state; to cherish holy truth. 
 In sacred scrolls, and legal types sublime, 
 And prophet eloquence Divinely wise ; 
 Still, through the gloom of ages, beaming bright 
 Above their deep-sunk neighbors, as a fire 
 Shines from a hill-top o'er the midnight plains : 
 By one blest people introducing thus 
 The gracious scheme of universal love : 
 While this the plan of Grod, his servant, warn-'d 
 By life's brief years, he could not see it wrought; 
 And charm'd with hopes that ever scorn the grave; 
 
40 
 
 Look'd upward, strong; in faith, aspiring- there 
 To nobler, fairer, more enduring joys. 
 
 So, happy in the great design of God, 
 And happy in his own obedient zeal, 
 He turn'd his spirit toward its loftiest mark, 
 And urged his glorious pilgrimage to heaven. 
 '■'■ By faith he sojourn' d in tlic promucd land:" 
 A faith that counted all around him strange, 
 And most familiar grew with distant worlds. 
 Still but a pilgrim here ! Except in faith, 
 No spot on earth his own ! On, on he moved. 
 From north to south, from east to west; in war, 
 Swift as an eagle, sweeping to the north; 
 Strong as a lion, bounding on his foes; 
 Sure in the rescue of his captive friends : 
 In peace, from mead to mead, from well to well, 
 Verging among the cities ; and, when tried, 
 From Sarah's quest to sad Moriah's pile, 
 All throbbing with his eherish'd son's despair. 
 Long thus in tents a simple life he led, 
 With Isaac and with Jacob, heirs with him 
 Of all the promises, expecting still 
 A happier home in city fairer far, 
 Whose firm foundations God himself has laid. 
 Whose many mansions own His mighty hand. 
 And so he died in faith — not having gain'd 
 The promised good, but seen it from afar, 
 Believing and embracing; ever frank 
 In meek confession of his pilgrim lot. 
 And while he sought another country, ne'er 
 To Padan-Arani turn'd his fond desire, 
 Or soon he might have found his native fields : 
 But in his heart a grander spirit burn'd, 
 
41 
 
 Uptending ever toward a better land, 
 
 A heavenly country : hence the God of heaven 
 
 Was not ashamed to own him as His heir, 
 
 But loved, and blest, and saved him — cal/'d him Jiome! 
 
 Home to the City of the Faithful; home 
 
 To regions worthy of the purer souls 
 
 That scorn the lures of vision ; home to climes 
 
 Where all who mourn the mean estate of earth. 
 
 May look forever on unclouded skies. 
 
 And rest on bloom that cannot fade away. 
 
 (end of pabt second.) 
 

 
 
 
 — "THE TURNING STEEDS, 
 WITH BACKWARD GLANCES EYE THE STOOPING SWAIN, 
 PRICK IIP THEIR EARS, AND, NEIGHING, SEEM TO TALK.' 
 
 P. 50. 
 
SNOW. 
 
 lln^ S^i)' Sbeoipg. 
 
Sections. — I. Theme; II. Commencement of the Snow Fall; III. 
 Snow Similitudes; IV. Gazing Upward; V. Hill prospect before the 
 Snow; VI. Care of the Cattle; VII. The Parmer's Home; VIII. 
 Scenes in the City; IX. Eepose Contemplations; X. The Sailor 
 supposed to be assured of Life; XI. The Christian — his Interests all 
 safe. 
 
SNOW. 
 
 FIRST DAY: EYENINO, 
 
 I. THEME. 
 
 It always was a pleasant thing witli me 
 
 To watch the falling snow. And while I live, 
 
 The things that please me shall inspire my song. 
 
 II. COMMENCEMENT OP THE SNOW TALL. 
 
 Th' innumerable specks come trembling down, 
 And now the perfect and increasing flakes. 
 See how the fluttering whiteness shuts the scene ! 
 The distant hills are lost; the nearer fade; 
 And now the nearest by the crowding spots 
 Are veiled from vision ; and the rapid tide 
 Of the close river is but heard to flow, 
 Hushing in gloom among its stones and rocks. 
 
 III. SNOW SIMILITUDES. 
 
 I wonder not that from the earliest time, 
 
 Fancy hath found her fond similitude 
 
 Of all that's fair and innocent, in snow. 
 
 Haply the bard who saw it first descend, 
 
 At once forgot the lily of the vale; 
 
 And all the stainless blossoms of the spring; 
 
 And ocean's clearest pearls; and spotless down, 
 
46 
 
 Soft on the cygnet's fountain-rippled breast : — 
 And sung of manly trott as undefiled, 
 And virgin virtue pure as falling snow. 
 
 IV. GAZINO UPWARD. 
 
 But hast thou e'er indulged the musing eye 
 
 With upward gazing at the fleecy shower ? 
 
 Look o'er the tree-tops; dazzlingly it comes 
 
 Bewildering the unaccustomed sight. 
 
 But look again. The sources of the snow 
 
 No eye can reach. The crossing particles 
 
 Distract the sight and bring the zenith low. 
 
 Thus Providence is hidden by his gifts. 
 
 Wide o'er the world his favors fall profuse; 
 
 But none that lift the grateful glance may see 
 
 The hand that scatters such exuberant good. 
 
 But here is more the spirit may admire. 
 
 Who can compute the multitude immense? 
 
 Alas ! vain man ! how weak thy summon'd thought ! 
 
 Thy whole attention centred on a point ! 
 
 How different God ! I wonder at his mind ! 
 
 This many-wavering throng, that might perplex 
 
 The promptest angel in the heavens to count, — 
 
 Distinctly floateth to the All-seeing Bye, 
 
 As if a single solitary flake 
 
 Lapsed in lone beauty from th' o'ershadowing cloud. 
 
 Thus, from his inaccessible high throne, 
 
 Girt with eternal and excessive light — 
 
 His boundless vision leisurely surveys 
 
 The circling universe of shining orbs 
 
 — In number far exceeding all the host 
 
 Now dropping earthward, even though they spread 
 
 The hills and dales of half the continent — 
 
47 
 
 And notes each insect basking in the beams 
 That warm the smallest and most distant world ; 
 And lingers on the man whose heart is pure, 
 With constant love supplying all his need, 
 And thought to crown him soon with endless joy. 
 
 V. HILL PROSPECT BEFORE THE SNOW. 
 
 Still falls the snow, as evening closes in. 
 I've look'd for such a storm since first I rose; 
 For mists were gath'ring at the break of day, 
 And all the morn alternate light and shade 
 In quick succession glided on the wind; 
 Dark'ning and bright'ning hill, and dale, and stream. 
 By noon the air was hush'd; the vapors form'd 
 One boundless mass, obscui'ing all the sky. 
 Quiet, and gray, and motionless, it hung; 
 Without an azure spot through which the sun 
 Might flash upon the waters, or adorn 
 The mountain's brow with sudden golden crown. 
 A few hours since, I stood on yonder height : 
 And thence a vast and varied landscape saw — 
 Oh ! how unlike the scene the morn will show. 
 I traced the wide horizon — all around 
 It seem'd to rest upon a range of hills; 
 E'en where declining slopes the valley sought, 
 More distant summits swelling rose between. 
 Where'er I turn'd, the forests, that were late 
 Gay as the rainbow with their autumn hues, 
 Tower'd on the uplands, barren, bleak, and bare; 
 And all the lower mounds and fields were brcJwn 
 With wither'd grass, and strewn with faded leaves. 
 I look'd upon the homestead — how the heart 
 Leaps at the sound of home ! — the tell-tale smoke 
 
48 
 
 No slowly- whirliug column rear'd; but roll'd 
 Its light blue curls along the slanting roof, 
 Spotted witli moss and dark with many years, 
 And floated thence in filmy mist away. 
 The dog was at the door; beside the gate. 
 The patient cattle waited for their food ; 
 And in the field, with high and tossing head, 
 The wilding horses snufi''d the moist'ning air. 
 Then spurn'd the frozen ground with iron hoof 
 Swift as the flash and thundering as they ran. 
 Nor could I but regard a half-starved crow, 
 That clung unto a solitary stalk 
 Shelling an o'erlook'd nubbin greedily. 
 Below me rush'd the river that I love — 
 That soothes with rippling moan my summer noon, 
 That laves my limbs and bears my bonny boat, 
 And rings in winter with my sounding dumps. 
 The few old trees around me scarce retain'd 
 One lingering leaf; so often robb'd of all. 
 They gave their honors to the first rude blast; 
 But here and there a sapling vainly held 
 Its shreds of gold and crimson. — Thus fond youth 
 Clings to its cherish'd hopes, while wiser age. 
 By disappointment taught from early years, 
 Expects the storm, and meets it with a smile. 
 Beside me open'd yon recluse ravine, 
 Down which a lonely tributary stream 
 Serenely glides at times, then, shouting wild, 
 In crystal cascades leaps from rock to rock, 
 Till, winding round the hill's foot, glad it sees 
 The mother tide, and bounds into her arms. 
 In that still glen, the foliage of the woods 
 Blown by the winds had gather'd into heaps 
 
49 
 
 Along the shelvy banks j but frequent leaves 
 Woo'd by some vagrant breeze, forsook their mates, 
 And, curl'd in many a fairy form, away 
 Launch'd on the stream and whirl'd into the depths. 
 There, while I look'd around with curious glance, 
 I spied some little wild-flowers, peering up, 
 And leaning on the bosom of decay; 
 Like orphans sleeping on a mother's grave. 
 Sweet sky-blue relics ! how they won my love ! 
 Oh ! might the winter spare them ! but, alas ! 
 Like the last earthly hopes of dying men. 
 E'en they must perish. Ere the morrow's dawn 
 The yet-descending snow shall all entomb. 
 But that which pleased me most while there I stood, 
 Was musing on the low and murky clouds, 
 And sending fancy on a mission up. 
 To see the sunshine of the world above. 
 The eagle then was envied for his wings, 
 But yet I seem'd myself to soar aloft 
 And, passing swiftly through the chilling gloom, 
 I saw the open firmament expand 
 Lofty and wide, while in its midst the sun 
 Lavish'd the fulness of his blazing beams. 
 With warmth and brightness filling all the sky; 
 And the whole mass of vapors shone below, 
 A boundless, waveless sea of molten gold. 
 But oh ! how dark and cheerless seem'd the earth 
 When fancy's vision fled, and on that cold 
 And barren peak, with folded arms I stood; 
 O'erhung and girt with universal shade. 
 It seem'd as if the visionary light 
 Had glared so strongly on my glowing mind, 
 That all beside was veil'd in twilight dim. 
 5 
 
50 
 
 Thus when the cares of life, like winter clouds, 
 Cast their dull shadows o'er my pilgrim path, 
 My fainting soul I cheer with hopes of heaven. 
 Above the gloom — ^triumphant faith exclaims — 
 Above the gloom a radiant scene extends ! 
 There countless saints their harps and voices wake. 
 And cherubim and seraphim unite 
 Their sweet and sounding harmony ; and wide 
 The unveil'd glory of the Godhead shines. 
 Soon shall the spirit's pinions be released, 
 And, high the gloom surmounting, gently fold 
 Their sparkling plumage 'mid the sons of light. 
 Then, waking from my trance, I wound along 
 The steep descent, and soon reposed at home. 
 
 VI. CARE OF THE CATTLE. 
 
 Now to the field the jocund boys repair 
 To drive the horses to their log retreat. 
 Snorting and rearing, suddenly they start, 
 Rush up the lane and romp around the door. 
 Soon halter'd in their stalls, they still evince 
 Their frolic humor, biting o'er the rails 
 With heads awry; oft cow'riug at the sound 
 Of threat'ning voice — or unexpected blow. 
 Then to the barn the bustling tenders haste. 
 And pressing in the box the bearded sheaf 
 Fast falls the straw before the keen-edg'd knife. 
 With this in basket piled and tub of bran, 
 And bucket dripping from the gushing fount. 
 Again they seek the stable, there to mix 
 The long-expected meal; the turning steeds. 
 With backward glances, eye the stooping swain, 
 Prick up their ears, and, neighing, seem to talk. 
 
51 
 
 Each soon receives his share; and while they feed, 
 The careful boys unbind some wheaten sheaves, 
 Arranging each a bed, and then with wisps 
 Brush from their backs the melting snows away. 
 While thus the stable thrives, in neighboring shed 
 The cows are shelter'd by the buxom girls. 
 They, while the meek-faced creatures chew their food, 
 Sprinkled with salt, sohcit with cold hands 
 From swelling udders, stores of richest milk; 
 And then, with aprons thrown upon their heads, 
 All deftly bear the full and brimming pails. 
 And thrill the air with shrill and gladsome songs. 
 
 VII. THE farmer's HOME. 
 
 The night is black — but home is bright and warm. 
 
 The wide old fire-place heap'd with logs and brush. 
 
 Crackles and flames; and ceiling, walls, and floor 
 
 Glare with the ruddy light, and every face 
 
 Glows with the heat : the candle, dimly pale, 
 
 Eesigns its honors to the rosy fire. 
 
 The busy housewife now, on spotless cloth. 
 
 Arrays the wholesome supper, clean and warm. 
 
 And calls her charge. They gladly circle round. 
 
 Wait the due blessing solemnly invoked. 
 
 And then regale upon the full repast. 
 
 Nor lack they converse ; chief the ardent boys 
 
 Talk of their bending snares and well-set traps, 
 
 Anticipating for their morning prey. 
 
 The strangled rabbit and imprison'd fox. 
 
 The girls are more solicitous to learn 
 
 If the rude jumpers are in good repair, 
 
 And win the promise of a ride at night. 
 
 To where the tuneful master once a-week, 
 
62 
 
 Strikes his steel key and leads the shrill-toned choir. 
 The parents look and listen; pleased to mark 
 Their young ones' faces kindling with delight, 
 Nor interpose a word to check their glee. 
 
 VIII. SCENES IN THE CITY. 
 
 A different scene the far off city shows. 
 My fancy paints it as I oft have seen, 
 When, wrapp'd about with comfortable cloak, 
 My folded arms uplifting it in front. 
 And with my hat drawn down upon my brows, 
 I've slowly paced along to watch the crowd. 
 The vision opens ! There the street extends — 
 Long, straight, and narrowing to a distant point, 
 Traced by the footway lamps; here, wide apart, 
 But there, in gloom remote, on either side 
 Contiguous shining, like a line of stars. 
 Jligh on the post beside me burns a flame 
 That through its glass enclosure casts a light 
 Brilliant and far; in which the hurried beau 
 Lifts watch — notes hour — and hastens on his way. 
 The houses brighten in the cheerful rays ; 
 Above the doors, the golden-letter'd signs 
 Reveal their names; but, o'er the shadowy eaves. 
 The sight recoils from darkness absolute. 
 Thick falls the downy shower; in shade unseen. 
 But lit with crystal sparklings in the beams. 
 The passing crowds with spread umbrellas haste 
 Along the whitening walks; the low stoop lower, 
 The tall uplift their silks and let them by, 
 And equals, jostling, mutter as they pass. 
 No linsey-woolsey roundabout appears, 
 Nor homespun gown, yarn hose, and leather shoes. 
 
53 
 
 But purple camblet, warm with costly fur, 
 And soft with facing velvet, and adorn'd 
 With many a silken ornament — enfolds 
 The portly manj and, leaning on his arm, 
 The tender fair, o'ertaken by the storm, 
 Close-mantled in pelisse and double shawl, 
 Trips with light feet, as if on May-buds treading, 
 In cotton stockings and prunella shoes. 
 Death wonders at her venturing, but smiles 
 To think such beauty soon will be his own. 
 The shop-boys now, the welcome hour arrived. 
 Their windows barr'd, doors lock'd, and fire extinct — 
 Haste to their evening pleasures j some in books 
 Enjoy a treasure richer far than gold, — 
 While others prim their dress and roam abroad, 
 Intent alone on revelry and mirth. 
 But still the druggist's well-illumin'd bulks 
 Their many-colored lucid globes display : 
 And on the level surface of the snow. 
 The strong reflections spread their rainbow tints. 
 The auctioneer now mounts his nightly stand ; 
 The crowds attend; the bargains soon attract 
 Their eager eyes, and while the crier darts 
 His rapid glance around, and rattles out 
 Incessant puffs of what his hand may hold — 
 No matter what — the quick-caught offers swell; 
 And haply some poor plough-boy lingering there, 
 Fresh from the fields and witless of the trade, 
 Nodding his foolish head, his lonely bid 
 Himself enhances, wondering when the man 
 Will get enough and let the hammer fall. 
 The theatre, despite the storm, is full; 
 And there, — if one may say who never saw — 
 5* 
 
54 
 
 Tears steal adown the cheeks or laughs resound 
 
 At spoken fiction, often read at home, 
 
 With face as grave as if it never smiled, 
 
 And eyes as dry as if they ne'er were wet. 
 
 On move the hours. The streets are quiet now, 
 
 Save where the gather'd hackmen wait the crowd 
 
 About to leave the scenery of spring 
 
 For winter's cold and dreariness — there, loud 
 
 The merry wretches crack their whips — and jokes. 
 
 IX. REPOSE CONTEMPLATIONS. 
 
 Abruptly I return ; for fancy brings 
 
 So many pictures to my inward sight, 
 
 That scarce a volume would contain the sketch 
 
 Of all their hues and images. I wake 
 
 To the still gloom surrounding my repose. 
 
 How silently it falls — the feathery snow ! 
 Not so the rain. Oh ! many a wakeful hour 
 I've listen'd gladly to the water-drops 
 At midnight pattering on the humble roof; 
 And it has seem'd — a simple dreamy thought — 
 As if they tried t' amuse my drowsy ear 
 With tittle-tattle stories of the clouds. 
 But not the slightest touch is audible 
 Of soft-alighting snow. Of all the flakes 
 That drop upon the forest or the rock. 
 Or settle on the roof, not one is heard. 
 Thus everything has manner. Men there are 
 Who, keep them quiet, never would fulfil 
 Their destined mission — born to make a noise ; 
 While others in the bustling world grow sad. 
 Confused and heartless; but, if left to form 
 
55 
 
 And execute their plans in quietude, 
 The world shall wonder at the great result 
 As o'er deep snows that gently fell at night. 
 Here as I rest I cheerfully contrast 
 My warmth and shelter with the scene without. 
 And thus, perhaps, the covert fox may muse, 
 And burrow'd rabbit, and the squirrel gray 
 In hollow trunk, with stores of treasured nuts. 
 But nobler thoughts shall now exalt the song 
 That yields its music at the evening's close. 
 
 X. THE SAILOR SUPPOSED TO BE ASSTJRED OP LIFE. 
 
 Here then I tune my harp. Awake, my muse ! 
 
 And sing the bliss of contrast stronger far. 
 
 I never saw the deep; but fancy oft 
 
 Has thought how happy would that sailor be. 
 
 To whom some power assurance should afford, 
 
 That, let his prow be pointed where it might. 
 
 His trusted life should last. Oh ! he could climb 
 
 The yielding shrouds and swing along the yards, 
 
 And in the uproar of the tempest chant, 
 
 As if a free and disembodied sprite, 
 
 His victor-song among the scudding clouds. 
 
 The seas would yawn in vain ; his fearless eye 
 
 Would glance from gulf to gulf, from foam to foam. 
 
 And joy to catch the lightning's sudden flash; 
 
 While high his heart would leap within to hear 
 
 The rolling thunder and the howling gale. 
 
 The groan of rocking masts would soothe his ear. 
 
 The bending of the spar would lull his soul; 
 
 And then reviving 'neath the o'erbreaking wave, 
 
 He'd mount again with shouts and cleave the storm. 
 
56 
 
 But peace and danger walk not hand in hand. 
 Vain were the wish for voyage free of risk, — 
 Vain were the prayer to be assured of life. 
 
 XI. THE CHRISTIAN — HIS INTERESTS ALL SAFE. 
 
 Yet know we not that moral dangers throng 
 
 The path of life ? — more terrible by far 
 
 Than thousand tempests on the billowy sea? 
 
 But mark the Christian. He, confirm'd in faith, 
 
 Strong in the promise of Omnipotence, 
 
 With all the world soliciting to sin, 
 
 And Satan tempting with an angel's voice, 
 
 And yearning heart inclining to their guile, 
 
 Subdues himself and smiles at outward foes. 
 
 Sunshine and storm alike are false to him; 
 
 But, G-od-protected, still he walks in peace. 
 
 Wealth — deek'd with golden diamond-studded crown. 
 
 And purple robe and silver zone, emboss'd 
 
 With radiant gems — invites him near his throne; 
 
 Extends his all-attractive sceptre, calls. 
 
 And calls again, entreats — but still in vain. 
 
 Young Pleasure in her arched gateway stands, 
 
 In loose array and garlanded with flowers; — 
 
 beauty rare ! most enchanting grace ! 
 
 She points the pilgrim to her Eden walks ; 
 
 Her soft and virgin tones command the trees, 
 
 To wave him welcome to their pleasant shades; — ■ 
 
 The varied bloom to glow with fresher hues, 
 
 And fill with sweeter fragrance all the air; 
 
 And every breeze to waft the mingling songs 
 
 Of mocking-bird, and thrush, and cooing dove, 
 
 And fountain's flowing melody, and moan 
 
57 
 
 Of many a distant murmuring water-fall. 
 
 But, fair enchantress ! all thy lures arc vain ; 
 
 Thy gentle joys the lone one will not heed. 
 
 Then, from the topmost cliff, a thrilling blast 
 
 Rings through the echoing caves and wakes the vale. 
 
 The meek disciple of the Son of Man 
 
 Looks and beholds the queenly form of Fame ! 
 
 There shines her temple, and around it grow 
 
 The greenest laurels, and her chosen few 
 
 Breathe on the height a spiritual air, 
 
 And seem to glow with immortality. 
 
 One hand extends a fresh new-woven wreath, 
 
 The other shows her steep ascending path. 
 
 If aught alluring could seduce his soul 
 
 'Twould be the hope of such a fellowship. 
 
 But in his heart a kind low-breathing voice 
 
 Whispers thy name, Heaven ! — and on he moves — 
 
 Nor could a thousand trumps his steps delay. 
 
 Far other foes then urge their fierce assaults. 
 
 Foul Unbelief the patient saint attends, 
 
 With phrase sophistical and mocking wit 
 
 To shake or shame his unsuspecting faith. 
 
 Then Scorn salutes him with her hissing sneer — 
 
 And pours from curling lips the hot reproach. 
 
 While foaming Bigotry, a fire-eyed fiend, 
 
 Steps from her neighboring path with words of hate. 
 
 And waves with threats her red and dripping scourge. 
 
 But still, with heart at ease and brow serene. 
 
 Heir of the Lord 1 he sings and journeys on. 
 
 Then still severer trials test his soul; — 
 
 Pale Want conducts him through a desert waste ; 
 
 Disease outlays him on the burning sand; 
 
 And Life and Death await the doubtful end; 
 
58 
 
 But trusting still he murmurs not nor fears. 
 All hail — tliou pure and strong and happy man ! 
 Beset with foes, by sad afflictions tried, 
 Child of the promise ! Faithful one ! all hail ! 
 Of all earth's dangers, none can equal thine. 
 The sea-toss' d mariner must yield to thee; 
 And he that stands among the slain and hears 
 The whistling balls of battle, must confess 
 His perils are but sport compared to thine. 
 One step against the Spirit's guiding voice — 
 One straying step might lead thee far from God, 
 And not thy body only faint and die, 
 But, all immortal, sink thy ransom'd soul — 
 The fiends thy mates, and hell thy endless home. 
 Thou knowest and yet thou smilest — blessed one I 
 The name of Jesus ever on thy lips. 
 The love of Jesus ever in thy heart, 
 To thee the thought of death no sorrow brings, 
 Hell hath no horrors, fiends, no power to harm. 
 Thy hope hath fann'd the fragrant airs of heaven ; 
 E'en now she shines upon its outmost hill. 
 As brilliant as an angel, and exults 
 To turn the crown of glory in her hand. 
 Which faith, beholding, cries — laid up for me ! 
 
"LO! WHERE THE AMPLE OCEAN EIILS ITS BPHEKE! 
 SEE THE WHITE SPACE ALOSe THE HOKIZOK — 
 THAT SEEMINO OUTIET TO INFINITY, 
 
 BETWEEN THE CLOUD-LINE AND THE CEASELESS WAVES — 
 SEE HOW THE LONE SHIP, DARKLIN& UP PROM DARK, 
 LEANS LINGERING THERE, DWINDLES AND DISAPPEARS."' 
 
 P. 67 
 
MAN. 
 
 ^^irfi^l Slieicbc? of oi|i" gqrth-ifohie. 
 
Sections. — I. Apostrophe — Imagination and Passion at liberty; 
 II. Divine Invocation; III. Brotherly Gratulation ; IV. Proposition 
 of the Subject ; V. The Earth, as seen from the Sun ; VI. Expanding — 
 in slow return; VII. From the Cliflf below the Clouds; VIII. Ocean 
 View; IX. Land View; X. Horizon Mountains; XI. Nearer Moun- 
 tain View; XII. The Valley; XIII. Contrast to the Sea; XIV. 
 Special Localities; XV. Down the River; XVI. Summary of Earth- 
 Home. 
 
MAN. 
 
 PARTIAL SKETCHES OP OUE EARTH-HOME. 
 
 I. APOSTROPHE. 
 
 Now, panting spirit ! now thy bold desire 
 So long, so fondly cherist'd, finds an horn- 
 To seek its lofty object! 
 
 Morn and eve, 
 Noonday and niidniglit, year succeeding year, 
 Imagination — like a prison'd bird, 
 Born in its prison, one whose fluttering wings 
 Were ne'er full spread, but long to wave in heaven- 
 Has pruned her pinions for a daring flight; 
 And Passion — as the mate of that caged bird 
 Thrills when she hears her partner's melody — 
 Has heard and burned with rapture while she sung 
 Her flight, as if already on the wing ! 
 The hour has come ! The pruned plume is free ! 
 To hill and vale, to brook and ocean wide, 
 From pole to pole — Imagination flies; 
 And far from earth, among the shining orbs 
 Like golden isles that throng the sea of space ; 
 And downward, where the wilderness of gloom 
 Surrounds the darkling lake of quenchless flre ; 
 And upward, where the Eternal's throne is seen 
 Casting its radiance o'er the towers of heaven ; 
 6 
 
62 
 
 And higher still, where twinkling light of star, 
 
 Pale beam of moon, or sun's intenser ray, 
 
 Or flickering glare of hell, or far-seen blaze 
 
 Of heavenly glory never hath appear'd; 
 
 But where effulgence uncreated shrines 
 
 The Form of God ! — effulgence that hath yet 
 
 Ne'er known a shade, nor been approach'd by else 
 
 Than holy thought, adoring as it gazed ! 
 
 E'en there, with wings dispread and motionless 
 
 In God's dread solitude she floats in awe. 
 
 And ever as she flies — or round the earth. 
 
 Or midst the distant spheres, or by the gates 
 
 Of hell or heaven, or in the light that shrines 
 
 The form of God; still Passion — as its mate 
 
 Follows with ardent wing the flying bird — 
 
 Length, breadth, depth, height, with equal speed explores. 
 
 Yet wherefore as the birds 1 Their aim so high. 
 
 Their end so great, they rather angels seem, 
 
 Cherub and seraph, gathering gems of truth 
 
 From all the worlds to deck their diadems ! 
 
 Nay — truth more precious far than rarest gems 
 
 And brightest crowns that e'en archangels wear ! 
 
 II. DIVINE INVOCATION. 
 
 "Light in thy light," my new-born vision sees, 
 Love for thy love my new-born heart returns, 
 And now. Creator of the Universe ! 
 Infinite Spirit! who, ere aught was made. 
 Delighted in the countless images 
 Of good and beauty, moving in Thy mind ; — 
 Whose wisdom plann'd the frame of all that is, 
 Whose voice of power embodied all the plan. 
 And whose continual energy sustains 
 
63 
 
 Matter, and life, and spirit, hour by hour; 
 
 To thee, with joy ineffable I call, 
 
 To thee, my Father! JNot to olden muse, 
 
 Of heathen fame, nor mystic modern sprite. 
 
 My truth-taught soul avows its warm desire; 
 
 But, in Thy hearing ear — Ancient of days ! 
 
 Its breathings enter. Humble as a child. 
 
 Whose heart the glow of pride and cheek its flush, 
 
 Have never known; yet as an angel bold — 
 
 An angel that hath never breathed a prayer 
 
 That was denied a moment — thus would I, 
 
 Humbly and boldly claim Thy constant aid ! 
 
 Father ! inspire Thy child ! my mind illume 
 
 With truth as bright as sunbeams that have known 
 
 Nor cloud, nor shade, to cross their way to earth; 
 
 With truth as vital to the immortal soul 
 
 As sunlight to the world that basks and lives. 
 
 My heart with strong attachment to the truth, — 
 
 Stronger than that of avarice to gold. 
 
 Or vanity to fame, or eye of youth 
 
 To most enchanting beauty, ever bless ; 
 
 And grant me language flowing as the fount. 
 
 Each thought and feeling imaging as well. 
 
 As the smooth brook, the flowers upon its marge; 
 
 And still may words and thoughts, like meeting brooks, 
 
 In one full stream uniting, onward lead 
 
 Attention to eternity, as bears 
 
 Its bark, the river to the wide — wide sea! 
 
 III. BROTHERLY GRATTJLATION. 
 
 Joy to the world ! the harp ! the gift of God ! 
 Whose sacred strings, obedient to the touch 
 Of skilful fingers, thrilling as they move. 
 
64 
 
 Their many tones in mingled music wake : 
 Of power to lull to languor strength enraged, 
 O'ercome with, melting sweetness; and to nerve 
 With iron hardness arms as soft as babe's ; 
 And o'er the timid hearts of cowards glide, 
 Like winds o'er smother'd fires, and rouse a flame 
 Of courage, many waters cannot whelm; 
 Nay more, whose chasten'd harmony may win 
 Affection from the earth, as though she heard 
 Soft from the regions whither tends her flight. 
 The gentle voice of some kind messenger : 
 Ay — holier purpose yet may well fulfil, 
 When tenderly it seeks the bed of death. 
 And o'er the heart-strings of the dying steals. 
 Like fragrant airs from paradise, and prompts 
 The parting soul to sigh a glad farewell ! 
 Joy to the world ! this precious gift of God 
 Is rescued from the unhallow'd touch of sin. 
 And gives unto a nation's listening ear. 
 The tones of truth; — in mellow cadence telling 
 Of life and bliss immortal in the skies. 
 Wooing the fainting soul to love her Grod; 
 The tones of truth, — in peals of thunder rolling. 
 Startling the sinner from his dream of joy, 
 And calling to the worm that slept an hour 
 Its agonizing gnawings to renew. 
 And making fancy reel as though she heard 
 G-roans of the lost, and saw the fire of hell. 
 And millions beck'ning to their fearful home ! 
 Joy to the world ! that while the Spirit's voice 
 In the still heart makes audible appeals; 
 While Providence from earth and sea and sky. 
 In blossom-time and harvest; in dark storm 
 
65 
 
 And sunny calmj at morning, noon, and eve; 
 
 By weal and wo, by healtli and wan disease, 
 
 By life and death, the will of God declares; 
 
 While Revelation — faithful sentinel ! 
 
 He who hath watch'd our planet, from what time 
 
 Immortals shouted, as it slowly came, 
 
 Swelling and hright'ning, grand and beautiful, 
 
 From gloom to glory — all his lore repeats, 
 
 With warning and entreaty pleading still ; 
 
 And while the Anointed Host unfurl at once 
 
 Ten thousand purple banners, and uplift 
 
 To countless thousands loud the rallying cry; 
 
 Joy to the world ! that while all these are out, 
 
 And the world can but hear — the holy harp 
 
 In many a quiet interval obtains 
 
 The open ear of leisure, and with charms 
 
 That few may scorn, persuades the yielding heart 
 
 To desecrate its idols, and entwine 
 
 The tendrils of its love around the cross ! 
 
 IV. PROPOSITION OF THE SUBJECT. 
 
 Man as he is, and as he may become ; 
 His Knowledge — Duty — Conduct — Destiny — 
 His Degradation and his Dignity ; 
 With all the good and evil Agencies, 
 Seen and unseen, vrith force, or slight, or strong. 
 Soliciting his will: — These are my Themes. 
 And if the power but equal the desire. 
 Truth, by the suasive spell of song, shall win 
 A conquest o'er the soul that fame may tell 
 To many a holy circle in the skies; 
 Who while their hearts would shudder at the tale 
 Of triumphs bought with blood, shall gladly hear, 
 6* 
 
66 
 
 All leaning mutely on their harps of gold, 
 Of contrite spirits turning to their God ! 
 
 V. THE EARTH — AS SEEN FROM THE SUN. 
 
 Mysterious Thought ! who, ere old Time can turn 
 His hour-glass, sweepest round the universe; 
 Stand on the central pinnacle of light. 
 And mark the spheres that roll around the sun ! 
 Thou see'st no fairer in his whole domain. 
 Than where upon its azure circle moves. 
 Moon-like, the distant dwelling-place of man : 
 Moon-like — as in our morning gleams the moon, 
 A globe of silver in a haze of gold; 
 Moon-like — and with the lesser moon beside, 
 A pearl-hued pendant, quivering in the glow; 
 The polish'd threshold at the door of earth, 
 Where many an angel folds his wings and rests; 
 Moon-like — with map-like shadows, plain to thee. 
 The lands and waters of thy native home ! 
 
 VI. EXPANDING IN SLOW RETURN. 
 
 Now, slow return. With what a rushing roll. 
 Our planet spins and bowls along its course ! 
 And yet its swiftest motions greet thy glance. 
 Without confusion. See how grandly swell 
 Its vast proportions ! See its boundless drift 
 Of arching clouds, with rings of open space 
 Through which the summits of its mountains rise 
 Ice-sheath'd and clear as crystal, casting wide 
 Prismatic hues o'er all the shining waste ; 
 Or down whose vistas, where no heights ascend. 
 Dark plains, and darker vales, with darkest woods, 
 
Eepel the sight; while lakes and seas reflect 
 Myriads of splendors shot between the glooms; 
 Like shafts of fire, soon quench'd among the hills; 
 Like shields of glory, floating from the coasts. 
 
 VII. mOM THE CLIFP BELOW THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Draw nearer still : and, as an eagle wild 
 That solitary shone above the clouds — 
 Lord of two worlds, in either at his will — 
 Stoop from the sunshine ever resting there, 
 And come beneath their shadow; fold thy plumes 
 Beside the eagle's eyry, where the clifi^. 
 Nature's selectest terrace, holds command 
 Of sea, and earth, and sky; and thence behold, 
 Above, around, below — the outstretch'd world ! 
 
 VIII. OCEAN VIEW. 
 
 Lo ! where the ample Ocean fills its sphere ! 
 See the white space along the horizon — 
 That seeming outlet to infinity, 
 Between the cloud-line and the ceaseless waves. 
 See how the lone ship, darkling up from dark, 
 Leans lingering there, dwindles, and disappears : 
 Leaving the long light clear and cold again. 
 Trace back the circle to these reefs below; 
 Where the great quivering billows, leaden-glazed. 
 Smooth their thin-curling crests to lucent green. 
 And break in seething foam and sprinkled spray. 
 See how, continuous as that snow-white foam, 
 And countless as the snow-white sea-birds there, 
 Hover on all the coast the snow-white sails — 
 With painted flags aloft, and painted sides 
 
68 
 
 Glittering between the shadows and the seas. 
 
 Within that restless realm of roll and roar, 
 
 And scud-glooms, crisply cool, what mysteries 
 
 Of time, and space, and life, and power, and change, 
 
 And purpose , lie involved ! But — let these pass. 
 
 'Tis pleasant to withstand the rushing wind 
 
 That shakes the gnarl'd' twists of these stunted trees, 
 
 Rift-rooted, and, as well their age attests, 
 
 More than a match for any storm that blows — 
 
 Though scarce so happy as their humbler race ; 
 
 'Tis quick' ning thus to stand, and think the while 
 
 That all the crowding canvas near the coast. 
 
 And all the scatter'd sheets that through the mists 
 
 Of the mid-sea among the white-caps flash, 
 
 And that remember'd mast which left the verge. 
 
 Are blown by this same gale, and haply bear 
 
 Hearts heaven'd with hope to meet the clasp of love. 
 
 Take them my blessing, ye hurrying airs ! 
 
 Take my poor blessing to them, one and all : 
 
 Or, 'Vather breathe about their brows, and sing — 
 
 The Great Sea- Walker sends you grace and peace ! 
 
 IX. LAND VIEW. 
 
 Now let the Ocean sink. This lower ledge 
 
 Winds inward, and the Land attracts the sight. 
 
 Behind me are the venerable woods; 
 
 Not stunted, gnarl'd and twisted by the storm, 
 
 But tall, and smooth, and straight, with branching vaults 
 
 Of boundless foliage, leaking drops of light — 
 
 A heaven of green beneath the heaven of blue. 
 
 With star-like twinklings countless as the night's. 
 
 Hid in the calm recesses of those shades, 
 
 Solemnity and Quiet long have held 
 
69 
 
 Their hermitage : there Meditation turns, 
 When the dark hours have wheel'd the firmament 
 Of stars away, and the red hills no more 
 Afibrd seclusion, and day's uproar wakes — 
 There turns and wanders in the dropping light, 
 That seems to rain sweet music on the sward, 
 As in the soul thought-music still goes on : 
 There Observation, startled, stops, and hears 
 In all the aisles the choir of worshiping birds; 
 Or lists the lavish life-lapse of the fount, 
 Grurgling and gushing from the glistening rock, 
 Moss-bound, and hung with wild flowers of all hues, 
 Filling the air with fragrance, — 'neath whose leaves 
 The squirrel sips a moment, and then leaps 
 Across the tiny stream, the tinkling stream. 
 That bubbles to the boulders on its banks, 
 And babbles down the pebbles to the vale; 
 Where, with the gather'd strength of many a rill, 
 It spreads along the lowlands deep and wide. 
 Proud of the towns that prosper on its shores. 
 
 X. HORIZON MOUNTAINS. 
 
 Now from this lofty verge, extend thy glance 
 
 To th' uttermost horizon. That dim haze — 
 
 It seems a haze its outlines are so dim; 
 
 Not like the definite sear-bound, but, a mist 
 
 Melting to skiey softness — is a mass 
 
 Of ores and adamant as vast as this ; 
 
 Cover'd with mould as rich, and thick with woods 
 
 As tall, as old, as these. That lower line. 
 
 Of darker hue, describes a nearer range ; 
 
 And there, between the two, though here they look 
 
70 
 
 Like pencillings on one surface, plains expand, 
 As broad as these, as fruitful, and as fair. 
 
 XI. NEARER MOUNTAIN VIEW. 
 
 But, mark yon nearest slope, across tlie vale, 
 
 How smoothly it ascends ! How beautiful, 
 
 The ceaseless lights and shades that over-sweep 
 
 The swaying fulness of its forest^tops ! 
 
 No trunk is seen, no branch; aol emerald world, 
 
 Whole as the ocean, waves upon the sight — 
 
 Save where some cast-away has clear' d a knoll. 
 
 Isle-like, and in his smoking cabin rests, 
 
 The Crusoe of the wilderness; or where 
 
 Turns and returns the turnpike's whitening way ; 
 
 Or down that growthless gorge the crumbled rocks. 
 
 Like a gray glacier, slowly swell their course. 
 
 XII. THE VALLEY. 
 
 With calmly conscious eyes, descending still 
 
 From those great boundaries, now dilate with joy 
 
 On all the laughing loveliness below. 
 
 Behold the varied valley ! Nature there 
 
 Is fashion'd into beauty. All its forms 
 
 Are gentler, and its checker'd colors shine 
 
 In gayer contrasts. On the light green hills, 
 
 A thousand purple orchards flush the air; 
 
 Along the endless reach of open fields, 
 
 A thousand yellow harvests greet the sun; 
 
 And down the banks, where mojst the meadows lie, 
 
 A thousand dark green pastures bless the wave. 
 
 O'er all the scene, in happy neighborhood. 
 
 Known by dissolving rings of rising smoke. 
 
 Or, whitely gleaming from their bowery shades, 
 
71 
 
 A thousand homesteads haunt a thousand springs. 
 The springs, oi\ti-illiug from their sheltcr'd caves. 
 And sparkHng through the elder-thickets, haste 
 To meet the brooks that from the mountains call : 
 The glistening brooks, down-leaping from the erag-s. 
 Between the lowly willows wind, to join 
 The creeks, o'erarehed by lofty sycamores : 
 The creeks, along the hollows, cheek their course, 
 Smooth all their ripples till they look like glass, 
 And so, in silence, with the river blend : 
 The river, with the treasure of all hearts 
 Intrusted, shines in sight of earth and heaven, 
 And bears the common tribute to the sea. 
 
 XIII. CONTRAST TO THE SEA. 
 
 How different from the sea ! Xo billows roll, 
 Xo breakers roax, within this scope serene. 
 Xo plunging prows, no shivering sails, are here. 
 The quiet soil sleeps on from age to age. 
 And all its structures stand in still repose; 
 More sure than anchorage, mooring, or the dock; 
 The surfe.ce there is blank, life dreads the air. 
 And holds its hidden revels in the deep. 
 Here, depth is death, and all of life ascends, 
 Exulting in the breezes and the hght — 
 The heaven of resurrection from the grave, 
 Where every tree its branch of triumph waves. 
 
 XIY. SPECIAL LOCALITIES. 
 
 See, where the level tree-roof d avenue 
 Welcomes the homeward carriage, spinning swift. 
 See, where the sunny pike, that climbs the hill, 
 Shows, here and there, along its rising gi^ade. 
 
72 
 
 The heavy-loaded, slowly-wending wain. 
 
 See the log school-house, with its gravelly green 
 
 Well trampled, on the border of the wood. 
 
 See the white church, within its sacred grove. 
 
 Surrounded by the unforgotten tombs, 
 
 Reposing like a shepherd with his flock. 
 
 See the neat parsonage, fronting from its group 
 
 Of oaks and elms, where hands of genial taste. 
 
 Take due advantage of all natural wealth. 
 
 And wake a cultured Eden in the wild, 
 
 To breathe refinement o'er the ruder world. 
 
 There fairer branches fresher foliage wave. 
 
 There richer lawns, and cleaner walks appear. 
 
 There flowers, more varied, sweeter odors yield, 
 
 And vines, more fitly trail'd, more brightly bloom. 
 
 The bees are busier there, as better paid; 
 
 And birds, as more at home, more musical. 
 
 About the porch and windows such delights 
 
 Of color, fragrance, song, combine with scenes 
 
 Far-reaching, to complete the bliss within. 
 
 That the young parents less of heaven might think 
 
 And less of duty than the Lord requires, 
 
 But that an infant face, with seraph smile. 
 
 Oft peeps between the roses — and is not. 
 
 XV. DOVTN THE RIVER. 
 
 Now, one sweep more. Across the mountain-brook, 
 The prostrate tree — ^from whose smooth barkless round, 
 Sun-warm'd, the startled snake, uncoiling, drops — 
 Yields trusty passage. Down the radiant glen. 
 Opening upon the splendor of the West, 
 The one-arch'd bridge uplifts its lighted curve. 
 And wings of silver, like an angel guide's, 
 
73 
 
 Leading a pilgrim 'neath the gate of death, 
 Conduct the timid waters glittering through. 
 Still onward — where the river spreads its flood, 
 And the brown country-road winds down the bank, 
 The fiat-boat, poled against the current, aims. 
 With prudence often praised,. above its mark; 
 Then, down the side-stream gliding, gains its rest. 
 Still onward — and the cover'd toll-bridge creeps, 
 Creaking, from pier to pier, from shore to shore. 
 Where the grass-grown and quiet village streets 
 Disclose their comely lines of airy homes; 
 Each with its well-kept garden in the rear. 
 And front adorn'd with poplar spires, or droop 
 Of willowy swings, or locusts' feathery leaf. 
 Still onward sweeping — as the tide expands — 
 By many an ampler town and busier marge, 
 With steam-wheels plashing and alive with sails, 
 Lo ! where another vale unites its flood, 
 With equal tribute from an equal range. 
 There breaks the mighty city on the sight ! 
 The skies are all ablaze with sunset fires. 
 And all aglow the hills, and vales, and tides. 
 And widening bay, and ocean's basking sphere. 
 How fair the vision ! Countless homes around,- 
 With all the world connected, and the signs 
 Suggestive everywhere. Inland — the stage 
 Comes dusting down the road; the humble barge 
 Bears a bright window on the slow canal; 
 The rail-car rolls its glazing through the glare; 
 And e'en the brazen points that lead the wire 
 Electric, catch and show the slower beam. 
 Seaward^ — the steam-ships trail their clouds of smoke. 
 And clouds of sails, out-bound and in-bound, wave 
 7 
 
74 
 
 Like wings of glory o'er the illumined deep. 
 But, chief, the central haze, suspended low. 
 Reflective reddens; and a hundred fanes 
 Flash, star-like, through; a hundred polish'd domes 
 Swell up, like suns; temples and mansions shine, 
 As though a conflagration raged within ; 
 And monumental shafts, of holy fame, 
 Lift their pale statues to the living tints. 
 Transfigured, as spectators of the scene. 
 
 XVI. SUMMARY OF EARTH-HOME. 
 
 Ocean immense, mountain and varied vale, 
 
 Thou hast survey'd. Now raise thine eyes again 
 
 To th' open skies, whence late thy coming shone; 
 
 And — while the holy, golden-crowned sun, 
 
 In robes "of glory and of beauty," stands 
 
 By the evening altar, stretching radiant arms; 
 
 His many-jewel'd breast-plate all ablaze; 
 
 His countenance shining like the face of G-od; 
 
 And, as the priest of nature, in God's name 
 
 Baptizes all the world with living fire : 
 
 Or, turning with the truth that charms thee most 
 
 Even from such an image, too restrain'd 
 
 For nature's vastness — while the distant sun. 
 
 With moon-like nearness but incomparate flame. 
 
 Still sinking slow, sufiuses all the sphere; 
 
 Transforming air, and mist, and sea, and shore, 
 
 Into one larger, fairer Paradise, 
 
 With all love's angels floating in the light — 
 
 Tell me if man hath not a Glorious Home ? 
 
 And when the time of thoiu/ht to sense succeeds; 
 
 When twilight from the scene below exhales, ■ 
 
 And the gloom rises, till the glittering peak. 
 
"■AND MONUMENTAL SHAFTS OF HOLY FAME 
 
 LIFT THEIR PALE STATUES TO THE LIVING TINT^. 
 TRANSFIGURED, AS SPECTATORS OF THE SCENE." 
 
75 
 
 Whereon thou glowest, loses its last ray ; 
 And ev'n the highest vapors change from gold 
 To crimson, and to purple, and to blue, 
 And so, chill'd hueless, overfloat unseen; 
 As the hush'd homestead glimmers from its bower, 
 And the calm village shows a cluster'd gleam, 
 And the still town extends its sparkling line, 
 And the tired city winks with myriad lamps. 
 And the bay-beacon flashes toward the sea. 
 And the strange meteor, trailing through the dusk, 
 Startles all revery with its sudden hiss — 
 Tell me, if Man hath not a Quiet Home ? 
 And when the time of rest to thought succeeds, 
 When all these lights are out — except the blaze 
 That o'er the unsteady billows steadily beams. 
 To guide the anxious mariner; when sleep. 
 Welcome, on earth, to flesh and spirit both, 
 Falls, like the dew, on all the languid world; 
 Then lift thy vision to the gentle stars. 
 Whose light is everlasting — though they seem 
 The glistening dew-drops of some upper morn, 
 E,ed with a sunrise never' reaching here; 
 Or, if it please thee, let them sentinels seem, 
 Pacing our wilderness frontiers all the night, 
 With angel vigilance; and then, behold 
 The c[ueenly moon, that leaves the camp afar, 
 And ev'n without a page, draws near alone, 
 To watch in silence o'er the slumberers; 
 Or rather, while both heaven and earth are full 
 Of death-like stillness, with no dream of war — 
 Tell me, if Man hath not a Peaceful Home ? 
 And when the time of action follows rest; 
 When the first scintillant arrows of the dawn, 
 
76 
 
 Kindling the east, foresliOTV returning day; 
 
 When, midst the violet-hues, the morning star 
 
 Heightens its diamond brightness — like the eye 
 
 Of beauty, blushing at a well-known step; 
 
 And when the sun, up-looming from the sea. 
 
 With rim of dazzling white, and centre black 
 
 With blinding glory, lifts its lower verge 
 
 From seeming touch, and instantly retires. 
 
 Without a tremor, to infinity — 
 
 Thence earthward shining still, while clouds of mist 
 
 From wave and cliff, from inland hill and stream, 
 
 Rise, like a lifted firmament, and show 
 
 From pole to pole the waking world beneath — 
 
 let the happy billows clap their hands. 
 
 And the gales shout along the echoing rocks, 
 
 And hills, and plains, and streams, uplift their songs 
 
 To the stillest heights of rapture, where the peaks 
 
 Of the purest mountains, passing through the veil 
 
 And pale with worship, only whisper praise— 
 
 And all confess, with grateful thrills divine, 
 
 A race of gods might love the Home of Man. 
 
"ROUND THE GATE, — 
 SAD CONTRAST TO THE BEAUTY OF THE PLACE, — 
 BARE-HEADED AND BARE-FOOTED CHILDREN PLAY'D, 
 "WITH UNCOMB'D hair, AND FACES THAT APPEAR'd 
 AS though they had TO WAIT FOR RAIN TO WASH." 
 
 P. 87 
 
MAY m THE WOODS. 
 
 ^0 Spittle U h)lj JheoS, 
 
 JOHN FONERDEN, M. D., 
 
 OF BALTIMORE. 
 
MAY IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Once more I breathe the warm mid-eity air; 
 
 Retired and qniet, musing at my desk. 
 
 But, while the sunlight through the window beams. 
 
 Part shaded by the half-roU'd blinds j and flies 
 
 Dress their thin wings upon the brighten'd floor; 
 
 And plays the shadow of the waving tape, 
 
 That ties the curtain, witnessing the wind; 
 
 And frequent glooms, descending from the clouds 
 
 In silent promise floating, briefly dim 
 
 The little scene so pictured at my feet; — 
 
 Fancy, with open bosom, walks the woods ; 
 
 Communing with all spirits that inhaunt , 
 
 Their green and cool and musical retreats. 
 
 To thee, my Friend ! while thus a leisure hour 
 
 Opens with pleasant thoughts, I pour my verse 
 
 Freely and gladly. Haply simple things 
 
 Will flow through all the song; not now inspired 
 
 With such intent as often spheres the soul 
 
 In highest glory; but, in frame serene. 
 
 Sung with sweet love of beauty and repose. 
 
 A week ago, last Saturday, I rode 
 A woodland track upon the Eastern Shore. 
 No hurry urged me onward; low the reins 
 Hung, loose; and inoffensively the whip; 
 
80 
 
 While, perfectly contented, slowly ^Yalk'cl 
 My fine gray pony, with her flowing mane. 
 In rich adornment of her arched neck, 
 All smoothly drooping; and her sidelong eye 
 Enchanted by the verdant border 2;rass. 
 
 It was a close and cloudy afternoon. 
 
 And all the leaves on all the branches hung, 
 
 As though with very faintness they would fall ; 
 
 And every tree appear'd to bow its head 
 
 In utmost awe; and all the forest join'd 
 
 In mute, imploring homage for a shower. 
 
 But onward pass'd the providential rain 
 
 To answer greater need. And soon the grove. 
 
 Kefresh'd by leafy draughts unseen but full. 
 
 Drawn from the moisten'd air; and briskly stirr'd 
 
 By their old partners in delight, the winds, 
 
 Shook every limb and rustled every twig. 
 
 Thankful that while their wishes were denied 
 
 Their wants were granted ; casting grief away 
 
 And waving wide with universal joy. 
 
 Near to the road-side, little yellow cups 
 
 Sprinkled the humid verdure; and, beyond. 
 
 Tall, branchless stalks of cluster'd blue-bells rose. 
 
 Showing the hue of heaven, and pointing there; 
 
 While, blending rose and lily, all around 
 
 Wild honey-suckles flush'd the ground with bloom; 
 
 And over these, half-reaching to the height 
 
 Of venerable, all-protecting oaks, 
 
 The taper dogwood's fragrant blossoms spread ; 
 
 Cheering the green obscure with pyramids 
 
 Of snowy beauty; loveliest when the sun 
 
81 
 
 Broke from the clouds, and through the open roof, 
 High waving and transparent, quivering sent, 
 Pure as the spotless flowers, his golden rays. 
 
 On as I passed, a few attractions charni'd 
 
 My ready senses, and excited thoughts 
 
 That one who loves me may not scorn to hear. 
 
 An oak — tall, straight, and ample in its girth; 
 
 Firm-fix'd below and spreading wide above ; 
 
 Sound, strong, and flourishing. It might be named, 
 
 Methuselah! the forest patriarch. 
 
 There must have been a long, long lapse of years 
 
 Since that was but an acorn. In the homes 
 
 That now its top o'erlooks, the grave has found — 
 
 Oh ! many a victim, since its little germ 
 
 Peep'd from the soil. Alas ! how short is life ! 
 
 How many generations of mankind. 
 
 Full of vast schemes and boasting boundless hopes, 
 
 May live to second childhood and expire 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the same old tree ; 
 
 Old, but still green ! And that, — ^how steadfast stood, 
 
 The sylvan chieftain ! what a robe of pomp 
 
 In breezy fulness floated round his form ! 
 
 But hold! — I draw a contrast; may not thus, 
 
 To gain the pleasure of a sounding verse. 
 
 Personify as man the very power 
 
 That mock'd the fleetness of my flowery term. 
 
 And, as I rode beside its mighty trunk. 
 
 Shook all its honors proudly o'er my head. 
 
 And yet that tree too near resembled man. 
 
 A princely prize had met with cold regard. 
 
 If only to be gain'd by clasping tight 
 
82 
 
 Its pillar'd strength, or climbing to its boughs. 
 
 For, closely creeping, like a deadly snake, 
 
 Through every crevice, under every plate 
 
 Of swelling bark, and showing, here and there, 
 
 Its brown and hairy line, the poison-oak 
 
 Ascended — striking terror to my heart ! 
 
 Terror, — for years ago, on that same shore, 
 
 I suffer' d strange eruption and was told: 
 
 "Perhaps some poison-oak was on the fire. 
 
 And as it burnt, you smelt it." Poison-oak ! 
 
 Never to be forgotten ! When I read. 
 
 Beside the winter stand, let no dread log 
 
 With this sad vine be placed upon the fire : 
 
 Nay, sooner let the hearth grow cold as rocks 
 
 That brunt the icy surge of polar seas. 
 
 And when I ride, let no contiguous tree 
 
 Extend an arm to help the creeper reach 
 
 My passing form; thus prompting me to push 
 
 The limb aside, and feel, too late, my foe. 
 
 Rather, far rather, let my charger course 
 
 The shrubless sands, beneath the cloudless sun, 
 
 Straining endurance every burning step. 
 
 Yes, there I lay, — ^but 'tis too long a tale : 
 
 Enough — enough ! but never, never more 
 
 Let poison-oak my shuddering frame molest. 
 
 But now recurs the question, for reply : 
 
 In what respect does this resemble man ? 
 
 Your thoughts, my Friend ! may not accord with mine. 
 
 But so, it seem'd, we sometimes meet with men. 
 
 In whom we note an excellence of gifts, 
 
 Sublime and peerless; who, although their minds 
 
 Command admiring love, must yet be shunn'd : 
 
 Because of some acquired, vile, viper vice — 
 
 §ome venomous habit winding round the heart. 
 
83 
 
 Birds ! — Many were about me ; but a page 
 
 Would fail to show them, fully. Let a touch, 
 
 Of some distinctive point, suiSce for each. 
 
 The red-bird, like a British fifer, blew 
 
 His solid whistle. Sharp o'erhead was heard, 
 
 The crow-tormenting king-bird's victor note ; 
 
 And one sweet oriole amused me much, 
 
 Grlad singing on the topmost twig, but still. 
 
 As near I drew, removing- further on ; 
 
 Yet ever, with his pinions closed or spread. 
 
 Warbling his strain; as though he sought to say: — 
 
 "I am a poet, sir! and, let me rest 
 
 Or keep me flying, long as life shall last 
 
 My glowing soul shall pour its joys in song." 
 
 While thus the nearer, oft, from distant gloom, 
 
 Melodiously the plaintive turtle-dove. 
 
 Her saddest music breathed; the charmed soul 
 
 A moment stopt the heart, and stood to hear. 
 
 But others, songless, wanting voice or rest, 
 
 Were busy all about me. Flitted light 
 
 From spray to spray, the blue-bird; near the ground. 
 
 From bush to bush, the speckle-breasted thrush. 
 
 With knowing eye that watch'd the passenger, 
 
 Hopt, quietly; and quick the prudent wren. 
 
 Along the lowest fence-rail, ran, and hid 
 
 Beneath the angle's shelter, in the grass. 
 
 While, pl.easing me as much as any, swift. 
 
 With crimson head, blue back, and white-striped wings, 
 
 From tree to tree the wise wood-pecker flew. 
 
 Tri-colour'd bird, — its image should appear, 
 
 France ! with each of thy tri-colour'd flags ! 
 
 The bird that loves above all else on earth 
 
84 
 
 To pick at rotten, blockhead royalties. 
 
 I like to mark it, running round and round, 
 
 The crumbling column, and then, holding fast, 
 
 With most tenacious claws, lean boldly back 
 
 And send its rapid piercer rattling home, 
 
 'Tis a loud warning to all trees; enough 
 
 To make them tremble from their lowest roots 
 
 Up to their highest boughs ; for thus must all 
 
 Decay, and feed the worms — and these, the birds. . 
 
 If here, my Friend ! you see another thought 
 
 That fits great things, apply it so, yourself; 
 
 I play awhile with poetry — not thrones. 
 
 But, ere we leave the birds, one more remark 
 May not be useless. Men are like them here : 
 The silent are the busy. They who work 
 Have little time to pain or please the world. 
 With dove-like moans or oriolean songs. 
 
 But let me not forget a little nest — 
 
 A lonely nest, adhering to a branch 
 
 That the wind waved beside me as I pass'd, 
 
 As though to say : — " Behold ! a happy home !" 
 
 What! that? 'Tis true; the trifle is a home. 
 
 How small its room ! and that without a roof! 
 
 Except, indeed, the ever-changing leaves. 
 
 Mark its foundation ! neither rock nor sand ; 
 
 Falling and rising, constantly, yet safe. 
 
 Sweeps the wild blast that brings the awful storm; 
 
 Pours the full torrent from the melting clouds; 
 
 Flies the fierce lightning quivering through the sky; 
 
 And peals the thunder, rolling deep and long. 
 
 Yet swings that nest upon the tossing branch; 
 
85 
 
 Wet with the rain-drops, glistening in the flash, 
 
 And trembling to the thunder; all exposed 
 
 But all unhurt; still — still a happy home. 
 
 Oh ! give me love, and let me be a bird, 
 
 My home a nest, and every wind my foe ; 
 
 Rather than own the noblest hall that man 
 
 Has ever built, to walk its joyless courts 
 
 With drooping head, and heart that fondly seeks 
 
 Affection's sympathy — but seeks in vain. 
 
 Softly ! a whisper seeks my spirit's ear ! 
 
 "Beware of error. Mind! you saw no birds 
 
 Nestling together; no tremendous storm. 
 
 Haply the mates do never hold at once. 
 
 The downy seat; but interchange their tasks 
 
 While eggs or young are there, and then forsake 
 
 Both and forever what they need no more." 
 
 It may be so — I know not. Where's the man, 
 
 Of all the wise on earth — come ! tell his name ! 
 
 Whose knowledge circles all things ? There is none 
 
 Then here I leave the point — and if I err, 
 
 Oh ! many a poet, writing wondrous verse 
 
 Of what he never knew — ^has done the same. 
 
 But other things — what other things were there ? 
 
 I sketch a few. For instance, o'er my head 
 
 A kind of fly, about an inch in length; 
 
 Light-hued and slender-bodied; all erect 
 
 Its head and tail; and from its hollow sides 
 
 Its filmy wings projecting; sail'd along, 
 
 So gaily on the gentle tide of air. 
 
 With such a humming, as of tiny wheels, 
 
 I could but gaze and name it as it went 
 
 A little, living steamboat ! True, the thought 
 
86 
 
 Was not a wise one ; but alas ! how apt 
 
 The human mind to cherish foolish things ! 
 
 And I had rather lift my head and smile 
 
 To think a buzzing insect, as it flies, 
 
 A little, living steamboat — than pronounce 
 
 A prince or priest, my master ! For the first 
 
 No evil wrought; but ah ! what mountain piles 
 
 Of bleeding bodies, ever echoing loud 
 
 From base to top with wounded spirits' groans — 
 
 The sad memorials of the other's reign — 
 
 Oppress the earth, and in the eye of heaven 
 
 Rise high, invoking pity or revenge ! 
 
 Thus then it seem'd that I had noticed all 
 
 The wilderness contain'd. But what a thought! 
 
 How prone is man to glance along the woods 
 
 Of knowledge, and, because a trifling part 
 
 Rewards the eye, suppose the whole is known : 
 
 As though the distant darkness were a wall^- 
 
 And not a vast, expanding, crowded world : 
 
 While oft, beneath his feet, things undiscern'd 
 
 Exist as though they were not. So with me ; 
 
 For, crossing soon a narrow bridge of logs, — 
 
 On either side of which still waters lay. 
 
 Dark with the dye of countless sunken leaves. 
 
 And spotted here and there with spreading dock, — 
 
 "Humph!" said a bull-frog, plunging to the depths; 
 
 As though he knew, but made mistake in me, 
 
 A word to certain people is enough. 
 
 Still this, at least, he made me understand : 
 
 Some things are not content to be o'erlook'd. 
 
 I'll mark you, sir! thought I; and man shall learn — 
 
 That man I mean who pants to leave a name 
 
87 
 
 To after times, and scarcely cares for what, — 
 A homely lesson that may do him good. 
 Up from oblivion's gloom some time he mounts, 
 And silent squats upon the shore of life; 
 Then, as the world goes by, if nothing more 
 His utmost swelling can accomplish, — humph ! 
 He cries, and sinks, unseen, whence first he rose. 
 Or if he compass more — aye, win a crown; 
 Still, to my mind, if this his highest aim. 
 Such greater glories meanly he neglects, 
 That e'en the bloated bull-frog's hollow trump 
 Deserves more honour than his worthless name. 
 
 What more ? I fear this trespass. Waving webs 
 Awaited victims. Hence the passing line : 
 Earth's fairest scenes are full of fatal traps. 
 
 Again; — a human home. A hut of logs. 
 In a square garden lot; about whose fence 
 The forest waves, with north and west relieved 
 By long, close rows of that same odorous tree. 
 The snowy-blossom'd dogwood. Round the gate- 
 Sad contrast to the beauty of the place — 
 Bare-headed and bare-footed children play'd, 
 With uncomb'd hair and faces that appear'd 
 As though they had to wait for rain to wash : 
 While in the door, a haggard woman sat. 
 Could she have been their mother ? Yery strange. 
 She never found a fountain in the shade. 
 Still on; and paths that led to other homes 
 Open'd at times, on either hand; and these 
 Always afibrd me pleasure. Wanting facts, 
 I fancy they conduct to neat abodes 
 
88 
 
 Of peace and love. How happy is the man — 
 So breathes my soul as up the path I look — 
 When here he turns aside his weary feet, 
 And knows he soon shall join the smiling group 
 That make his bower a blessed paradise ! 
 
 And more ? Yes, more — ^but most must be withheld. 
 
 Who tells at once the full amount he knows ? 
 
 And who that aught declares, will not the best? 
 
 "But not a word is here of many things 
 
 That throng the woods !" I know — but did not meet, 
 
 And what I met not would infringe the plan 
 
 That gives the garrulous mind its only check. 
 
 Beside, what eye, since Adam's, ever saw 
 
 That richest spot where nature kindly show'd 
 
 A full museum of her countless charms ? 
 
 If fancy's hand, my Friend! had held the pen, 
 
 Squirrels with long and bushy tails, had run 
 
 Along the ground, and, mounting to -the forks 
 
 Of hickories, had closely laid and watch'd 
 
 The man below, with slanting black-bead eyes. 
 
 Buzzards had floated on unmoving plumes 
 
 Where'er the sky was seen, so loftily, 
 
 So easily and gracefully, that men 
 
 Had scorn'd balloons and sigh'd for wings alone; 
 
 And thousand, thousand things from heaven, earth, sea. 
 
 Art's pride and Nature's beauty, had combined 
 
 To crowd a scene, — with no original. 
 
 Yet, ere I close, two observations more 
 
 B,equest a record. Ample sections there 
 
 Were thickly strewn with leaves — the last year's growth. 
 
 'Tis an old gong that leaves illustrate life; 
 
89 
 
 Fresh, fading, falling. Homer may have learn'd 
 This wisdom on his gentle mother's knee. 
 But, a new point — unburied leaves ; the dry 
 And wasting skeletons that seem to warn 
 The living verdure, waving on the boughs 
 Above them, where they flourish'd once themselves. 
 I thought — suppose the bones of perish'd men, 
 Were ever thus in sight j stopping our ways, 
 And filling all our fields; demanding toil 
 Severe and long, to clear a little spot 
 To raise our corn, or channel out a line 
 To lead the fountain waters to our doors; 
 Where then would be that heedlessness of death 
 Which marks the myriads who delight to dance. 
 Now, on the flowery floor that hides the grave ? 
 Where then the gorgeous glories that command 
 The sinful homage of a haughty world ? 
 Where then the madness that exchanges heaven 
 With all its everlasting realms of light. 
 For meteor fires that flash around the tomb. 
 And when the wanderer reaches it, — expire ! 
 
 And now the last. Just as we left the woods. 
 And coursed the open road, with piny skirts. 
 Westward I turn'd my eye. Long, narrow clouds 
 Of shadowy blue, with golden space between, 
 Stretch'd, line o'er line, across the sunset sky. 
 The scene was that which people oft describe 
 Thus : — " Now the sun is drawing water up." 
 To me it seem'd, as though, behind the clouds, 
 A pyramid, magnificent above 
 
 All former thoughts of splendour, reach'd mid-heaven ; 
 Most massive, and most perfect in its shape, 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 Effulgent, grand, beyond all pomp of words. 
 
 Ttus, then, as set unseen the solar orb. 
 
 The envious clouds, that would have hid his light, 
 
 Became the very scaffolding within 
 
 Whose vast enclosure, gloriously was built 
 
 His monument, to charm the wondering world ! 
 
 So let the Christian triumph o'er his foes; 
 Without a shade approaching other spheres. 
 And envy's self approving him in this. 
 
THE DUEL. 
 
 GRAVES AND CILLEY. 
 
 EBBRUARY 24, 1838. 
 
Sections. — I. First News; 11. Later Newsj III. Public Excite- 
 ment; IV. Demand for Eepentance and Hestraint. 
 
THE DUEL, 
 
 I. FIRST NEWS. 
 
 The passion of tte people, brooks no more ! 
 The judgment of the people, yields no more! 
 The voice that speaks their spirit, sleeps no more ! 
 
 Passion is rising, like a midnight storm ! 
 Judgment is streaming, like the lightning, down ! 
 And speech, like thunder, shakes the throne of guilt ! 
 
 The poet's faculties are white with fire — 
 Calm — Oh, how calm ! — consumingly intense ! 
 
 Vox Populi — Vox Dei! Once — all hail! 
 The Nation trembles at the mountain's base : 
 And while the summit shadows deepen round, 
 Hears the high Law and swears to own its power ! 
 
 Thou shalt not kill ! — the Grod of G-lory speaks : 
 Thou shalt not kill! — the Nation makes reply: 
 Replies, awe-struck, and groaning in the dust ! 
 
 Hark ! See ! The Eagle, wounded in mid-sky. 
 Falls, shrieking, with an eye that loathes the light : 
 And bleeds upon thy dome — proud Capitol ! 
 
94 
 
 Old Pandemonium gathers all her hosts : 
 The very flames stand motionless, -without; 
 Within, suspense and silence. 
 
 Lo ! they start ! 
 'Twas but a sound. Again ! and yet no more. 
 Again ! a double sound — a wail of wo ! 
 Wo to the earth : in hell — a festival ! 
 A triumph ! Ha ! the flames are dancing round ! 
 The walls, the roof — they quiver to that shout ! 
 
 A Gentleman! who thus insults the race? 
 A Man! — and yet athirst for human blood? 
 A Gentle Man ? — scorn and mockery ! 
 
 I say of one whose conduct I despise : 
 In my opinion — ^he's no gentleman. 
 
 What now ? A challenge ? Why ? In error ? Then 
 Correct me; and I'll thank you, and confess. 
 But if, fool-like, my prejudice is dear. 
 Who shall presume such failing to control ? 
 gentle sir ! be piteous to a fool ! 
 If, still more fool-like, every where I tell 
 With pert assurance what should be my shame : 
 Remember — e'en the fool has right of speech : 
 And men of sense had better thrust their hands 
 In living coals, than lay them on his lips. 
 Do let the fool prate on — till none shall hear. 
 — But many, hearing, cherish same regards ! — 
 Then challenge all ! — Or, cheerly, care no more 
 For twenty thousand simpletons, than one. 
 But, haply — I am right. Then, truth is good. 
 And life is good : pray let me keep them both ! 
 
95 
 
 Or, if this may not be — fire thou alone : 
 Better to lose my body than my soul ! 
 
 Thus mere opinion. If a libel out : 
 Seek due redress in Court. Let Justice tear 
 The false reproach from thee, and on his brow 
 Cool the sore seal of bone-imprinting crime ! 
 
 for unceasing tears ! undying moans ! 
 
 Sharp ring the rifles in the clear, cold air : 
 But unseen angels turn the tubes aside. 
 See ! Oh Tiow rich, in more than worlds could buy — 
 In life, health, strength, they stand erect, unharm'd ! 
 Has each a home ? I know not; want a fact : 
 But yield to fancy, and still pour my verse. 
 Smile, Mothers ! while the glory of the noon 
 Glows round you, in your widely parted spheres. 
 Your little ones are sporting; from the walls, 
 The portraits of their fathers look -with love : 
 Smile, Mothers ! kiss the little ones again, 
 Point to their sires, and fan their fondest hopes ! 
 
 Again ? horror ! But the angels wait : 
 Ordain'd to guide once more the glancing balls. 
 Say, Mothers ! did a shadow dim your joys ? 
 Smile on — the sun seems brighter for the gloom ! 
 
 A pause. A gentleman? I still think not. 
 You thus esteem him — ^I am glad you can. 
 Is he, in fact? — I cannot make him else. 
 Freedom of thought is yours — ^to me belongs 
 The same great right. We differ. I regret. 
 
96 
 
 But ask me not to lie. This could not prove 
 
 His honor : would dishonor you to seek : 
 
 And stamp me worse than coward should I give. 
 
 All may not answer — either lie or die ! 
 
 No more the wings of mercy guard the scene : 
 Shapes dark and dread draw near, with evil eye — 
 Help the sure aim — and hail the fatal fall ! 
 
 What now ? A G-entleman ? No more than erst. 
 Yet this the only end — to make the dead 
 Assent to him that slew him. » 
 
 Howl it forth — 
 The speechless disappointment ! 
 
 Ha! the soul 
 That might have seen its error — if at fault; 
 Now, all unchanged, is banish'd from the world ! 
 The lips that might have utter'd all desired. 
 Are voiceless, till the searching day of doom ! 
 
 In purple robe, new-dyed, he comes ! he comes ! 
 
 Ho ! haughty Honor ! Autocrat adored ! 
 
 Art satisfied? Thy object — was it won? 
 
 A gentleman — because the corpse is mute ? 
 
 Out on the silent dead ! The lifeless tongue 
 
 Declines to say — he is a gentleman ! 
 
 This way, king ! Fresh cause for vengeance here ! 
 
 Reload ! Approach the tomb ! Demand consent ! 
 
 Call out the pale one ! Challenge him again ! 
 
 What! Will not hear? Then nobly make thy charge. 
 
 Storm the defences, leap into the vault. 
 
 Crush the frail coffin, pierce his heart anew, 
 
97 
 
 Cease not — until the thoughts he could not think 
 Part the cold lips and murmur from the shroud ! 
 
 Smile, Mother ! smile : array thy western halls, 
 To greet his coming! Doubtless, he is warm 
 With all fire-side affections. He will joy 
 To clasp thee, now, far more than when a bride : 
 And who may tell the sweetness that will flow 
 All round his fatherly heart, as on his knees. 
 Tossing their curls, his sons and daughters climb ! 
 may they never lift a tender glance. 
 And in their artless innocence inquire. 
 How he was sepulchred in lonely cold. 
 Whose heart was emptied by the rifle-ball ! — 
 A heart as full of love for home and babes, 
 Haply, as ever beat : as full for thee — 
 Poor, broken-hearted widow ! Ah, my God ! 
 Grod of thy servant and his own dear group ! 
 Have mercy on the reft, whom thus we mourn : 
 Nor less upon the circle still complete ! 
 Methinks my wife would wear a widow'd look. 
 In gayest moments : and my children's eyes. 
 Seem ever glistening with young orphans' tears : 
 My home would darken like the charnel-house; 
 And every night my bedstead press me round, 
 With odorous tightness of the cofiin's frame; 
 The sheets would seem my shroud; the pillow feel 
 As hard and chilling as the moist vault stone ! 
 
 Mute, motionless widow ! Melancholy babes ! 
 G-od bless you, in your everlasting grief! 
 No earthly comforter can heal such wounds! 
 9 
 
08 
 
 Say — shall we utter curses, deep and strong? 
 Pray for the lightning? Call the earthquake up? 
 Scathe and ingulf the workers of this wrong ? 
 Nay — far too much disgrace, too much distress, 
 Prevail already. Neither may we know, 
 How many guilty and in what degrees. 
 Death should not make us partial to the dead ; 
 Life should not prejudice the one that lives: 
 Their act the same — hut one the better shot. 
 The better shot ! My poor brain reels and whirls : 
 Still, reels and whirls ! O would it were a dream ! 
 Immortal thanks to him who breaks this sleep ! 
 For duelling is murder, at the best : 
 And here — why shoot at all ? And shot they thrice ? 
 The best — the worst : all true distinction fails. 
 I trembled on my bed, and now am blind. 
 Grief only, in the centre of my soul. 
 Has steady power, and ever prompts the prayer 
 For pity! pity! all-forgiving woe! 
 Oh, is there mercy for the merciless ? 
 
 II. LATER NEWS. 
 
 'Tis only heighten'd horror ! Poor, pale lips, 
 Ye did not say — he is no gentleman ! 
 Silent unto the last : except to tell 
 Your high respect for him, perforce your foe ! 
 " Gentlemen ! Are you ready ? " Gentlemen ! 
 Men ! ready for such cool attempt to kill ! 
 And Gentle Men ! I dare not farther muse. 
 But what? "The last of it?" This may not be. 
 It ought not, can not, shall not! 'Tis a deed, 
 To be remember' d and recited long: 
 Sounding through all the uproar of all time — 
 
99 
 
 And asking judgment in the day of doom! 
 Let " controversy " die. Names, motives, men: 
 May pass, in pity. But the deed — the deed : 
 May that sad lesson soon be read in law. 
 
 Henceforth, the good man only has my vote : 
 I can not, will not, wreathe the brow of sin ! 
 
 III. PUBLIC EXCITEMENT. 
 
 Louder, and louder yet, the thunder rolls : 
 Faster, and farther, filling all the sky, 
 And shaking every hill and plain below. 
 
 How dare they pray the tempest may subside ? 
 
 Idolaters before the people's shrine : 
 
 Let them pray God — He, only, stills the storm ! 
 
 "Excitement!" What? Its lawless worshipers ? 
 
 The rousers of its power? Are theyalarm'd? 
 
 Invaders of our social sanctities — 
 
 Cast they their chains upon our guardian waves ? 
 
 The waves dismiss them to the lowest depths, 
 
 And rush upon the bands that flung them out : 
 
 Stand back ! — or soon the surge will bind ye all, 
 
 With your own fetters, in its darkest caves ! 
 
 Who are they ? Ha ! Art sure it is their voice ? 
 There was a quarrel which they might have quell'd : 
 That little, shameful, fatal, awful feud ! 
 Why that excitement did they ^not allay ? 
 That was the vapor of this hurricane ! 
 Their very weeping should have quench'd that fire : 
 And sat they calmly round, fanning the flame ? 
 'Twas their own match that started this deep train,- 
 
100 
 
 And now the whole land heaves — behold ! they kneel ! 
 Kissing the soil, to soothe its quivering rage ! 
 Lifting their hands, to stay the toppling mounts ! 
 Away ! The grave will open at your touch. 
 The avalanche rush in ruin on your heads ! 
 
 The man of God climbs Horeb with delight : 
 
 Enjoys the tumult — hails its heigh t'ning power. 
 
 Come on ! — his rajDture rising with the storm : 
 
 Come on! — he cries — ye spirits of the air! 
 
 Cast all your whirlwinds round the mountain peaks. 
 
 And rend the rocks, like roses, as ye pass ! 
 
 Up from your caves ! — ye giants of the earth ! 
 
 Roll the rich meads, as seas their billows roll, 
 
 And toss the deserts, as the seas their foam ! 
 
 And ye — quick ministers of living fire ! 
 
 Flash from the sky, and crisp the land with flame ! 
 
 Ye are the heralds of Omnipotence ! 
 
 Your steeds — the winds ! your wheels — the earthquake 
 
 roll! 
 Your reins — the lightnings, floating from your hands! 
 Ye must precede the majesty of One, 
 Who breathes a calm no other breath may break, 
 Who looks a silence none may dare disturb. 
 And speaks His purpose in "a still, small voice," 
 So instantly Divine in every ear. 
 That sinners, shrinking, well may seek the gloom : 
 While he, whose mantle veils an humble brow 
 And faithful heart, may venture from the cleft. 
 And meekly, in the Sabbath of the sphere. 
 Commune with Thee ! Refuge of the World ! 
 
101 
 
 Excitement ! 'Tis the very grace we need : 
 
 Our morning, noon-day, evening, midnight pray'r ! 
 
 Why mourns imperial Truth upon her throne ? 
 
 Passion — her proper champion — stands aloof: 
 
 Rebellion gloating in his sensual eye. 
 
 In vain the queenly voice asserts her rights : 
 
 The very court, encouraged by that leer, 
 
 Riots in foulness, deadlier than the plague; 
 
 And all the realm is pestilent with vice ! 
 
 What now ? Has Passion, like the leper, wash'd ? 
 
 And is he pure ? And grasps he now the sword 
 
 With loyal hand and heart inspired from heaven ? 
 
 All hail ! high Chieftain ! Truth shall mourn no more : 
 
 The slightest motion of her sceptre, now, 
 
 Shall bring the court in sackcloth at her feet; 
 
 And throng her gates with tribute from afar ! 
 
 Excitement is required — deep, lasting, strong. 
 Naught else will answer. Reason toils in vain : 
 Law waits her careless officers in vain : 
 Religion pleads in vain — unless her voice 
 Address the heart and wake excitement there. 
 This, she may do : this, she alone may do : 
 This, she is bound to do : expose the soul 
 In tremulous quickness to the touch of Grod, 
 That He, all-holy, breathing holy fire, 
 May kindle energies that ne'er shall fail : 
 A deathless enmity to hellish ill, 
 A love immortal for all heavenly good, 
 And more — a will, to make both manifest: 
 That angel in the centre of the cloud, 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 To frown like midnight on relentless pride, 
 And smile like noon-day on the path of peace ! 
 
 Then let it rise, and swell, and strengthen still : 
 All hail the terrors and the deep'ning clouds ! 
 
 But why emblaze the scene ? Oh, not to burn 
 
 Mere effigies, already hung in shame ! 
 
 I would not add such tremors to their fears; 
 
 I would not breathe, to aggravate their guilt; 
 
 I could not, if they still have human hearts. 
 
 Give one more pang to their profound remorse. 
 
 Sorrows have they to bear, they reck'd not then ; 
 
 Duties to render, that they never dream' d ! 
 
 Ah ! had they known the event, no fires had flash'd 
 
 Along those rifles 1 Rather than endure. 
 
 What now they suffer, it had been allow'd, — 
 
 One may mistake in judging gentlemen ! 
 
 IV. DEMANDS. 
 
 Excitement ' — let it rise for good alone : 
 To such a height, and taking such a course, 
 That this one object be at once secured : 
 A Sovereign Mandate of the Public "Will — ■ 
 Demanding of the sinners due redress. 
 The only offering, now, within their power; 
 Repentance ! — spoken out like rifle tones, 
 Warm from the heart as was their victim's blood t 
 Then, let them be forgiven. Silently? 
 'Forgiven and forgotten ? Ah ! not so ! 
 Remember — 'tis the death that shocks us all ! 
 Others have aim'd with same intent — who stand 
 This day, the laurel'd favorite? of the land ! 
 
103 
 
 Favor'd, not innocent — remember this. 
 
 Ask nothing but confession — sad, indeed, 
 
 But frank and manly : follow'd by the vow 
 
 Of ceaseless opposition to the crime. 
 
 Then, after decent silence, lead them back : 
 
 Hear their full hearts : be not ashamed of teai-s : 
 
 Forgive them as ye weep — forgive and love ! 
 
 Yes, thou, my Country ! clasp them to thy heart : 
 
 Thy haughty sons, thus humbled, then restore ! 
 
 — Demanding of our Congress, such a Law 
 
 As such high treason 'gainst our peace requires : 
 
 And with it, due provision for its force — 
 
 Some bond, its agents shall not dare despise, 
 
 To act at once — impartially severe. 
 
 So let the sin be erush'd : so let the thirst. 
 
 For brotherly blood, now burning through the land, 
 
 Be cool'd forever at this fount of tears ! 
 
 This done, and well done, O Celestial Love ! 
 
 Breathe like a summer morning round our sphere, 
 
 On homes unstain'd and hearts without a wound ! 
 
THE THREE HARPS, 
 
 I. 
 
 Give me an Humble Harp — an humbled world 
 Demands an humble utterance, deep and slow. 
 
 The foolish may be gay; the guilty, proud: 
 But he whose mind is chasten'd by the truth, 
 Whose heart is solemn: with the heaven of love, 
 New-born, is meek and lowly, pure and wise. 
 
 I cannot look on such a blighted orb, 
 Blushless : I dare not so dishonor God, 
 Demean my race, myself, or aught that is. 
 I see, I feel, in all my nature know 
 Myself, my race, degraded : know the globe. 
 From pole to pole, is riven, ravaged, marr'd ; 
 Know that the image of the Perfect One 
 Oft, in such mirror, like a tyrant, scowls. 
 
 The earth's intent is nobler than it seems. 
 The seeming is the drift-wreck of the curse. 
 Made for an Eden soil, an Eden sky. 
 What is it — but a sand-wash'd sepulchre ? 
 Is this not humbling? So, indeed, am I 
 
105 
 
 Far nobler than tlie front of this disguise: 
 
 Richer in hidden thought, affection, will — 
 
 Richer in life, than this death-sleep may dream. 
 
 Sin binds me — ^but, the chain and I are two : 
 
 It is ignoble — but, not I, not I. 
 
 My nature's thrill is princely; and these bonds 
 
 Shall yet be flung indignant at my feet. 
 
 Meantime, 'tis humbling. So — my brotherhood, 
 
 This melancholy kingship of the world; 
 
 'Tis infinitely nobler than it seems : 
 
 A godlike race — a race whose energies. 
 
 If all developed, disciplined, applied; 
 
 With due advantage seized of grace divine ; 
 
 Would so adorn the waste of natural good, 
 
 Such spiritual glory shed on all the sphere, 
 
 That soon creation's angels would return — 
 
 The morning stars to sing a loftier strain. 
 
 The sons of God to shout a mightier joy. 
 
 Than when th' ungather'd light, from pole to pole. 
 
 Round all the tropic kindled sudden day. 
 
 Grod only knows what grandeurs like His own 
 
 Lie darkling in the depths of our estate. 
 
 All this is humbling. But — again, and more ; 
 God, even our God, is nobler than He seems. 
 True, never man or angel may embrace 
 The fulness of His greatness — infinite ! 
 The wisest cherub, beaming on His left; 
 The purest seraph, burning on His right; 
 Highest of beings, nearest to His throne ; 
 Fairest exemplars of His truth and love ; 
 Before whose sandals, latch'd with living flame. 
 The angel of the sun might cast his crown ; 
 
106 
 
 Even they commune with God, as in themselves 
 
 Nothing, and less than nothing; glad in Him 
 
 To worship glory none may comprehend. 
 
 Still, God is willing, anxious, to reveal — 
 
 And we are able largely to receive — 
 
 Such visions of His goodness, wisdom, power, 
 
 As may suggest perfection absolute. 
 
 But, as the sun, obscured by passing mists. 
 
 Gleams through them paler than the morning moon; 
 
 So, through the clouds of error and of sin, 
 
 The God of glory scarce an angel seems ; 
 
 Nay, more, still dwindling, sometimes less appears 
 
 Than man himself — His form a stone, abused 
 
 By ugliest art; His shrine, a brothel foul; 
 
 His vestals, harlots; and his priesthood, knaves — 
 
 Whose blush is blood, the jet from martyr'd fools; 
 
 Whose breath is fetid with the fumes of hell. 
 
 Is this not humbling ? Yes — an Humble Harp : 
 
 A harp as prideless as the bed of death, 
 
 As mournful as the moaning of the grave. 
 
 As doleful as the wailing of the lost. 
 
 Such deep-toned strings I strike — in sullen shame. 
 
 II. 
 
 Give me a Plaintive Harp — tTius humbled, right 
 It is to mourn. I shed no childish tears; 
 And have no thought, with soft-dissolving soul, 
 To sigh, vain weakness, o'er mere outward ill. 
 Let that be borne, as well it may, to teach 
 The lesson of its mission — sadly wise. 
 
 Yet is there cause for grief I cannot scorn : 
 'Tis sin itself. To think, to feel, to know. 
 
107 
 
 That I can be so hostile to my God; 
 
 That all my race can be so ; all opposed 
 
 To infinite wisdom, in the pride of fools; 
 
 To infinite goodness, in the craft of knaves; 
 
 To infinite power, in meanness imbecile; 
 
 To government unerring, all opposed ; 
 
 To universal order, all opposed; 
 
 To universal happiness, opposed; 
 
 To our own interests, whole and sole, opposed : 
 
 To all we ought to reverence, all opposed; 
 
 To think — that G-od is forced to smite the world; 
 
 Fill heaven with lightning; lash the seas to foam; 
 
 Burn out the mountains with volcanic fires; 
 
 By earthquakes, cleave the main and sink the isles; 
 
 Blast the green promise of the glowing spring; 
 
 Check winter's howl by famine's sadder moan; 
 
 Breathe the blue plague through all the golden air; 
 
 Darken all homes with death ; and crowd the ways 
 
 With cross processions seeking countless graves : 
 
 Suffer religion to erect false shrines ; 
 
 Suffer the state to usurp oppressive forms; 
 
 Suffer the people to be made the slaves. 
 
 Of kings and priests, at home; the enemies 
 
 Of brotherly nations met abroad in war — 
 
 Where mutual victims, myriad-slain, are piled 
 
 As fuel on hell's altars : — Thus to think 
 
 Of Infinite Love, still toiling to subdue 
 
 What still we cherish in our heart of hearts. 
 
 As if it were our very life of lives; 
 
 And see the monster's image in myself. 
 
 And see his throne and majesty in all — 
 
 His agents, ignorance, and pride, and lust; 
 
 Error and folly; selfishness and criine; 
 
108 
 
 All that is low, and little, and unclean ; 
 
 Making a man most fearful, most astamed, 
 
 Of his own being; conscious of all guile, 
 
 Prompting all guilt; — The earth, still -whirling round 
 
 Its most magnificent and glorious course; 
 
 With such a lordly sun-eye on its flight; 
 
 And such a sisterhood of silver spheres ; 
 
 Uncheck'd, untouoh'd, still sweeping round the marge 
 
 Of such a mighty orbit; turning still 
 
 All seas and shores to that full noon of light — 
 
 Its very shadow gemm'd with moon and stars; 
 
 And yet — so hollow with its sepulchres. 
 
 So blighted with its curse, so full and rife 
 
 With all things mean, and cruel, and abhorr'd 
 
 Even in a devil's better memory : — 
 
 How can I else than mourn ? To see my God, 
 
 Our Grod, thus smite the earth, smite us, smite me; 
 
 Remand his angels to their sinless bowers — 
 
 Leaving the lone sky longing for their plumes, 
 
 The mute air languishing for their musical songs; 
 
 And then withdraw Himself; shut up His power, 
 
 Or use it still in chastening : and withhold 
 
 His wisdom, or in mystery employ : 
 
 And only show His love in one more form; 
 
 That all-surpassing and astounding plan — 
 
 Sending his only and beloved Son; 
 
 "A inan of sorroivs and acquaint' with grief:" 
 
 To bear all possible infamy and scorn, 
 
 Until, in wild rejection of his call. 
 
 His chosen people hang him on the cross ; 
 
 And then — with all the curses of the world 
 
 Held to his lips in gall; pour'd in his ears 
 
 By vOest irony ; abotit his brow 
 
109 
 
 Twisted with piercing thorns; and to his feet, 
 And in his hands, nail'd fast with cruel skill — 
 To turn away without one murmuring word, 
 And, while the holy baptism of his blood 
 Sprinkles the sinfal sphere, to lift his eyes — 
 Tearless, or only wet for others' woe — 
 To lift his heart, with every pulse unstirr'd. 
 Except by deathless love ; and lift his voice, 
 With not one tremor of his own deep pain, 
 In pity's sweetest and most earnest prayer — 
 " Father! forgive ! they know not what tliey do!" 
 0, God ! I can but weep ! 0, Christ ! my heart. 
 My stricken heart, melts in me and o'erflows ! 
 
 And is this heart, even yet, the haunt of sin ? 
 Jesus ! — expel the demon ! Speak, Lord, speak ! 
 The very swine would rather die, than live 
 With such a spirit in them — seek the lake. 
 That, where they perish, floods on floods may wash 
 The foulness from their nature so defiled. 
 Son of the living Grod ! am I a man ? 
 And yet — so fallen ? And are my brethren thus ? 
 0, for a Plaintive Harp ! — the saddest strain 
 Becomes such woe. 0, let me ever weep ! 
 Dry be my eyes in death, cold be- my heart, 
 And still my tongue, when I no longer feel 
 The shame and sorrow of a sinful world. 
 
 III. 
 
 Grive me a Joyful Harp — a world redeem'd 
 Demands rejoicing. Humbled though we be. 
 In all relations : mourn though well we may — ■ 
 We must not mourn as those who have no hope. 
 10 
 
110 
 
 I see redemption in tlie Book of God ; 
 
 I see it in the progress of the Churcli ; 
 
 I feel it in myself — the lifting up 
 
 Of a truth-'lumined mind; the lifting up 
 
 Of a love-hallow' d heart; the lifting up 
 
 Of a regenerate nature, born of G-od. 
 
 Sin, all disclosed, is utterly ahhorr'd : 
 
 Satan's arch malice, and our own sheer shame, 
 
 Can never he forgotten. God's ways shine 
 
 Higher than man's as heaven above the earth. 
 
 The moral nature saved, prepares the way 
 
 To save the mind; and then, the body save. 
 
 The sinful thus grows pure; the base becomes 
 
 Exalted; rises thought, affection, will — 
 
 The whole soul rises, heavenward; rising, shines: 
 
 Shines with recover' d splendors of the God; 
 
 Shines — in communion with the Only Strong ; 
 
 Shines — in communion with the Only Fair; 
 
 Shines — in communion with the Only Wise; 
 
 Shines — in communion with the Only Good; 
 
 Shines — in communion with the Only Glad; 
 
 Itself — strong, fair, and wise, and good, and glad. 
 
 Hope, like an angel, now suspends her lamp 
 Within the tomb : that, when the pilgrim comes. 
 His weary frame may rest in th' evening shade 
 Without a fear — dreaming of heaven all night. 
 Close by its gates, to waken at the dawn 
 And find them open, and his passport good, 
 And joys immortal 'waiting him within. 
 
 Meantime, Christ grows more precious to the soul. 
 And more the Spirit; more the Holy Word ; 
 
Ill 
 
 The Churcli, and all things good in earth and heaven 
 Like a heal'd blind man, gazing on full noon, 
 He wonders at the gloom of earlier life, 
 As much as at the glories round him now. 
 
 So one is saved, and this — the type of all. 
 
 All may be saved : and so, the earth itself, 
 
 Relieved of its old curse, re-wrought in fire, 
 
 Fairer than Eden all around its sphere, 
 
 Shall breathe, and bloom, and smile, and sing, and shout — 
 
 Salvation ! Not a tomb — in soil or wave, 
 
 And not a sigh — ^in all the healthful air, 
 
 And not a tear — ^in all the fruitful dews. 
 
 And not a grief— in all the boundless bliss ! 
 
 One word for all — give me a Joyful Harp : 
 
 Eternal life demands eternal praise ! 
 
THE FIRS.T MAN. 
 
 "These are the generations of the heaven and the earth when they were 
 ci'eated, in the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens. And 
 every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb of the field 
 before it grew; for the Loed Gob had not caused it to rain upon the earth, 
 and there was not a man to till the ground. But there went up a mist from 
 the earth, and watered tlie whole face of the ground. And the Lord God 
 formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the 
 breath of life; and man became a living soul." — Genesis ii. 4r-7. 
 
 — Light rose the morning mist, 
 
 Througli calmest regions of untainted air, 
 Touoti'd as it rose, with, brightest, warmest tints 
 Pour'd from a sun, unspotted, uneoHpsed ; 
 And far disclosing, by its soft ascent, 
 A scene surpassing all that genius dreams. 
 When beauty's choicest visions charm the soul. 
 
 So fresh, so green, so blooming, all below : — 
 So white the pebbles, gleaming from the depths 
 Of clear, cool waters, gently gliding round; 
 So fair the flowers that lean'd along the marge, 
 More splendid in the mirror, upward turn'd ; 
 But fragrant, as they droop'd and blush'd above; 
 So graceful every motion, every shape 
 Of woodlands, mellow'd with an emerald hue. 
 Dawning through foliage with no faded leaf; 
 So loving every action, every look 
 
113 
 
 Of living wonders, filling wood and wave 
 
 "With frolic mirth by evil undisturb'd; 
 
 So winning and entrancing countless birds, 
 
 Up warbling gayly, with no pause of fear. 
 
 Songs blent with sweets from blossoming homes of bliss. 
 
 So wide, so high, so glorious, all above : — 
 So dazzling, to the eagles' glance, the sun; 
 And so intensely blue, the boundless sky. 
 Through whose dim distance breezes slow and bland 
 The melting mildness of the mist withdrew. 
 
 Realm, subjects, court, in grand array complete; 
 Why comes not forth the crown'd and sceptred king ? 
 A world in waiting for its god-like chief. 
 Why lingers yet the pomp of peerless power ? 
 
 A bowery slope, with bloom and verdure soft. 
 Opening on park and plain, in sun and shade, — 
 Selectest loveliness of earth and sky, — 
 Eeveal'd the noblest of all forms Divine, 
 The mold of man ! 
 
 The air was hush'd with awe; 
 The grove, intent, as every leaf in thought; 
 Sport 'neath the branches stood unmoved ; above, 
 With folded plumes, in silence, music gazed. 
 
 Unconscious yet, the perfect structure lay. 
 It was not DEATH ! The air had never known 
 The coming spectre, breathing, claim its sphere; 
 The waters had not darken'd to their depths, 
 Or shudder'd in the shadow of his wings; 
 10* 
 
114 
 
 The earth had never quaked beneath his feet, 
 
 Seal'd by their print, a common sepulchre; 
 
 Nor in that ample frame had active warmth 
 
 Evolved and been exhausted ; no decay. 
 
 Obstruction none, nor aught of fatal sign 
 
 Invoked the grave ! And yet it was not life ! 
 
 Nor swoon, nor trance, nor any accident 
 
 Of vital being held its empire there. 
 
 And sleep was not; no sense had been awake. 
 
 No pulse was yet in motion; in the brain. 
 
 No outward image, no perceptive mind. 
 
 A statue ! — not from adamant cut out, 
 
 With superficial gloss of solid mass; 
 
 But wrought from dust, with transformation strange, 
 
 To bone, flesh, blood; without, of port sublime; 
 
 Within, of rarest wisdom ; only known 
 
 To Him who made it; ready at His touch. 
 
 To start ! — with thousand instincts quick inspired. 
 
 A matchless work. The common elements 
 
 In glorious union, such as earth and heaven 
 
 Had none to rival. Angels there beheld 
 
 Innumerous symmetries, which Grod alone 
 
 Could harmonize in thought ; which God, Himself, 
 
 Imbodying, deem'd the glory of His skill, — 
 
 The image of His own Communing Form ; ^ 
 
 All dignity and beauty blent with grace ; ^ 
 
 And over all a faint-diffusing tint, 
 
 A glowing prayer to catch the flame of life. 
 
 It seem'd the pause were purposed that the Sire, 
 Pleased with His ofispring, might demand of all 
 If such a shape became the lord of earth ? 
 
115 
 
 And all the native ranks gave glad assent; 
 Sucli mild, subduing majesty went forth, 
 From that Unliving One; and all on high, 
 Spirits of power, of beauty, and of speech ; 
 Spirits of order, government, and law; 
 Spirits of life, health, immortality, — 
 All witnesses of all the works of Grod — 
 Exulted in the fitness of the choice. 
 And hail'd the Coronation of the Man ! 
 
 Hie Breath of Lives I 
 
 And instantly arose, 
 Flush'd with the fire, the Father of the World ! 
 His soul was in a trance of truth and bliss, 
 Thought and affection filling first with G-od, 
 Admiring and adoring : promptly sage 
 To know all facts, relations, ends ; and soon 
 Opening his senses to the realm around ! 
 
 A deeper silence held the subject sphere: 
 Watching those wondrous eyes, whose starry glance 
 Pierced the- dark glen, o'er hill and valley shone, 
 Reposed enraptured on the ardent sun. 
 And gave the whole calm circle to the mind. 
 Then gush'd the sound of waters on his ear. 
 Fresh inspiration ! Whispering brooks came close, , 
 And, hurrying through the gloom, again look'd back 
 From distant sunshine ; and the solemn roar 
 Of unseen falls, from forests moist with spray, 
 Remoter homage brought subdued and slow. 
 Quick, low and sweet began, and swelling rose, 
 The myriad welcoming of half-hid birds, 
 
116 
 
 The near leaves trembling with their trill'd delight; 
 While, self-recover'd from that royal glance, 
 The lion, rising in his wild retreat, 
 Pour'd the hanght thunder of a stronger life! 
 Woke, too, the wind — and touch'd the tissued nerves 
 With most delicious coolness; while the flowers 
 From dewy censers flung their perfumes forth; 
 And all the scene, released from its restraints, 
 With nobler charms than when so brightly still, 
 Waved shadowy round; and he — the lord of all! 
 Shook, as a child in joy, his manly looks! 
 
THE FIRST WOMAN. 
 
 His Maker knew, as Adam strangely felt — 
 " It is not good for man to he alone." 
 But — where his mate? In what retreat of love, 
 Veil'd her fair charms the semblance of himself? 
 Did Paradise indeed embower such bliss? 
 
 Soon — led by that same Hand whose care supreme, 
 
 In after age of doom, conducted far 
 
 To Noah's ark, their wilding progeny; 
 
 Wild, fierce, or fearful then, because of sin — 
 
 In long procession, gay and beautiful, 
 
 The tribes of earth and air, before their lord. 
 
 On foot, or wing, in various order pass'd : 
 
 And, as they pass'd, the peerless genius, taught 
 
 To read the mind of G-od in all His works, 
 
 Knew at a glance and rightly named them all. 
 
 Still, unrelieved, the thought oppress'd his heart, 
 
 That all he saw were twain, and he — but one ! 
 
 The mammoth's mount of life moved massive on — 
 
 An humbler mountain moving at his side : 
 
 The lion, with his shaggy mane, appear' d — 
 
 A smoother neck oft leaning on his own : 
 
 The light gazelle, on lightest hoof, drew near — 
 
 His mild eye met by mildness softer still : 
 
118 
 
 And so the birds — like twin affections, doves, 
 Tipping their wings, in silent rapture flew : 
 The peacock turn'd his glories in the noon — 
 While meekly peok'd along his plainer mate : 
 And, shadowing as they came the verdant scene, 
 Together stooping to the topmost branch, 
 With slowly-closing plumes and eyes of fire, 
 Sat, side by side, the eagle and his queen. 
 
 But neither earth nor air reveal'd a grace 
 
 Fit for the fondness of the prince of both — 
 
 Lord of a world of life, yet all alone, 
 
 Not even in heaven itself was nature found 
 
 To make his meet companion. Space was void — 
 
 Nor sun, nor planet furnish' d mate for man. 
 
 And so, all Eden; and the grander globe; 
 
 And kingship over all; wisdom that none 
 
 Hath ever since approach'd; knowledge, with joy 
 
 In objects known; and holiness, unstain'd; 
 
 And visiting angels, dropping from the sky 
 
 Like showers of stars, and hovering round his path 
 
 As ministers of truth and ecstacy : 
 
 All fail'd to fill the want of one, whose heart 
 
 Should pulsate like his own; whose eyes should hold 
 
 His constant image, and themselves discern 
 
 Shining in his, with bliss of blended souls; 
 
 Her voice, meanwhile, in soft seolian tones, 
 
 Passing the open entrance of his ear, 
 
 And playing on the trembling chords of love. 
 
 In Him alone was hope, who woke the want: 
 Want waked so soon — so well to be supplied. 
 
119 
 
 Ere long, of victors gentlest, sweetest, came, 
 
 Calmly and unobserved, benignant Sleep. 
 
 A helpless captive, form and soul possess'd, 
 
 Down lay, all still and motionless, the man. 
 
 As though it ne'er had been — the world was not : 
 
 As though he ne'er had lived — he senseless lay: 
 
 Yet different from his first and pale repose, 
 
 Before the breath Divine had thrill'd his frame; 
 
 For now, throughout, a genial warmth prevail'd, 
 
 And all his surface glow'd with living flame. 
 
 There too the soul, unconscious, dwelt serene : 
 
 Immortal mystery, akin to G-od, 
 
 But lent to earth and longing for the skies. 
 
 Strange jewelry! that thus a diamond set, 
 
 To which the sun itself is but a spark, 
 
 Lost soon as seen. No dream awoke within : 
 
 As deep as death the spell from which arose 
 
 Another life — a finer, fairer life : 
 
 As from the darkest night the meek-eyed moon. 
 
 Unseen and quietly, creative Power 
 
 Fulfils its last design. A starting form, 
 
 Of startling loveliness; with timid soul, 
 
 Of purest love; threw back her flowing hair; 
 
 Gazed on the motionless sleeper; cast a glance 
 
 On her own rounded limbs; and turn'd, and look'd. 
 
 Wondering at every range of heaven and earth : 
 
 Then gazed again upon that slumbering shape, 
 
 And wonder'd more that one so nobly wrought 
 
 Should lie so still — ^with such a thoughtful brow. 
 
 Should seem so dull, in such excess of joy. 
 
 She would have touch' d him; but an instinct check' d 
 
 Her taper finger and extended arm. 
 
120 
 
 There stood the beauty of the beauteous -world ! 
 Man was the golden crown on nature's brow — 
 Woman, its frontlet gem, o'ersparkling all. 
 To him — the sun and earth, rocks, hills, and trees, 
 Transferr'd their dignity, and pomp, and power : 
 To her — the gentlest yieldings gave their grace; 
 And all the lights and perfumes, tints, and tones, 
 Of stars and flowers, smooth shells and merry birds. 
 All rare and comely things, combined to make 
 Her volatile and glancing charms complete. 
 
 Not long, or far, the fairest of all forms, 
 Wander'd, •'midst bloom and music, rapt, alone — 
 Before the noblest, new-created, rose. 
 
 His prospect now was dearer than at first. 
 
 All things, like groups of well-remember'd friends. 
 
 Restored to love, as he restored to life. 
 
 But oh! what happy state of mind and heart 
 
 May prompt the word to touch the one sweet chord 
 
 That quivered with its most exquisite bliss, 
 
 When, beaming from a bower of roses near. 
 
 He first beheld — and felt, as soon as seen. 
 
 The lovely one his own — the living eyes 
 
 Of timid Eve, half blushes and half smiles ; 
 
 In body, one — the image of himself: 
 
 She, form'd from him: his rib removed, to make 
 
 His heart defenceless — heart already full 
 
 Of her first arrows: she, of such a curve, 
 
 From such a place, contrived, to show her task — 
 
 To curl around his heart and guard it well : 
 
 In soul, yet separate — but soon to be 
 
 lu sympathy and thought forever one. 
 
121 
 
 What words are left of early springtide hours, 
 Wherewith their meeting and their love to tell ? 
 Bye searching eye, soul flashing into soul, 
 The bridal, and the blessing, and the joy. 
 Sing, all ye birds ! — yet where the soul of birds? 
 Sadly, though sweet, their delicate music fails. 
 Tell it, ye angels ! — ^but the angels lack 
 The glowing softness of the thrilling form — 
 Sublime their speech but gloriously cold. 
 Let thought and sense their own communion hold, 
 The one, subdued by tender things of earth ; 
 The other, consecrating all to heaven. 
 
 Nature no longer now defective seem'd — 
 The man's defect reproaching all its sphere : 
 But, woman gain'd, creation stood complete. 
 The paradise was perfect — all the world 
 Might well have wish'd its overflow of bliss. 
 Life lost in life, love merged in love, they moved 
 In transport none could heighten : knew their God, 
 Enjoy'd His works, and honor'd all His ways. 
 
 11 
 
MELTING THE ICE: 
 
 A PLEA rOE RESEKVED PEOPLE. 
 
 Prom shore to shore, the Stream was bound with ice- 
 Ice thick enough to hear the delicate feet 
 O'th' lonely snow-bird, pecking for a drink; 
 Nay, thick enough to bear the dainty cat, 
 And little girl, and the girl's nurse-maid too; 
 Nay, thick enough t' endure the sudden shook 
 O' th' shouting sohool-boys, rushing from the hill. 
 All sliding, sledding, skating; joining hands 
 In circling groups, and stamping long and strong 
 To hollow tickly-benders — but in vain; 
 Nay, thick enough to bridge the massive mail, 
 Down rattling from the pike, and trotting o'er 
 With sixteen iron hoofs, four grinding wheels, 
 Seven bags, ten trunks, and nine fat passengers; 
 In a word, to say no more, that ice was thick — 
 And 'tis not strange, that all the trees around; 
 And all the hills whereon the said trees grew; 
 And all the airs that lived among those hills; 
 And e'en the moon and stars, which like to see 
 Their miniatures on the breasts of brooks they love ; 
 And e'en the sun himself, who seeks a smile 
 In quick reflection of each smile he gives ; 
 It is not strange, I say, these all agreed — 
 
123 
 
 " That ice-bound Stream is quite too nrnch reserved; 
 
 Unsociable, shut up within itself, 
 
 Not to become acquainted with at all." 
 
 " What shall be done," said they, "to break the ice?" — 
 
 Without due thought concluding, in their haste. 
 
 It must be broke, and 'twas high time to break it. 
 
 So, as the boys and stages fail'd, next came 
 
 A host of axe-and-hook-men, with their teams. 
 
 For stores to cool the coming summer's heat. 
 
 Then flew the ice-chips; then the floating cakes, 
 
 Struck by the hooks were safely drawn ashore ; 
 
 And through the chasm, at last, the Stream appear'd. 
 
 Ah ! vain disclosure ! Ere the morrow's morn, 
 
 Another crystal roof conceal'd its flow. 
 
 What now remain'd ? " We'U break it by main force ! " — 
 
 Exclaim'd the Winds : and down they drove their blasts, 
 
 Roaring like thunder through the frozen gorge. 
 
 Not an edge started, not a rent was seen ! 
 
 The axe-men's chippings, and the sparkling scales 
 
 Left by the skaters, and the drifted flakes 
 
 Of the last snow, whirl'd whitening from the scene : 
 
 But the smooth channel, smoother than before, 
 
 And brighter too, lay just as hard and cold. 
 
 " Take clubs to help you!" — cried tV impatient Woods: 
 And handed to the Winds a thousand boughs, 
 And some dead stocks entire — ^but still in vain. 
 The heavy stocks, with wide-spread tangling roots, 
 Caught various rests along their uneraok'd course ; 
 And the light branches scream'd with very shame. 
 As o'er the unsoratoh'd glaze their splinter'd twigs. 
 Still seeking rest, yet restless, fled dismay'd i 
 
124 
 
 " Take rocks to help you!" — cried th' indignant Hills : 
 And down the orashing land-slide crushing came. 
 Then countless icy fragments leap'd aside, 
 Piling their glittering mounds from shore to shore ; 
 And, like a wounded whale, that in its pain 
 Spouts brine and blood together, so that Stream 
 From every crevice toss'd its turbid jets, 
 Showering and surging round the fallen wreck. 
 "Hurra!" the echoing echoes echoed all: 
 " Hurra!" — but, while the moon and stars look'd on, 
 A frosty film crept slowly o'er the wave, 
 And ere the dawn 'twas well-set ice again. 
 
 'Twas plain that in the sun the last hope lay ; 
 And he to milder measures seem'd inclined. 
 He even deign'd to smile upon the Stream, 
 But so ohliquely that it did no good ! 
 
 Meantime, alas ! within the under-gloom 
 
 Of that imprisonment, the Stream ran low. 
 
 Lamenting its sad lot ; with all its soul 
 
 Wishing the ice were gone, and all around 
 
 In friendship's full communion freely join'd : 
 
 But said — " The help rrmst come from those icithout." 
 
 And so — for well he understood it all — 
 Each day the sun bestow'd a straighter ray. 
 And then, forsooth, the quickly-conscious airs 
 Grew warmer-hearted ; and the reddening trees 
 Show'd a congenial glow in all their limbs; 
 And the moist hills, along their greening slopes. 
 Gave sign of better cheer j and some one said — 
 " Perhaps the Stream is less to hlame tham, we: 
 Lets concentrate the heat, and try again!" 
 
125 
 
 Eftsoon, 'twas marvellous to see the ice, 
 Relenting to that change, begin to melt — 
 To melt, not break : to melt in all its course, 
 Not yielding at one point, but everywhere : 
 Until — the axe-men valued it no more ; 
 The stage-men check'd their steeds upon its verge; 
 The tickly-bender boys shrunk from 't, afraid; 
 The foolish maid, fond child, and dainty cat, 
 Ay, even the smallest bird, no footing found — 
 And the last fragment floated off forever ! 
 
 And then, to see that Stream — so "much reserved, 
 Unsociable, shut up within itself. 
 Not to become acquainted with at all" — 
 To see it kiss the miniature of the moon : 
 To see it telegraphing all the stars; 
 To see it smiling on the smiling sun ; 
 To see it dimpling to each whispering air; 
 To see it shadowing under every hill ; 
 To see it rustling 'neath each rustling tree ; 
 To see it imaging every little flower. 
 And every grass-blade bending o'er its brink ; 
 To see it bathing every wild bird's wing; 
 And gliding with the cygnet and her brood ; 
 And scooping little eaves for timid fish — 
 Where th' arrowy trout, o'erhung with matted brush, 
 Suspends its spots and waves its fins in peace ; 
 To see it giving drink to all that lives. 
 And making all its course a paradise : 
 And then, to hear it talking, day and night,^ 
 Talking as though its tongue could never tire. 
 Talking to every old neglected log. 
 And every jutting root, and ruffling stone, 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 And gray-hair'd rock, and miller's wheel and dam : 
 Oil ! surely 'twould have bless'd your heart to see 
 And hear all this ! and so, at last, to learn — 
 That, of all free, familiar, genial things, 
 In all the world, that Stream — so " much reserved. 
 Unsociable, shut up within itself. 
 Not to become acquainted with at all " — 
 That Stream — whose ice was best removed by warmth- 
 Was, after all, the Peerless Paragon! 
 
SOUND OF THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN. 
 
 I, who of late so seldom touch the harp 
 Which nature, at the gate of life, bestow' d — 
 To cheer my wanderings through this weary world ; 
 Now sing once more a brief suggestive strain. 
 
 Last night, away from town, while lying awake — 
 
 My window opening on a moonlit scene, 
 
 Sky, wood and field — ^with the white fence athwart : 
 
 In the stillness of the house, the air, the light. 
 
 The sleeping cloudlets and the sleeping woods, 
 
 I listen'd, intent, for some relief of sound. 
 
 But, neither dog, nor fowl, nor aught that breathes, 
 
 Disturb'd the silence — save that a common chirp, 
 
 Nay, let me make the word — a common chiTn/p, 
 
 A chirp with a glass-like tinkle, ceaseless rose 
 
 From countless crickets, filling all the night. 
 
 Yet, soon, another and remoter sound 
 Began to search the ear. All even and low. 
 Then sharp and fast it came with urgent power. 
 Just as a servant, who has overslept 
 Her proper time, and in the kitchen turns 
 The coffee-mill with strong and rapid hand : 
 Or, as it nearer came, as he who stands 
 
128 
 
 Close by the curb, and with his heavy foot 
 
 Gives swifter motion to the moisten'd wheel, 
 
 And grinds the steadily-prest and fire-edged knife : 
 
 So, like the keen, continuous, earnest rush 
 
 Of these small instruments, that midnight sound 
 
 Sinuous, and sometimes finely-quivering, came — 
 
 Came quicker, weightier, mightier, meaning more : 
 
 Now, suddenly sinking : then, as suddenly. 
 
 Shooting from some obstruction : swelling out, 
 
 With, wooden roll ; then, thinn'd to an iron ring : 
 
 Seeming, at times, as if on one straight stretch 
 
 Through the open distance ; then, with changing tone 
 
 Of closer pressure, squeezing round some curve : 
 
 And so, on-hastening with augmenting roar, 
 
 Till — like a storm — ^it thunder'd glorious by ! 
 
 Then — lull'd again to silence absolute : 
 
 Silence of sky, and wood, and fenced field : 
 
 Or, broken only by that common chimp, 
 
 That chirp with a glass-like tinkle, rising shrill 
 
 Prom countless crickets, filling all the night. 
 
 So, from eternal stillness comes a Life — 
 That struggles till it fills the world with fame ; 
 Then sinks again to silence like the first. 
 Yet — stays its course, because we do not see ? 
 Or, sounds it less, because we hear it not? 
 
THE CATHEDRAL BELL. 
 
 Eight in the rush of the wind-driven rain, 
 Down dashing cold, and rattling roaring on. 
 Climbing the hill like thunder, o'er it sweeping 
 In hissing triiunph through the sudden void, 
 And so from hill to hill, from vale to vale : 
 Right in such rush of the drear Sabbath night. 
 Out rang that full, strong, soft Cathedral Bell ; 
 True to the moment, and as cheerily 
 As though all heaven were clear, the stars all bright. 
 The round moon beaming, and the streets all dry. 
 And throng'd with comfortable passengers ! 
 
 "Well" — thought I — " so it is : our Romanist friends 
 Outweather us I" 
 
 What more I should have thought, 
 Remains a mystery : for, while yet the bell 
 Diffused its gentle music through the gloom. 
 Like David harping down the wrath of Saul, 
 Or mercy, mediating with the storm — 
 Shrill as a fiend's shriek, struck the sky and fell. 
 The Rail-road steam-scream ! like a spear of sound — 
 A javelin of vocal agony — 
 
130 
 
 Flung by some lightning-hand, or fiercely shot 
 From some ballista of this peerless age ! 
 
 Then thought I — while the Protestant Bells join'd in : 
 " Not only are those Romanists punctual, 
 But Trade, that knows no Sabbath, drives ahead. 
 Through storm, and night, and winter, rolling out 
 The Fourth Commandment 'twixt the wheel and rail. 
 To gossamer thinness, and, from State to State, 
 Through scores of careless towns, still carrying on 
 Conscience, upon the cow-catoh, torn and bleeding. 
 Reddening the track for many a ghastly mile !" 
 
 Alas ! and can no hardihood be found 
 Among Christ's true disciples ? 
 
 Where are they ? 
 
THE TWO ANGELS. 
 
 (PESTILiatOE AT HOKFOLK AND FOKISMOCIH. — WAR AT SEBASTOPOl.) 
 
 Man's angel at heaven's gate stands deadly pale : 
 
 Her wings close wearily, her aching head 
 
 Leans on her hands, her hands the knocker grasp, 
 
 And with her throbbing heart her whole frame shakes — 
 
 Shakes, showering from her eyes most bitter tears. 
 
 In vain she tries to rap, her heart alone 
 
 Gives to the trembling knob a murmuring roll. 
 
 God's angel hears the sound, withdraws the bolt. 
 And seats the wretched weeper by her side. 
 "Whence, and why thus?" — she asks, in soothing tone. 
 "Alas!" — the mourner answers — "Has not God 
 Harden'd His heart ? Behold those desolate towns : 
 Three months of plague have fill'd a thousand graves !" 
 " Is this thy grief?" — the shining one replies : 
 "God's wrath is but the veil that hides His love. 
 But see yon smoking ruins, red with blood ! 
 There men themselves have wrought their chosen fate, 
 And three days' war show thirty thousand slain !" 
 Man's angel sinks, and, in her sister's lap 
 Hiding her face, weeps still more hopelessly. 
 God's angel smoothes the sad, dishevell'd brow, 
 And breathes once more: "Wait, sister! wait: 
 One hope remains. This day I saw the Christ 
 Eeview His host, and at the close He stretch'd 
 His sceptre earthicard !" 
 
A PLEASANT SPIRIT. 
 
 There is a Spirit in the universe 
 That God hath given to know all beautiful things, 
 All true things understand, all good things love, 
 All happy things enjoy, and all forever! 
 
 The devil deceived it once — and wrought great wrong : 
 All which it mourn'd not, but bewail'd the sense 
 Of its own sin and shame, its sympathy. 
 With all the excellence of its proper sphere, 
 G-rown dull — a grief that fast absorb'd its life. 
 
 So had it lain abandon'd until now. 
 
 Dying, ay, dead — forgotten even of Hope; 
 
 But when the Son of God came down from heaven 
 
 To save the world, His Father bade Him pause 
 
 By this lone weeper — weeping in the path 
 
 Of all the stars, as if no star went by; 
 
 'Mid angel songs, as if no song were sung; 
 
 'Mid all of truth, and good, and happiness, 
 
 As if these were no more — or not for it; 
 
 And kindly, gently, whisper blessed words 
 
 Of peace, and pardon, and immortal cheer; 
 
 And charm its vision with His humble guise 
 
 Of earthward grace and glory; and inspire 
 
133 
 
 Its rescued genius with a rarer art, 
 Than erst it knew, and service nobler far. 
 
 All this did Christ: and so, the comforted 
 Became a comforter — and is one still. 
 Long, long ago, when my dear mother saw 
 Her bosom brighten'd with her baby's eyes. 
 That spirit hover'd o'er us. Praise the Lord ! 
 Though that sweet mother needs such help no more, 
 It seeks me still. Redeem'd, and touch'd with love 
 For all of God in all the universe, 
 Methinks each pulse that leaves the Central Heart, 
 To thrill creation with its circling bliss. 
 Remembers it must pass my conscious being. 
 And bless me too. 
 
 What though these storm-clouds lower ? 
 This lightning gleams ? This thunder mutters round ? 
 This rain still falls? This pestilence still slays? 
 I KNOW THAT GoD IS LovE ! and in the sun. 
 His angel stands observant of the storm. 
 Knowing the death below it; and o'er all 
 Its upper plains and mounds, and pinnacles, — 
 Like isles of snow, and domes and spires of pearl, — 
 Powders dry sunshine, pours prismatic hues. 
 Breathes the live freshness of all fragrant airs. 
 Stations a seraph on each golden point, 
 And greets that spirit, rising through the' gloom. 
 With quick assurance all is fair above; 
 For sin, and shame, and storm, and plague, and death. 
 Are things of earth — and all in heaven is light, 
 x^nd health, and life, and love, and God — forever ! 
 12 
 
SYMPATHIES. 
 
 June 29, 1852. 
 
 (death op henky clay.) 
 
 This morn, close veil'd within its trembling nerves, 
 My spirit shudder'd at some mystic touch — 
 My feelings ebb'd tow'rd some mysterious woe. 
 The clouded sky, the warm and weeping air; 
 The languor of the scarcely-breathing world; 
 Studious confinement, and the waste of thought; 
 Left the exhaustion still but half explain'd. 
 
 Why this strange sinking ? True : the tolling bells 
 Now smite upon the ear : and Sabbath gloom. 
 Too quick return'd with more than Sabbath awe. 
 Has settled on the silent aisles of trade : 
 And homeward faces, hush'd with pale respect, 
 Bear conscious witness to the solemn cause : 
 And the check'd newsmen, softlier gliding on. 
 Give gentler handling to their funeral prints : 
 And dim-eyed readers see the instant flags 
 Drooping o'er distant capitals, and hear 
 The mourning of the bells in all the land : 
 
135 
 
 And, wondering at the ministry of art, 
 
 Share in the nation's simultaneous grief: 
 
 But these come after that strange morning ebb. 
 
 Is there a water level of our life ? 
 
 It seems as though old Erie had at last 
 
 Slip'd from its bed, and 'neath Niagara's bows, 
 
 Expanding brightlier for the glorious flood, 
 
 Had pass'd in grandeur to the welcoming sea: 
 
 And therefore now — this universal fall. 
 
 Alas ! the level must reform : but when 
 
 Shall all these shores, resounding through the past 
 
 With such a mellow voice of majesty. 
 
 Regain their lost magnificent height of wave ? 
 
 Is there a temperature of national life ? 
 
 And was it the abstraction of one soul 
 
 That gave our social sphere that common chill ? 
 
 That weakness in the motion of all hearts ? 
 
 That trembling in the net-work of all nerves ? 
 
 That sudden sinking of mysterious woe ? 
 
 And was it thus the loneliest student felt 
 
 The parting of an element that long 
 
 Had quicken'd all the millions of our land ? 
 
 If so— to G-od ! the Father of us all ! 
 
 Who, taking from us each inferior aid. 
 
 Shows, in its absence, that in Him alone, 
 
 II e live, and move, and have our heing — to Him 
 
 Be pledged anew eternal faith and praise. 
 
TRUE-HEARTED GRIEF. 
 
 While yet his morn of life was fresh and fair — 
 Ere its pure light was set ablaze with heat, 
 Ere its pure air was thick with troubled dust, — 
 I watch'd his stem, and leaf, and bloom of being: 
 A plant that might have blest a Paradise, 
 So graceful in its form, so foliage-rich, 
 Hues and aroma so delectable. 
 
 One might have pray'd, that, as the noon came on, 
 His delicate flowers should fold their charms and droop : 
 Then, in more gentle hours, with light as cool 
 And air as dustless as the hallow'd dawn. 
 Unfold again, to fall, (when fall they must,) 
 Replenish'd with the dews of penitence 
 Beneath the brightness of faith's evening star. 
 Dropping good seeds of immortality. 
 
 Alas ! that while the scene was all aglare. 
 All stifling, scarcely turn'd the height of noon, 
 His stalk, already wounded, leaves less full. 
 Bloom scorch'd and sanded, suddenly he felt 
 The fatal stroke, and in the desert fell. 
 
137 
 
 Ten thousand tongues ten thousand praises speak — 
 Admiring gifts which ne'er may be forgot : 
 But all our eulogies in sadness close, 
 Breathing ten thousand pities. 
 
 He who writes, 
 And he who reads, may well withhold their hands 
 From that pale brow, and beat their own poor breasts, 
 Uplifting each, with many tears, the cry — 
 " God! be merciful to me — a sinner!" 
 
 12* 
 
'BIDE YOUR TIME. 
 
 Printed on flimsy paper, paper-bound, 
 I am a poor, plain, grey, octavo book. 
 
 In eighteen twenty-four, in Scotland born; 
 Sometime, somehow, I cross'd th' Atlantic wave, 
 And in your Franklin Library found — a grave. 
 
 But lo ! this blessed day a stranger came, 
 
 And oall'd for — mie! The blank and silent awe 
 
 Of all the myriads round must be — imagined. 
 
 I could not see, but yielded to the touch, 
 And felt the thrills of long-suspended life. 
 
 The stranger bore me to his thoughtful home. 
 Placed me upon his table, scann'd mine eyes. 
 And found their lids all closed. Two Arguses, 
 With twice two hundred eyelids shut and seal'd, 
 Were symbols of the darkness of my doom. 
 
 With long, thin, white, smooth, flat, sharp instrument. 
 He open'd every eye. Heaven's light broke in 
 
189 
 
 Between the lashes, flashes fast on flashes, 
 Till all my face was fire, my spirit glorious. 
 
 Now, what so beauteous as the placid brow. 
 The radiant, ever-changing countenance. 
 Of a good book ? Even so my grateful heart 
 Is quite made up, that, as my friend turns o'er 
 Page after page, my life — my inmost life. 
 Shall mutely glance into his soul of souls, 
 And all that I can do to aid his quest, 
 Shall be both his reward and my chief rapture. 
 
 0, it is heaven to have an humble chance 
 Of doing good ! At last my time has come ! 
 Hear, ye despairing ! hear, and 'bide your time ! 
 
VISIT TO A MOTHER'S GEAYE. 
 
 The time that I had waited for, arrived : 
 
 The hour of evening gloom. Earth lay at rest, 
 
 And the bright stars were on their silent watch. 
 
 The village street — that had an hour before 
 
 Been gay with forms of childhood, youth and age. 
 
 In sportive walk, or conversation, joined — 
 
 Was all forsaken. Olden willows hung 
 
 Their long green branches nearly to the ground ; 
 
 But they, the laughing children — who had swung. 
 
 Dependent, there — were dreaming of new joys ! 
 
 The river-waves upon the grassy bank, 
 
 Shadow'd by ancient elms, made music still; 
 
 But white-robed maidens, leaning on the arms 
 
 Of tall youths, fondly, were no longer there ; 
 
 But in their chambers mused on plighted vows ! 
 
 The comfortable porches — where the old 
 
 Had met in converse, or, alone, review'd 
 
 The path of life, and cast an onward glance 
 
 Into futurity; or, turning, gazed 
 
 With smiles upon the willow-swinging boys — 
 
 The porches were deserted, and the old 
 
 Bow'd at their family altars, blessing G-od ! 
 
 Such was the hour, when, from my grandsire's door 
 
 I bent my steps to seek my mother's grave ! 
 
141 
 
 My soTil was glad that no obtrusive eye 
 Would note my path and errand; for I long'd 
 To yield my heart to grief, mine eyes to tears, 
 Where grief is full and tears most freely flow. 
 
 The fencing scaled, I stood among the graves. 
 There, searching in the gloom for ways between, 
 With careful step I shunn'd the sacred mounds, 
 Nor dared to trample on a fellow's dust. 
 The grave I sought was found — my Mother's Grave; 
 And I was there alone! No one to chide. 
 No one to draw me thence ; alone to muse, 
 To kneel in sorrow, weep, and call on Grod. 
 Oh ! how I prized that hour ! The starry night 
 Was dearer far than day ! the moaning wind 
 More musical than pleasant voice of friend ! 
 
 And can it be ? — my feelings prompted thus : 
 And can it be? My mother dead and here ! 
 This clay — is it her covering ? The tall stone — 
 Hath it indeed, her name ? I felt the stone ; 
 I traced the deep-cut letters with my hand. 
 And trembled as I found each letter true ! 
 I thought of Home, as once it was — of home 
 As brighten'd by a mother's smile of love. 
 How tenderly she loved us ! Emily, 
 My sister ! thou rememberest her love ! 
 Nay, ra.j young sister — even she can tell 
 How tenderly our mother loved us all ! 
 True, wealth was not our patron, and, at times, 
 E'en comfort seem'd departing; — true, her frame 
 Was wasted by disease and rack'd with pain; 
 But still her patient soul was rich in peace. 
 And the mild radiance of her eye and lip 
 
142 
 
 Imparted peace, as though ourselves were ill, 
 
 And she a healthful angel, kindly sent 
 
 To breathe delight upon our fainting hearts ! 
 
 I llnger'd with these thoughts. Each room of home 
 
 Had scenery that charmed me ; in the midst. 
 
 My mother, scattering blessings. Morning scenes, 
 
 Noon-day and night scenes, meal-time, study, prayer : 
 
 Bright winter scenes — when the warm fire was built. 
 
 And we all gather'd round it, wishing still 
 
 The welcome coming of our evening treat ! 
 
 Fair summer scenes — when every door was wide, 
 
 And the new-painted hearth was well adorn'd 
 
 "With boughs and flowers in humble vase combined. 
 
 The more I mused, a clearer light was thrown 
 
 On every picture, and my mother's form. 
 
 Her look — her motion — vivid were as life ! 
 
 I broke the spell ! again I wildly cried — 
 
 And can it be? — My mother dead and here! 
 
 My whole soul was impassion'd, and I bow'd 
 
 Beneath the power of passion all subdued : 
 
 For it was true ! — I could not shun the truth — 
 
 And s-uch a truth ! — God ! to think that there 
 
 My inoiher was corrupting I food for worms! 
 
 Others may scorn the body — call it clay; 
 
 A poor clay tenement, unworthy thought; 
 
 A casket — valueless, but for its gem. 
 
 But long as memory can repeat the phrase, 
 
 "You had a mother !" shall my tongue refrain 
 
 From such dishonor to the sacred dead. 
 
 I loved my mother's form — around it twined 
 
 My best affections. Spirits are unseen, 
 
 Unheard, unfelt. I knew my mother's soul 
 
143 
 
 But through the loving eye — the gentle voice, 
 And lip of fondness, kissing my young cheek. 
 I loved her eye — it beams upon me still ! 
 I loved her voice — ^it still consoles mine ear ! 
 I loved her lip — behold ! the smile is there ! 
 Alas ! 'twas but a dream ! ag-ain I wake : 
 The eye — the voice — the lip of love, are lost! 
 Oh ! how my spirit struggles, as I cry — 
 Say, can it be ! my Mother dead and here ! 
 Aye ! wasted — mouldering — every part dissolved ! 
 
 ' Twas then that God vouchsafed my troubled soul, 
 
 A glorious emblem of my mother's bliss. 
 
 I had knelt down, and o'er the grave's-head bent; 
 
 And there, at the wild prompting of despair, -^^ 
 
 I call'd — ^in low tone — Mother! — and the wind, 
 
 As silently I paused, stirr'd the long grass 
 
 Upon the grave-top — but no voice replied ! 
 
 In mad self-mockery, again I spoke. 
 
 In plaintive tone, my Mother ! — ^but no sound 
 
 Broke the deep stillness ! Upward to the sky, 
 
 With heart relenting to the will of God, 
 
 Then turn'd my glance; and lo ! a meteor bright — 
 
 Bright as the morning's herald-star ! — shone out 
 
 From the blue distance, and athwart the sky, 
 
 On golden wing, with trailing glory, flew — 
 
 Till lost again in azure ; and I felt 
 
 The truth it taught — Your Mother is in heaven! 
 
THANKSGIVING FOR THE BIBLE. 
 
 The grateful utterance of a glowing heart 
 Accept, Grod ! My spirit burns to tell 
 Its debt of love. 
 
 Oh ! all-surpassing Book ! 
 A gift that worlds were far too poor to buy ! 
 The very hand that holds it thrills with joy; 
 The ardent eye is gladden'd by each page; 
 And when I press the treasure to my breast, 
 The deep pulsations quicken at the touch, 
 While, looking upward to the beaming sky, 
 And glancing at each star that sparkles there, 
 I feel my immortality ; and call 
 The earth a moment's stopping place — ^my home 
 The central heaven — ^the universe my range ! 
 
 Father ! I thank Thee. Heart, and voice, and harp. 
 With feeling, word, and music, yield Thee praise ! 
 
 What though the mighty Angel spread his wings 
 O'er hill and dale, and in the fatal shade 
 Thousands lie down and perish, and the wail 
 Of kindred thousands, weeping o'er the dead. 
 Alarm the land ; still may my soul obtain 
 
145 
 
 A short relief from sympathetic tears, 
 
 And, musing on Thy promises, grow calm 
 
 As saint who rests in heaven. Ay, should my friends- 
 
 They who would be, but for Thy warning voice, 
 
 The idols in the temple of my love — 
 
 Fall, one by one, till the grave held the last, 
 
 Still — oh ! forbid my holy faith should fail ! 
 
 Still — ah, my Grod ! stay, stay my fainting soul ! 
 
 Still, still, triumphant o'er vain fears — my heart, 
 
 My wounded heart, would leap with new delight, 
 
 And I would stand upon their tombs and shout 
 
 In hope of everlasting fellowship ! 
 
 My mother is in heaven ! The golden streets 
 Of Thine eternal city, and the plains. 
 That ever bloom around it, and the hills 
 That close the vast horizon, all adorn'd 
 With Thine effulgent glory — never saw 
 The passing shadow of o'erflying death. 
 My mother hath no fear! There, at her side, 
 Three cherub children, glad and beautiful, 
 Forever walk, and other kindred saints 
 Commune with her rapt spirit. 
 
 But on earth 
 A throng of loved ones breathe the tainted air ; 
 From some around whose wrinkled temples shine 
 Locks white as silver, to the new-born babe. 
 Lying in snowy raiment on the lap, 
 And wondering at his mother's earnest eyes. 
 And one, to whom my spirit can but cling 
 With most intense affection, walks the wards 
 Of a vast crowded mansion, where the poor, 
 13 
 
146 
 
 Rack'd by a hundred vices, daily fall, 
 
 And, in their dying agony, behold 
 
 Coffin and corpse, and know their fate the same ! 
 
 Ah ! shall my father — can I say it — die ? 
 
 I yet receive his frequent letters, fraught 
 
 With fondest love and pious confidence. 
 
 And shall the hand that writes them, write no more ? 
 
 Shall others send the black-seal'd note, to tell 
 
 His eyes are closed — his body in the grave? 
 
 And I be parentless ? How nature mourns ! 
 
 How would I love to break all bonds and rave — 
 
 Rave like a maniac, at a lot like this ! 
 
 But grace — all powerful grace — e'en then could swell 
 
 My soul with rich enthusiastic hope, 
 
 And lead me through this distant stranger-land 
 
 Light-footed, in expectance of my home I 
 
THE BIBLE. 
 
 Heedless of all iuferior claims of power, 
 Infallible authority I seek; 
 Authority Divine; reveal'd in form 
 That Sense may witness. 
 
 Where can this be found? 
 Tell, boasting sages ! where ? That such exists,' 
 Pale reason, faint with straying, fondly hopes; 
 And conscience warrants. 
 
 Sadly may the soul 
 Commune with nature ; question winds and waves, 
 Woodlands, and wastes, and haunts of busy men. 
 In darkness and in sunshine — all is vain : 
 Nor multitude nor solitude instructs. 
 
 No radiant lines on earth's expanse display 
 This priceless lore. The meadow's moisten'd mold 
 Soft with bloom-sprinkled growth of fadeless green, 
 And dark with fragrant wings of flocking airs, 
 Is blank and void. The mountain's rocky peak. 
 Alone because of height, still, pure and cold ; 
 Bright challenge to an empire's farthest gaze; 
 
148 
 
 What is it, but a nameless monument? — 
 An unmark'd altar, bathed with holiest dews, 
 Hung, morn and eve, with shrine of rose and gold. 
 But served by seraphs none may see or hear. 
 
 The ample sky in cloudless glory shines : 
 Grand, with its solar orb in central pompj 
 Rich, with its fulness of remotest stars; 
 Or beauteous with the pale and smiling moon, 
 Watching, with matron love, the sleeping sphere. 
 But all the golden urns that bless the eye 
 With streaming lustre, leave the spirit dark. 
 
 The early angels feel supreme constraint: 
 
 No plume enchants the dawnj and not a tone 
 
 Charms the bland quiet of the sunset air. 
 
 The prophets long have fail'd to lift their voice, 
 
 Seal'd in the silence of forgotten tombs; 
 
 The once-rejected Son is now enthroned; 
 
 Inspired apostles wake the world no more; 
 
 No more the Spirit, in the inward ear 
 
 Of souls that burn with rapture, breathes its fire — 
 
 Quick thoughts in living language; silent, all 
 
 Old oracles; all silent earth and heaven. 
 
 The Sire himself is mute; nor day nor night, 
 
 In crowded city or in lonely glen, 
 
 By one or millions is His utterance known. 
 
 'Tis most profoundly solemn — this repose 
 
 Of our Creator ! All things vocal round, 
 
 Only in Him alive ! Himself alone. 
 
 Unheard ! Unheard ! Our Father's voice unheard ! 
 
149 
 
 Where then shall mau resort ! Where find the law, 
 Supreme and universal? One to rule, 
 Though violated all on earth beside. 
 
 Behold ! a Book ! the Bible ! Book of Books ! 
 
 Take — read — and think. But hold with reverent hand ; 
 
 Regard with reverent eye ; with reverent mind, 
 
 Receive its truth. Then press it to thy heart, 
 
 Indulge thy grateful love, and, falling prone 
 
 Before the Essential Presence, bless His name — 
 
 Praise, ever praise for this excelling gift ! 
 
 I muse and am amazed. Books, countless books, 
 Countless as sands, and leaves, and flowers, and stars, 
 Yet here is one to which all else must yield. 
 As gems unto the sun — the Book of God ! 
 Genius draws near, ashamed ; and learning sighs, 
 Smitten with conscious folly. 
 
 Man may blow 
 A bubble — breath divine creates a world. 
 And yet the difference here is greater still ; 
 And it were better to destroy a world 
 To save a bubble, than destroy this book. 
 And let crown'd science reign from pole to pole. 
 
 13* 
 
A MAN IN HELL. 
 
 "Lost! lost! forever lost!" 
 
 And as the words 
 Startled my wondering soul, I turn'd and saw — 
 Walking upon the black and barren shore, 
 On which the liquid fire in billows dash'd — 
 A form of man; a ruin'd, haggard form, 
 With eyes of agony and frowns of woe. 
 
 "Lost! lost! forever lost!" 
 
 And as he spoke. 
 In worse despair he wail'd and gnash'd his teeth. 
 
 "Lost! lost! forever lost!" 
 
 And the firm tone 
 Told that the soul had summon'd all its strength, 
 To pour again upon the airy gloom 
 The sorrows of imprisonment in hell. 
 
 "As the strong wind a moment blows aside 
 Yon clouds of smoke, o'erhanging my abode, 
 I see afar the earth on which I dwelt. 
 Ha ! at the sound, again its calm, blue sky. 
 Its hills and vales, enrobed in dewy green, 
 And its cool, purling waters — aye! its founte, 
 
151 
 
 Cold from the rock ! — alas 1 my parched tongue ! 
 Curst be the power that brings such scenes to view, 
 That makes me seem to see, and hear, and taste 
 The streams refreshing, while my mouth and throat 
 Are dry and hot, and all around is fire. 
 And all above is suffocating smoke ! 
 Xo drop comes down — no oozing moisture here 
 Dampens the burning soil. How plenty there ! 
 When slight exertion flush'd my heathful frame, 
 The well was at my side, and the full cup 
 Supplied my thirst." 
 
 Again he gnash'd his teeth; 
 He wail'd, and as he wail'd he wept — wept tears 
 That stood like molten lead drops on his cheeks. 
 
 His voice was heard again : — 
 
 "Oh! more than fool! 
 Mad ! mad ! deliriously mad ! to choose, 
 Aye ! choose, the path that brought my footsteps here. 
 Oh ! I remember my dear mother's tears — 
 My father's prayers — ^my sister's loving words — 
 The preacher's warnings, and the Bible's too — 
 And the kind Spirit whispering to my heart 1 
 But, the world tempted — and I was its slave ; 
 My passions prompted — and I was their slave; 
 And he that governs here, and suffers most. 
 He lied, and I believed — and was his slave ! 
 And I am lost ! lost ! lost ! forever lost ! 
 Aha ! aha ! earth ! with thy blue serene — 
 And hills and dales in dewy freshness clothed — 
 And with thy rippling streams ! thy rippling streams I 
 Aha! thy rippling streams! farewell! farewell I 
 
152 
 
 And as he cried, a cloud of darkest smoke 
 Veil'd from his view his native star-like orb. 
 
 Again he walk'd the shore, with hurried pace, 
 
 And ever and anon he gazed above. 
 
 At length a parting in the clouds was seen, 
 
 Wide in the zenith — and he lifted up 
 
 His aching arm, and pointing to the space, 
 
 " There — there is heaven ! and let it shine ! shine on 
 
 Te gates, and walls, and palaces ! wave on 
 
 Ye trees of life, in pleasant breezes wave ! 
 
 And flow — ye living waters ! — gently flow ! 
 
 And bloom, ye banks ! in spring immortal bloom ! 
 
 Shine ! wave ! flow ! bloom ! as now, so evermore I 
 
 There are, of servile soul, unnumber'd hosts. 
 
 Angelic call'd, and sainted, who have bow'd 
 
 In coward homage to the haughty One, 
 
 To be his minions — to rejoice in heaven. 
 
 But never thus did I — nor would I now. 
 
 Should every angel come with winning voice, 
 
 And tell me, 'Kneel but once and heaven is thine 
 
 J }) 
 
 The lie was spoken, but it brought no peace : 
 Th' undying worm, that to his heart-strings clung. 
 More fiercely gnaw'd them ; and the poor wretch writhed. 
 Till due confession faltered on his tongue : 
 
 "Yea, I would bow; but now, alas! alas! 
 
 Too late ! too late ! release can ne'er be found — 
 
 For I am lost ! lost ! lost ! forever lost ! 
 
 "But even now my curse is not complete : 
 Fain would I hear these waves forever dash — 
 Forever breathe in this sulphureous night — 
 
153 
 
 Nor know a change. — But oh ! the hour will come 
 When I must leave these shades, and stand reveal'd 
 In all my ruin — in full glare of light — 
 Before the judgment seat! while saints shall gaze, 
 And angels, and shall tremble as they hear 
 The record of my crimes — all — one by one. 
 Told to the throng immense ! How that I call'd 
 Go(Vs word a lie! — the Holy Ghost repulsed! 
 And crucified the Son of God afresh ! 
 
 "Ha! shall my tender mother's tearful eyes, 
 My father's, and my sister's, see me then ? 
 Yes, they — array'd in ever-lovely youth. 
 White-robed and crown'd with glory fit for heaven, 
 Shall see my ghastly form — black from the pit, 
 And foul as hell — a loathsome thing accursed ! 
 Aye, they shall see me thus — and catch the sound 
 From Jesus' lips, confirming my sad lot : 
 ' Depart again to everlasting fire !' 
 And I — the reprobate of all; a lost, 
 An outcast soul; joyless, unclean, abhorr'd. 
 Shall come — with songs of angels, sights of bliss 
 Thronging my mind — to meditate with grief. 
 Upon the broad disgrace stamp'd on my soul. 
 Pull in the view of the whole universe ! 
 Shall come to bear the gnawings of this worm — 
 The burning of these flames — the a^ony 
 Of a soul used to hope, that cannot now 
 Conceive a moment in eternity 
 Of joy or ease." 
 
 And as he spoke, he shook 
 With woe unknown to words; but, as he shook 
 He still exclaim'd: "Lost! lost! forever lost!" 
 
THE MOMENT OF DEATH. 
 
 'Tis awfully sublime ! Behold her form, 
 
 How weak and thin — almost a skeleton ! 
 
 Her lips are pale, her brow and cheeks are white 
 
 As the new-fallen snow, and shine like pearl. 
 
 Her finest temple veins are visible 
 
 In all their violejlt outlines; her dark hair 
 
 Is sadly smooth and glossy; and her eyes. 
 
 Her full clear eyes are gloriously bright. 
 
 Her hour has come. And yet how sweetly calm ! 
 
 Think not her love has perish'd, for it burns 
 
 Upon its holy altar, with a flame 
 
 Purer than ever; and the weepers here 
 
 Are they who kindled it. That trembling one 
 
 Is her fond partner, and his wounded heart 
 
 Throbs with a pain his trembling cannot tell, — 
 
 Sharp, strong, deep, dreadful — aye, unspeakable ! 
 
 And this, in bud-like beauty innocent. 
 
 This is the babe she nursed upon her breast, 
 
 And kiss'd a thousand times, while in her arms 
 
 Asleep it lay with seraph dreams and smiles. 
 
 But she has given her loved ones to her G-od, 
 
 Who gave them first to her; and she is God's, 
 
 And therefore hath she now such perfect peace ! 
 
155 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a strange, and yet a blessed thing, 
 Thus to await the moment of her death ' 
 See how her bright eye wanders round the room 
 Gazing by turns on each familiar face, 
 And then looks up and flashes, as she saw 
 Some angel herald of her coming Lord ! 
 Mysterious ties are gently loosening now — 
 The bonds of flesh and spirit; slow unfold 
 The soul's immortal wings, strong with desire 
 To soar above the stars and wave in heaven. 
 Earth must grow dim and shadowy, as the light 
 Of glory, dawns, and gleams, and shines around; 
 And things of wonder now begin to throng 
 Upon her inward vision ! Yet she breathes 
 Softly as ever, and hath not one fear ! 
 But look — her eyes — oh how intensely bright ! 
 Her smile — how like an angel's ! — and her hands. 
 They wave ! — they wave ! — and hark ! her whispering 
 
 voice — 
 '"Tis Jesus! Jesus!" 
 
 She is with the Lord ! 
 
UNCHECKED VERSE. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO DR. <J. B.' — THE AUTHOR'S MOST INTIMATE FRIEND. 
 
 Let no accusing spirit vex my soul, 
 
 As though it were reluctant to its task. 
 
 'Tis more than willing — passionately burns 
 
 With quenchless ardor in its high emprise. 
 
 But, as a giant — who, in weight of mail 
 
 Full clad, would leap to hear some martial strain, 
 
 And swing his sword, and smite his sounding shield, 
 
 Light as a love-lass, lifted by a lute — 
 
 Shall yet be helpless in the narrow grasp 
 
 Of wrist and ankle fetters, look'd and left : 
 
 So, by these fleshly bonds, the mightier soul, 
 
 Chafed and enfeebled, scorns them, and yet yields. 
 
 What ! — coldly breathed, then madly shouted wild ; 
 What! — shrieks the offspring of eternity 3 
 Shall thus the nature that aspires to heaven; 
 That now, in vivid vision, crown'd with stars, 
 Wielding the comet as its flaming blade. 
 Bearing before its heart the silver moon, 
 Foot-wing'd with lightning, — lo ! on echoing clouds. 
 Strides in full pomp, — the mystery of Power! 
 Shall such a nature shrink within the guise 
 Of this soft sense, victim of fire and frost, 
 
157 
 
 Thrilliug with threatenings of disease and death, — 
 And, baffled in its most sublime attempts, 
 Pine, all uneasy, in its May-day home; 
 Wander, as restless, 'mong its fellows' homes; 
 Return, through sun and shade, and still pine on ; 
 Half frenzied that its pinions want their plumes. 
 And, mocking all its efforts, cannot soar ? 
 
 God only knows me ! Startling verity ! 
 My fellows are not witless of my name; 
 My friends, my fault of frankness fondly praise; 
 My father's memory holds my first hour's breath ; 
 My wife laughs out, assured she knows me well; 
 My children turn their quiet eyes on mine. 
 And witch me with my own identity; 
 But still my spirit, in its inner cell, 
 'Bides undiscoVer'd : like a hermit, looks 
 From cavernous shadows where none else intrudes, 
 Calm on the open sunshine of the world. 
 I call to them : I tell them where I am. 
 And what I am ; yet still they know me not. 
 Spirits there are, which I have never known, 
 Do they know me? Angels, of other worlds; 
 And men, of other ages; do they see 
 The secrets of my being ! Fiends from hell. 
 Can they in-penetrate. my inmost heart? 
 Spirits of loved ones — outwardly well known, 
 Xow disembodied — ^know me better they. 
 Now, than of old ? See they the fiery pulse 
 Of thought and passion flashing through my soul ? 
 Oft have I fancied thus, and since they left 
 The precincts of our union, been constrain'd 
 To holier walk to keep their purer love. 
 14 
 
158 
 
 But this is doubtful. Nay, with rising faith, 
 I dare assert eternal solitude! 
 Save to the eye of Him whose glance of light 
 Streams through me, as the slant and subtle sun, 
 Shoots beams innumerous through a drop of rain.* 
 
 But He alone ! 
 
 solemn, searching truth ! 
 Outward communion hath its countless hosts. 
 Each, still, an inward stranger to his peers ! 
 The conscious quickness known to One alone. 
 One in the universe ! To One alone, — 
 One, for eternity ! But He ! — bliss ! 
 The Good ! The Infinite Spirit ! Life of life ! 
 Thought of all thoughts ! Passion of passions ! All, 
 In all ! The Truth of truths ! The Love of loves ! 
 Holy of holies ! Joy of joys ! — My God ! 
 
 He knows me. All my sin, and all my woe; 
 
 My penitence, my faith, my hope, my love; 
 
 My faculties, facilities, and works; 
 
 Opinions, fancies, feelings — clear and vague; 
 
 However dark to me, to Him like noon ! 
 
 Knows me, all times, all places, all estates; 
 
 Day, night; home, far; sick, well; glad or distress'd; 
 
 Knows in all changes — wholly — evermore ! 
 
 I know not Him. I've heard His reverend name, 
 Heard His high attributes, and seen His works ; 
 And bow'd before Him, as the Soul of souls; 
 And call'd upon Him, as my only Hope; 
 
 * Suggested, I suppose, by a similar thought, in Bowring's Translation of 
 Derzhavin's Ode to the Deity. 
 
159 
 
 And loved Him as my Father and my Friend : 
 
 But more I may not — He is known to none ! 
 
 I — next to Him, as known to Him alone ! 
 
 He — everywhere, in all immensity ! 
 
 And everywhere, to all eternity! 
 
 Round all and in all — Breath — Pulse — Mind of all — 
 
 Unseen, Unheard, Unfelt, Unsearchable! 
 
 Father of spirits ! All good ! All glorious ! 
 Hear the lone prayer, of this poor panting heart I 
 Bless me ! Even me ! Father ! — bless Thy child ! 
 In life, in death; on earth, in heaven; in time. 
 And in eternity; alone, with else; 
 Gay, or in grief; or safe, or girt with harms; 
 Still, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost— One God ! 
 Still let Thy vital blessing on me rest : 
 Its light and warmth so filling all my soul. 
 That, one with Thee, I evermore may dwell 
 In Thee, and Thee in me — a sinful man, 
 Redeem'd and happy in the living God. 
 
INDULGENCE. 
 
 Blsoaso i-olontB. The mind awakes. Versification is an amusement. Ide- 
 ality acts wildly, but easily; and is permitted to act wildly, iiccawse it acts 
 e isily. Yet it is difficult afterward to reduce the chaos to order. But I con- 
 sent to the effort. 
 
 As, in the seeming close of this dull spell, 
 My subtlest powers are weary-worn and sad ; 
 I turn to Thee— Form of Fadeless Youth ! 
 Thou of the brightest eye and sweetest voice ! 
 First, fairest, loveliest charmer of my life ! 
 Ideal Seraph ! — turn to Thee, and seek 
 The thought and passion of Thy glorious song ! 
 
 Thine, all the heaven of truth— clear, cold, pure, bright 
 Thine, all the earth of love, — flower'd, fruitful, warm! 
 Thine ! Angel on the Sun-throne of the soul ! 
 
 Bereft of thee, with heaven of night and mist. 
 
 Truth swells its unseen amplitude in vain ; 
 
 While love's chill'd sphere its ripening vintage checks. 
 
 Dewy and drooping with infolded bloom. 
 
 But when the still, live glory of thine orb 
 
 Dawns, shines, burns, blazes, in our spirit's morn 5 
 
 Then early eagles gleam, aloft, alone; 
 
 Far-floating in the illimitable void; 
 
161 
 
 And flash, like swiftest wings from sinless worlds, 
 White, cliff-cast torrents, down a thousand vales ! 
 Or, so the vast of mind, disclosed, expands ; 
 And noblest thoughts in highest regions soar : 
 So, all the heart awakes ; hope's mountains glow : 
 Glistening, deep leap the holiest streams of joy; 
 Fruits feel the flush on all the hills of faith ; 
 Soft from devotion's groves sweet voices breathe j 
 And fragrance fills the violet vales of peace. 
 
 Seraph of the Sun ! thus centre-throned, 
 Lord of two worlds ! — not only downward beams 
 Thy glory, — though the common eye is blind ; 
 But, if such symbol thou wilt deign to know, 
 As some great diamond globe, with inner fire 
 Unshaded and most radiant in its flame. 
 Lights not alone the temple's tearful floor, 
 But scenes of bliss all round the pictured dome : 
 So, to the saintly vision, upward shine, 
 By smoke and cloud untouch'd, thy purest rays — 
 As if with spirit-thought to see their God, 
 And spread their poor, pale tribute at His feet. 
 Feebler than moth's the mightiest eagle's wing; 
 Darker than mole's, the brightest eagle's eye; 
 Compared to mine, companion of thy flight ! 
 Disdain my pinions rest in earthly shades, 
 And faint not when they wave above thy fires ; 
 The earth hath all its orbit in my glance. 
 The near sun mildly beams as distant moon. 
 And flames uadazzling all the heaven of heavens. 
 
 Sun Seraph ! thus I vaunt me of thy power — 
 Instantly prompt and infinitely full. 
 14* 
 
162 
 
 I fear to ask tliee for the least relief, 
 
 For, soon as ask'd, creation hears thy voice 
 
 And hastes to offer its exhaustless stores. 
 
 If I but sigh to see the world so drear, 
 Thou puttest to mine eye a little prism, 
 And cloudless sunbows color all the sphere. 
 
 I hear of heaven and long to see its bliss : 
 
 And all the stars whirl by me like a dream. 
 
 And sink, still whirling, far beneath my feet. 
 
 Till all their circles close in one, and that 
 
 Concentres to a point, and that is lost. 
 
 And round and round me breathe such living airs; 
 
 And in my very heart such music rings ; 
 
 And on my sight such boundless glory breaks. 
 
 Burning and burning, evermore to burn ; 
 
 That soon, as though immensity had pour'd 
 
 Its focal splendor on my soul alone, 
 
 And there eternity retain'd its power, 
 
 I fold my plumes, by.t find no gloom within. 
 
 And falling prone, lie trembling and adore. 
 
 Yet, while my body yields to these dull pains, 
 I win a pleasure in this wild escape 
 Of the tired spirit, and may not in vain 
 List to the rustling of its wayward flight, 
 Thus sporting, though more idly than a bird : 
 For, sometime will the precincts of the cage. 
 Be lone and still — and all the dream be real ! 
 
THE PLEASANT SURPRISE. 
 
 AN IMPROMPTU SKETCH OF A TRIFLINQ INCIDENT. 
 
 AwLile ago, I went across the street, 
 To see the carpenter. 
 
 His day's work done. 
 Chatting with two companions, with his coat 
 Hung on his arm, he sat upon a chest. 
 In seeming gladness of the sunset hour. 
 
 I show'd my draft; explain'd my little plan; — 
 Little, though link'd with worlds — and then return'd. 
 
 But, as I came, my lifted vision caught 
 
 An unexpected, unexceeded charm! 
 
 Though westward glancing, it was not the sun. 
 
 Or sun-lit cloud, or golden-azure air; 
 
 But nearer beauty that surprised my heart : 
 
 Two windows-full of faces — all my own ! 
 
 Some one, perhaps, first saw me cross the street; 
 
 And call'd the others. Quick, the living group 
 
 Gather'd to see their father. Well they laughed : 
 
 I, too, sedately, smiled. The straitest face, 
 
 Had lost its straitness, then. 
 
 From motherly arms. 
 Our youngest daughter, fatling Emily, 
 
164 
 
 Look'd down in wonder. Pale Matilda, too; 
 Anna Maria; Mary; Tom; and John: 
 All, — save our first-born, with my mother's name; 
 And last-born, with my father's; these, it seems. 
 Were elsewhere; she, her brother's fondling nurse- 
 All eager stood, with downward sparkling eyes, 
 And open mouths, still laughing, as 'the sport 
 Were something rich : at any rate, for one, 
 I look'd and smiled, and felt that I was rich — 
 And so lam! God bless my humble home! 
 
WASHINGTON AT PRATER. 
 
 Silence was on lier throne — the moon and stars, 
 Hush'd by her lifted sceptre, softly walk'd 
 Their azure pathway ; and the quiet earth, 
 Had not a rustling leaf, for the lull'd winds 
 Slept in the hill-side shadows, and the trees 
 Lean'd o'er their images, all dark and still, 
 In deep unruffled waters. 
 
 There were tents. 
 White in the mellow moonlight; where a host 
 Of weary warriors lay in such repose, 
 As though the camp had been a field of tombs. 
 And all the host were mouldering. Here and there 
 The armed sentinel paced to and fro. 
 Or wondering at the beauty of the scene, 
 Or, musing on the future, gazing sad 
 Upon his shadow, feeling that his life 
 Was transient likewise, and would disappear 
 In the night of death, as disappear'd the shade 
 When the moon darken'd and the passing mist 
 Made all its outlines blend in fellow gloom. 
 The instruments of battle, fraught no more 
 With human vengeance, lay as harmlessly 
 As when they slumber'd in their native hills— 
 
166 
 
 Untauglit to thunder and unstain'd with blood. 
 The banner thut had waved o'er fields of slain, 
 Was now its bearer's pillow, and lie drcam'd 
 With his head resting on rent folds, of love, 
 And fireside peace, and female tenderness. 
 
 That sleeping host concentred in itself 
 The hopes of a wide world. Fell Tyranny — 
 The fiend grown gray in shortening human life. 
 Who joys the most when joys mankind the least. 
 And scourges most who lowliest submit, — 
 Had spread his sails and push'd his giant prow 
 From a far isle, and o'er the trembling sea 
 Pursued his scornful course, and, landing proud 
 Upon this mighty continent, had eall'd 
 The nation to approach, and kiss his rod. 
 His helm was like a mountain, and his plume 
 Gloom'd like a cloud; his lifted sword far shone — 
 A threat'ning comet; loud his thunder voice 
 Demanded death or crouching; and his stamp 
 Shook the firm hills and made the whole earth reel. 
 Many had gone — led by the hand of Fear — 
 And knelt unto the monster, kiss'd his rod. 
 And pointed at their brethren's breasts their swords. 
 But these had seized their weapons, and stood up. 
 E'en in his very shadow, and his threats 
 Answer'd like men, and rang their shields for war. 
 But hitherto these valiant ones had fail'd 
 In the fierce confiict; and in rest were now 
 Waiting the morrow, and a deadlier shock. 
 
 But One was watchful in that silent hour. 
 Whose heart had gather'd to itself the cares 
 
167 
 
 Of all his struggling brethren, and was sad 
 That still Success was herald to the fiend. 
 Out from his tent he came, and when he heard 
 No sound, he joy'd to think that woe had not 
 So heavily press'd upon the sleepers' hearts 
 As on his own; and then he felt a weight 
 Still heavier fall upon himself, as thought 
 Pictured the thousands trusting in his arm : 
 The slumberers round — the nation's aged ones. 
 Whose dim eyes ceaseless wept o'er scenes of blood — 
 The mourning widows, clasping to their breasts 
 Their famish' d infants — and the virgins pale. 
 Bereft of love , and in the arms of lust 
 Dying a thousand deaths ! 
 
 On the bare earth. 
 He knelt, in suppliance meek ; and humbly laid 
 Beside him, his plumed helmet, and his sword, 
 Unsheath'd and glittering, and ask'd of God 
 To look on him, all helpless, and to bless 
 His nerveless arm with might and victory; 
 To smile on his worn warriors, and infuse 
 Spirit and fire in every languid pulse; 
 To frown upon the tyrant, and destroy ; 
 And bid the mountains sing from pole to pole 
 The song of liberty, and the free waves 
 Clap their glad hands and answer from afar. 
 
 Grod heard and answer'd ; and the Spirit of strength 
 Walk'd in the camp, from tent to tent, and breathed 
 An iron vigor through the sleepers' frames. 
 And in their hearts a courage ne'er to quail. 
 And Weakness sought the valley where the foe, 
 
168 
 
 Pillow'd upon a hill, stretoli'd his huge length 
 In cumbrous slumber; and his giant limbs 
 Grew soft as babe's; while Mockery soothed his soul 
 With dreams of speedy triumph and rich spoil. 
 And Truth came down, and charm'd the suppliant 
 With promise of deliverance soon to be. 
 And o'er the mountain-top came young Success : 
 The sentry had not hail'd her as she pass'd, 
 But shut his eyes in fright, and thought he saw 
 A ghost, nor dream'd that she could leave the fiend. 
 Washington rose in peace, replaced his helm 
 Upon his brow, and sheath'd his glittering sword. 
 And felt a power was on him none could stay ! 
 
 Oh ! I have read of chieftains who call'd out 
 Their banner'd multitudes, and circled round 
 The noon-day altar, and anon looked up : 
 While the white-bearded priest plunged deep the knife 
 In fellow flesh, and bathed himself in gore. 
 To appease the gods and gain celestial aid ! 
 And I have read of armies front to front. 
 Pausing in awful silence, with the match 
 Blazing o'er loaded cannon, and bright swords 
 Flashing in vengeful hands; while solemnly 
 Uncover'd chaplains bow'd between the foes. 
 And pour'd their mingling prayers — ere Death began 
 His sacrifice unto the Prince of hell ! 
 But this was gilded seeming ; a mere show 
 To warm the vassal soldiers to high thoughts. 
 And make them glow for carnage — not for right. 
 'Twas mumbling prayer to God, with lips profane. 
 While their hearts wish'd the answer of a shout 
 From the excited ranks — the cry for blood. 
 
169 
 
 They look'd upon their ■warriors, as their dogs 
 Are look'd upon by sportsmen; and they hoped 
 Such solemn mockeries might their men inspire, 
 As gentle pattings fire the unloosed hound : 
 And all their plan was but to curb their rage 
 Till it grew tierce, then burst the bands and urge 
 The hosts to slaughter ! 
 
 Pure Sincerity 
 Delights to kneel in solitude, and feels 
 God's presence most where none but God beholds. 
 And when I think of our high-hearted chief 
 Watching while others slept — swelling his soul 
 To sympathize with thousands, yea, to care 
 For others' cares, while by themselves forgot; 
 Joying to find Repose had quieted 
 The tents of all around, yet keeping far 
 Her presence from his own; and when I think 
 Of his divestment of self-strength, and deep 
 And fervent longing for Almighty aid — 
 I feel .as if Sincerity did smile 
 Upon that hour, and name it in her joy 
 The Eden of duration ! purest page 
 In the truth-written history of time ! 
 Surely that quiet scene was fraught with life, 
 And circling angels wonder'd while they heard 
 The hero's soul expressing secretly. 
 And sacredly, before the all-seeing God, 
 No care, no wish, but for his country's good ! 
 And wonder'd — nay, they wonder'd not that God 
 Should sanctify the life-destroying sword : 
 For 'twas thy sword, O sainted Washington ! 
 15 
 
THE GENIUS OF POETRY. 
 
 Oh that the glowing feelings of my heart 
 Could find a fitting voice — an utterance 
 To thrill the listener with due sympathy ! 
 Then should th' indignant numbers roll severe, 
 And with uncustom'd tones alarm the souls 
 Of thousands, tampering with the sacred lyre ! 
 
 My spirit burns with patriot love intense, 
 
 And swells with rapture, when the power of song 
 
 Loud from a native harp sends forth its spell; 
 
 But anger chafes me, when I hear the strains 
 
 Of puling sentimentalists, who vex 
 
 Their silken strings with touch so delicate, 
 
 That, but for empty echoists, the ear 
 
 Of silence scarce would vibrate to the sound. 
 
 Mere grasshoppers of poetry ! they chirp 
 
 The livelong day, upon the birth and growth 
 
 Of a poor blade of grass; and long discourse 
 
 Upon the freshness of a morning dew-drop ! 
 
 Their narrow sight, as narrow as their souls. 
 
 Feels no extension, never circuits round 
 
 The flowery verdancy, hills, oceans, skies; 
 
 Nor once beholds th' innumerous "shining ones," 
 
 That look from far upon their sister earth. 
 
171 
 
 The eagle, from his eyry in the clouds, 
 Waves his wide wings, and, soaring to the sun. 
 Gazes with unblench'd eye upon the blaze. 
 And, bathing there his plumes in golden light, 
 Scarce deigns a glance towards the speck beneath. 
 But they, like worms, in the heart of a red bud 
 Alone delight; and leave it not, until 
 Their poisonous slime has wither'd its young bloom ! 
 
 Genius of Poetry ! ere time began. 
 
 The ear of space delighted in thy harp ! 
 
 In some far region of immensity, 
 
 Where the first ray of light created gleam'd 
 
 Through utter darkness, thou wast call'd to being. 
 
 Then in thy hand was placed the holy harp, 
 
 And the awful voice of the Eternal Sire 
 
 Bade thee extol omnipotence and lovej 
 
 Waken dull silence to sweet harmony, 
 
 And lead the joys of myriad new-born souls. 
 
 Loud as thy numbers roll'd, the golden spheres 
 
 Moved to the music, wond'ring at the charm ! 
 
 'Twas then the laurel, of immortal green, 
 
 Bloom'd round thy brow, and joy ineffable 
 
 Burn'd in thy heart, and swell'd thy voice sublime. 
 
 When earth came forth in glorious array, 
 
 With flowery vales, and hills, and waters clear; 
 
 And overhung with azure, whence the sun 
 
 Effuses rich benevolence on all; 
 
 And where the nightly stars with ardent beams 
 
 Shine round the moon, like seraphs round the throne; 
 
 Then sang the sons of heaven, the morning stars, 
 
 Concerting with thy harmony, and space 
 
 Awoke her countless echoes, to prolong 
 
 The birth-ode of the new-created orb. 
 
172 
 
 'Twas thou, that — from the altar of high heaven 
 Bearing a living coal — the prophet's lips 
 Toueh'd with the sacred fire, hallow'd his heart. 
 And bade his tongue reveal the thoughts of God. 
 'Twas thou that tuned the Grecian voice to song. 
 And charm'd Italian skies with melody. 
 'Twas thou that came so sweetly from above, 
 To the shepherd watch on Judah's moonlit hills. 
 While wonder pointed to the starry crown. 
 That glisten'd o'er the huts of Bethlehem ! 
 'Twas thou that pour'd on Milton's shaded mind 
 Light from eternity, and gave him power 
 To vocalize the wonders that he saw : 
 The deathless horrors of all-writhing hell, 
 The undying glories of rejoicing heaven. 
 
 Genius of Poetry ! thou noblest born ! 
 Thy themes are as thy joys, rich and sublime. 
 Creation is thy range ; where'er a star 
 Sends forth a ray, thy wing is wont to fly. 
 And oft, where never roll'd an orb, away 
 In solitary, unillumined gloom, 
 Thou boldest high communion with thy God. 
 His omnipresent power and tender love, 
 Delight thy musing moments; and thy harp 
 Is richest and most eloquent in praise. 
 Thy quick perception gladdens in events, 
 To others hid; thou knowest sounds and views 
 Unheard, unnoticed by the grosser-born. 
 Where'er thy pinions wave, new pleasures rise 
 Sweet in thy breast, and eye, and ear, and all 
 Thy ravish'd senses wonder and admire. 
 The music of the spheres is heard by thee. 
 And angels ne'er may know its richest tones, 
 
173 
 
 Delighting thee; thou see'st a purer light 
 In every beam, than falls on other eyes ; 
 Colors have finer shades than others see, 
 By thee perceived, and when the thunder speaks 
 Loud from his midnight throne, thou dost discern 
 An import and a tone none else may know : 
 And in the lightning flash thou see'st a gla.nce, 
 That else who once beholds shall surely die ! 
 Does Beauty claim thine eye ? a fairer bloom. 
 More lovely grace, and look of sweeter power. 
 Voice more melodious, bosom holier, 
 'Tis thine to know, than aught beside create, 
 Can ever find : the azure of the sky. 
 The green of earth are fresher to thy view; 
 The flowers put on a lighter tint; the brooks, 
 A lucid quiet, known to none beside ! 
 Does Grandeur call thee ? Lo ! the boundless scene 
 G-lows with a living spirit; and thy heart 
 Swells with expanding rapture, high and wild. 
 And unexpress'd, save in thy thrilling song. 
 The ag^d forest bows his .hoary head, 
 In reverence, and waves his trembling arms 
 On high, to hail thy coming to his shades. 
 The mountains loftier lift their lofty heads, 
 And stand like giants guarding the sweet vales 
 Of humble peace, from the demoniac storm. 
 The seas explain to thee their mysteries ; 
 For thee the blue heavens cast their veil aside, 
 And sun, and moon, and stars come near, and show. 
 Unto thy favor'd eye their wondrous things. 
 Does Novelty attract thee ? things more strange 
 Appear in things the strangest, and a power 
 Alike peculiar, wonders in thy sight. 
 15* 
 
]74 
 
 The clouds assume all hostile forms, and wage 
 
 Celestial warfare; meteors on swift wing 
 
 Bear to the Prince of hell tidings of earth; 
 
 And comets, issuing from the eternal throne 
 
 To see if earth's iniquity is full. 
 
 Wave wide the threat'ning sword, — the startled sky 
 
 Shrinks from the horrid light, and pales with fear. 
 
 Earth listens, motionless, expecting still 
 
 The thunder of Destruction's chariot wheels : 
 
 And Time throws down his scythe, crushes his glass, 
 
 And, trembling, waits th' archangel's dooming voice ! 
 
 Genius of Poetry ! thine eye is bright. 
 Thy song is but begun ! Thou, who beheld 
 And sang the birth of every orb that shines, 
 Shall yet behold them desolate, and sing 
 Their requiem, when no echo will survive 
 To answer thy lament ! Then night, restored, 
 Shall soon forget that day usurp'd her throne — 
 And dwell in deeper darkness than was known, 
 Before a ray gleam'd trembling through the void. 
 Then shall a new creation, brighter far 
 Than even thou can'st image, ask thy song : 
 To celebrate a bloom to wither never, 
 A beauty still to be more beautiful, 
 A grandeur ever growing more sublime, 
 A newness ever changing, and a joy 
 Immortal as the ever-living God ! 
 
MELANCHOLY, 
 
 Again I vent my plaint — my troubled heart 
 Will pour its sorrows through the lines of verse. 
 Yet, verse is all too feeble to convey 
 My inward feelings. Vainly must my pen 
 Essay in words to tell my bitter anguish. 
 Ha ! could I speak my woes, the hardest heart 
 Would melt with pity; and the dryest eyes 
 Pour forth unceasing tears : for then, indeed, 
 Language would be but pathos. But, alas ! 
 They are too big for utterance : hollow cheeks, 
 And sunken eyes, and livid lips; my feet 
 Tott'ring beneath their load; my bended form. 
 Inclining to the grave ; and all the signs 
 That haggard misery stamps upon her prey. 
 Reveal but slightly that which gnaws my heart. 
 
 I've looked on nature, and have look'd in vain. 
 To find some emblem of my wretchedness. 
 
 I've thought a clouded star — one wholly pall'd 
 In blackest night, and wandering all alone 
 And useless; privileged no more to catch 
 The kindred smilings of the unclouded host; 
 Or glance its lustre on the waveless lake, 
 
i7r> 
 
 That loved to hold its imaaro in its bosom; 
 A star iuvolved iu tenfold midnight d:\vk 
 Might picture somewhat of tJie loneliness. 
 The desolate cheerlessuess that I endure. 
 
 Oft memory tells me of a tender bird, 
 
 Driven by tempests, till its wearied wings 
 
 Could Scarce expand. Then, gradually the storm, 
 
 Eelenting into kindness, died away; 
 
 And the dark parted clouds far offward roll'd, 
 
 And the bright sunshine broke upon the eai-th, 
 
 And all things gllsten'd in the glorious change. 
 
 Then, sinking gently towards the blooming earth, 
 
 The gladsome bird pour"d forth its gratitude. 
 
 In sweetest melody, as though each throb 
 
 Of its reviving heart declared its joy. 
 
 But. suddenly, ere yet its weary wing 
 
 Had closed witliin its nest, the gathering storm 
 
 Again returning, fiercer than before, 
 
 Whirl'd it away in breathlessness to gasp 
 
 Its life out on the bosom of despair ! 
 
 I've thought my fate has likeness to this bird's. 
 
 But still I show not half its bitterness. 
 
 I often muse upon the happiness 
 That gladdens my coevals: they go forth. 
 And gaze upon the azure-cinctured arch, 
 "With feeliug-s peaceful as the placid heavens; 
 They look around upon the blooming earth, 
 All redolent with beauty and delight ; 
 They see the ocean sparkling in its joy. 
 And smiling on the sun ; they see the rivers, 
 Winding their glorious way among the bowers; 
 
177 
 
 Ttioy UoiU- tho woodland nmsio, ovoi-y bvoo/.o 
 Alivo with Imvmoiiy; thoy soo tho IimuUh, 
 Uisportinj;' on tho nioiul ; and tho niUd door, 
 N'iowinn' liis anthii\s in tho t'orost lake; 
 Tho sijuin'ol ohuKoriii!;' on tho loji-nuist oak. 
 And Umjihin,!;' at tho wind that sliakos tho linih 
 It oliiij;s to; and tho ((uiok-oai-'d iuiuioont mhbit, 
 Sipjiiii!;' tlio niorninj;' dow, its only drink : 
 'I'hoy Koo all natnro's jiloasantnoss, and fool 
 Thoir hoaits to danoo with rapturo at tho sif;lit. 
 
 Hut 1 partnko not of tho noii oral joy! 
 
 I soo, and with a quiokon'd oyo, flio ohanns 
 
 That bloom and hroatho around uio; but luy hoart, — 
 
 'I'lio hoart that ouoo was raiiturod with suoh viows. 
 
 That warni'd, dilatod, thrill'd and sooni'd to wish 
 
 A thousand voioos to oxpross its bliss — 
 
 Is siokon'd with thoni now; ior still ariso, 
 
 nisnial t'orobodings that tho lovoly Howors, 
 
 M'liioh soo\u so t'rasi'ilo, shall niysolf ontlivo. 
 
 And whon thoy withor, drop thoir tadod loavos, 
 
 liiko cniblon\s, on my gravo; tho troos shall sproad 
 
 Thoir shrivoH'd t'oliago o'or mo, and tho winds 
 
 lu sadnoss sioji anionj;-st tho oohoing roods 
 
 That autunm'.s blight sliall stitl'on ou my bod! 
 
 And who oan think, without a pann' sovoro. 
 
 Of bidding to tho world tho long adiou? 
 
 Korosts and gardon.s, with thoir tribos of life; 
 
 Tho hills and dalos; oooans, and all thoiv stroams; 
 
 Tho glowing sun. bliu' hoavons, and moon, and stni-s; 
 
 And man, with all his works, towors, towns and navios, 
 
 llis mnsio, paintings, soulpturos, and his loro: 
 
 Ah I what arts thoso to thoso who sloop in death ? 
 
178 
 
 And can it be that all we love below, 
 Shall be forsaken with nor tear nor sigh ? 
 Even I, though lost to all earth's loveliness, 
 And weeping o'er its beauty, fain would weep 
 A little longer; and in memory think. 
 That what is now so powerless to yield 
 One momentary pleasure, once was all 
 That young imaginations picture joy. 
 Yea, I would linger here, for still I find. 
 That sorrow hath a charm to make me cling 
 To life, even though I still must sorrow on. 
 
 I am a helpless shipwrecked mariner : 
 
 Lone on a plank, and midway in the bay, 
 
 Fast rushing to the ocean. I behold 
 
 The shores in bloom, with fruitage clustering thick. 
 
 I see the far off cottage, and espy. 
 
 E'en walking on the beach, my fellow-man. 
 
 And yet, I can nor signal to the shore, 
 
 Nor leave this sole support; and every wave 
 
 Still farther sweeps me tow'rd the boundless waste ! 
 
 Where is my hope ? I now can but resign 
 
 Myself unto the will of Him, whose eye 
 
 Beholds my imminent wretchedness ; and still. 
 
 Though swiftly hurrying from the sight of all 
 
 That seems a rest for hope, some passing barque 
 
 May see my floating form, and yet deliver. 
 
 If not, I sink : if this my fate must be, 
 
 I'll welcome it with smilings, and will yield 
 
 My way-worn body to the monster's maw ; 
 
 Sure that my God will guide him to some isle, 
 
 Bright on the bosom of eternity — 
 
 And make destruction land me safe from harm ! 
 
DEATH. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE DECEASE OF THE REV. S. DOUGHTY. 
 IN THREE PARTS. 
 
 PAKT I. 
 
 The House of Mourning. 
 
 I stand beside the coffin, and behold 
 The soulless frame of man. My swelling heart 
 Aches in its narrow limits, and mine eyes 
 Grow dim with sorrow. 
 
 What ! oh, what, is man ! 
 He goeth forth, and death is in the way; 
 He fain would turn aside and walk with life; 
 But this may not. He fain would shut his ear 
 Unto the messenger's voice, and heed him not; 
 But in his inmost he^rt an echo wakes 
 At the unearthly call, and the warm blood 
 Runs chill through every vein, the vital fount 
 Congeals to icy coldness, and the soul 
 Loosens its ties, expands its trembling wings, 
 And seeks the bosom of eternity ! 
 
 The mould of manliness is there ; those eyes — 
 Which, once beheld, may never be forgot, — 
 Are closed upon for their long dreamless sleep. 
 And oh ! to think that all he once admired 
 Is gone forever; ocean, earth, sky, sun, 
 
180 
 
 And all the host led nightly by the moon ! 
 
 To think that all earth's music shall be heard 
 
 Never ! — that all the lore of bard and sage 
 
 Is not ! — that every friend of glowing heart, 
 
 Kindred and oflFspring are, alas ! no more ! 
 
 I must not, dare not think — Oh ! death ! death ! death ! 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Song of the Angels as thet/ hear the Spirit to Paradise. 
 
 We come ! we come ! the sapphire gates throw wide 
 
 Cherub and Seraph ! Glory's hierarchy ! 
 
 Burning around the everlasting throne. 
 
 Hymn the Eternal's praise ! Space ! spread the sound 
 
 Far as infinity ! sphere shout to sphere ! 
 
 And orb to orb ! We come ! we come ! we bear 
 
 The parted spirit, in ecstatic trance. 
 
 Now waiting for its Maker's touch divine. 
 
 To strengthen vision for the charms of heaven ! 
 
 We bow ! we bow ! Father Omnipotent ! 
 
 And here present our charge; whom there we found 
 
 Rejoicing in thy Omnipresent love! 
 
 PART III. 
 
 Soliloquy of the Saint. 
 
 I am a Spirit ! The mystery is out : 
 And, like an eagle from its prison fled, 
 I feel the freedom of infinity ! 
 Desire is now accomplishment: I look, 
 With keener sight than mortal eye extends, 
 All round immensity; whose only bound 
 
181 
 
 Is far off darkness — on whose bosom shines 
 
 Innumerous stars — darkness that none may near ! 
 
 I look, and wish — and lo ! upon this globe, 
 
 Which, when I wish'd, was glimmering on my sight, 
 
 I stand, and view a world of larger frame 
 
 Than is the sun; which on yon atom earth, 
 
 I thought with awe the hugest orb of space ! 
 
 How swells my new existence ! Yet I think. 
 
 Even as on earth I thought! I am the same. 
 
 I joy in mine identity, and can 
 
 At will remember all I ever knew : 
 
 Yet, without pain ! How dwells my ravish'd being 
 
 On all the beauties circling round my gaze ! 
 
 The novelties of unimagined scenes ! 
 
 The high sublimities of boundlessness ! 
 
 Oh ! how I joy ! As thought to thought succeeds. 
 
 Still greater swells my soul; nor can I know 
 
 A thought inferior to what now I think; 
 
 Nay, each succeeding thought superior, grows. 
 
 And with fresh knowledge and with stronger power. 
 
 How mean are all the thoughts of mortal man ! 
 Kepress'd and bound by limits so confined. 
 There did I toil, to know the history 
 Of one small globe, for some few thousand years; 
 While here I grow in all the intelligence 
 Of worlds magnificent, to which the earth. 
 In age, is less than infant to gray hairs; 
 Of worlds innumerous, to which the stars. 
 That studded earth's empyrean and enzoned, 
 Are as a unit to infinity ! 
 There traivell'd I for some few thousand miles. 
 Saw various scenes, and read of many more ; 
 16 
 
182 
 
 And thougtt the earth too vast, for one poor mind 
 
 To treasure all its aspects : here, I fly 
 
 From orb to orb untired, and dwell with joy 
 
 On scenes to which e'en Eden was a heath; 
 
 And feel that countless worlds of larger sphere, 
 
 Shall in duration come familiarly, 
 
 As favorite bowers, into my memory ; 
 
 And every nook be known, in every orb 
 
 That shines throughout immensity; until 
 
 I feel that space is my eternal home. 
 
 And all its glories are to me distinct. 
 
 As the few rooms in my once earthly home ! 
 
 There I enjoy 'd the presence of a few, 
 
 Whom I entitled friends ; and some I pass'd 
 
 With a slight word, as though my narrow heart 
 
 Could hold small part of earth's small company; 
 
 But, here are myriads after myriads more 
 
 Than mortals in a life-time could conceive ! 
 
 Yet shall each one in this stupendous host. 
 
 Become my bosom friend, ere yet I feel 
 
 One proper notion of eternity ! 
 
 And here, oh ! how my reverent thought delights 
 To muse upon the Holy One Supreme ! 
 Men on the earth, out from the city's throng 
 Betake themselves, and in some shadowy dell. 
 With flowers and vines embower'd and adorn'd, 
 Think to immure themselves in solitude ! 
 And this, when every voice of bird and leaf. 
 Of flower and vine, and cooling water-brook, 
 Whispers the presence of the Mighty One ; 
 Whose omnipresent, all-sustaining power 
 A leaf depends on, even as a world ! 
 
183 
 
 How glows my being, how with rapture thrills, 
 When glad I think — there is no solitude ! 
 But, far beyond where angel wing has been, 
 Should I pursue my way; and find an orb 
 Greater in glory and in wonders newer 
 Than any yet I know; there would be Grod, 
 Even as in highest heaven — even on His throne ! 
 And there could I adore; and there could learn 
 Of all I saw, the history and design ! 
 
 Oh ! hallelujah! Let each heavenly power 
 Exalt the Maker's praise ! Here, here indeed. 
 Is music of the spheres — when every orb 
 Sounds harmony divine ! Here, here indeed. 
 Are views sublime, more than the warmest tongue 
 In heaven can tell ! Here, happiness supreme. 
 Common and endless; oh, how great! how great! 
 
 Oh ! could my boy, my darling boy, behold 
 
 His father's high felicity; could they. 
 
 My kindred and my friends, my glory see; 
 
 How would they dry their eyes, and on bent knee. 
 
 Give praise unto the Eternal, and beseech 
 
 The guidance of His Spirit to lead them on 
 
 To the same heaven — the happiness of God ! 
 
WILLIAM KESLEY. 
 
 Hope flies ! 
 
 And round the dim and dewy scene, 
 Stalks stalwart Fear, vaunting his prophet-skill : — 
 "I saw the hand that touch'd that ample brow. 
 And thence foretold this pale and sad event! 
 True, many angels pleaded for his life; 
 Some, that his short and compact frame was strong. 
 As if a youth's, to hear yet heavier years ; 
 Some, that his mind, matured and well-inform'd, 
 In facile power still held its varied gifts; 
 Some, that his heart, well tried of old and true. 
 Grew purer and was richer in its love ; 
 While others, turning gently from the man, 
 Pointed, with trembling fingers, to a group 
 Whose home-prayers gush'd in eloquence of tears; 
 And others, with their vision on the church. 
 Spake of his wisdom and her constant need. 
 His faith, his zeal, his courage, and his toils; 
 And others, by a wider, nobler range. 
 The common church — nay, more, the common world ! 
 But all their pleas were vain. I — I, alone, 
 Foresaw, foretold, — ^by day and night, foretold, 
 Through every change, foretold — the end is death ! 
 
185 
 
 And lo ! the truth ! How pale, cold, silent now ! 
 Form, mind, heart, home, church, world, unheeded, all. 
 Naught now remains but soon the grave must hide.'' 
 
 Hope fled ! 
 
 But whither? Far beyond the range. 
 Where fear may triumph ! Fear is like the night, 
 Earth-born and bound to earth; but sunny Hope 
 Is here a guest whose native sphere is hea,ven. 
 There straight she fled, nor with a lonely flight. 
 Fear strode beside the corpse, with shade athwart; 
 But wiser Hope, with birth-right more sublime. 
 Ascended with the spirit. Why remain? 
 To see the gathering darkness of decay? 
 To hear the widow's wail, the orphan's cry? 
 To look on altars hung with funeral crape ? 
 And mourn the last heart-rendings of the grave ? 
 We soar, sings Hope, still soaring as she sings — 
 The soul, aside, all thrilling with the song. 
 We soar — and all the little things of earth, 
 Are lost, already; nay, the earth itself 
 Dwindles into a star — and disappears. 
 We soar — with God's infinity around ! 
 We soar — with Grod himself our Life of lives ! 
 Serene, soul! serene! be all serene! 
 What! does the light transpierce thee? let it shine — 
 'Twill glorify thee, as the sun a gem ! 
 What! does the music awe thee? let it sound, — 
 The name of Jesus fills the loudest strain ! 
 What ! shrink' st thou from the rainbows of the throne. 
 And quiverest 'midst the rustling- plumes around ? 
 Serene, 0, soul! the Lord draws near — " Well done! 
 Tliou good and faiihfid servant I Enter in !" 
 16* 
 
186 
 
 What! does the joy entrance thee? Droop thou not — 
 Who made, on earth, the blind man eye the noon, 
 Shall make thee, here, Himself undazzled see! 
 Behold the King ! — in all His beauty shown ! 
 The land immense, with distant beams adorn'd ! 
 The saints, the angels, lo, their glorious throng ! 
 
 I see ! I see I but hide me with your wings, 
 
 Cherub and seraph ! Lead me as a child, 
 
 Close to His throne ! This crown — I'll lay it there. 
 
 Low at His feet ! I feel the Saviour near ! 
 
 I see the dear memorials of His wounds ! 
 
 My heaven is here ! All glory to the Lamb ! 
 
THE FUNERAL. 
 
 Duly I went. 
 The hearse and carriages in order stood, 
 And groups of men, at corners of the streets. 
 And round the door, in pensive mood conversed. 
 The handle of the lock was bound with crape : 
 The passage-way was dark. An ag6d man 
 Silently took my hand, and led my steps 
 To the still chamber of the coffin'd corpse. 
 The half-closed shutters mellow'd the sun's glare, 
 And spread a solemn twilight through the room. 
 The tables and the mirrors were all clothed 
 In spotless white, and from the mantel broad 
 Down to the floor the linen drapery hung. 
 I stood beside the corpse, and lifting up 
 The snowy covering, gazed most thoughtfully, 
 Most reverently, most sorrowfully gazed 
 Upon that face, emaciate, pale, and cold. 
 The hollow temples; the transparent brow. 
 Part shaded by the dark and glossy hair; 
 The purple eye-lids, covering the glazed balls, 
 Sunk in their sockets; and the wasted cheeks, 
 And blenched lips, still brighten'd with a smile 
 The sweet composure resting over all : 
 
188 
 
 Oh! I did gaze, until my heart grew large, 
 And tears relieved my sadness. 
 
 Soon I heard 
 The voice of mourning, and approaching steps. 
 Then came the parents, bent with age and grief, 
 The brother and the sister weeping came. 
 To give the last look to the one so loved. 
 They look'd, they wept; all but the white-haired sire, 
 He merely heaved one sigh, and felt one tear 
 Start from its source, as though it were his last; 
 For he had seen much trouble, and was used 
 Sternly to bear a quiet agony. 
 The mother kiss'd the cold lips o'er and o'er. 
 And bathed the pallid cheeks with streams of grief; 
 The sister lean'd upon her brother's arm. 
 And cried aloud; while he, with lips compress'd, 
 Strove to subdue his pain — his exquisite pain. 
 To see his daily fellow lying there. 
 They turn'd away, and as they turn'd, the sire 
 Gave the last glance, and fiU'd his swelling heart : 
 Oh God ! — he said — but ere another word 
 Fell from his tongue, he check'd the murmuring thought. 
 
 The face was veil'd again, the coffin lid 
 Was closed and screw'd, and then the bearers came 
 And bore the body to the plumed hearse. 
 The mourners took their seats — the train moved on 
 Slowly toward the dwelling of the dead. 
 Men at the doors, and from the windows women , 
 Look'd carelessly : an- infant, in the arms 
 Of love maternal, clapp'd its tiny hands 
 And pointed, smiling, even at the hearse. 
 
189 
 
 Ah. ! little knew that sinless child of death ! 
 I wept while thinking of its after days ! 
 
 We had pass'd through the gate, and now we stood 
 Around the open graye. Strong-armed men, 
 Grrasping the ropes, the coffin slowly lower'd, 
 Until it rested on the cold damp floor. 
 
 Around us were the marble monuments, 
 
 And graves o'ergrown with long thin grass and flowers ; 
 
 And overhung with trees of richest leaf j 
 
 Some spreading wide, and casting a light shade. 
 
 While others, pendent, even to the ground. 
 
 Threw o'er some favor'd mounds a deeper gloom. 
 
 The cricket, by the tomb-stone hid, sent forth 
 
 Its evening song, and on the upper branch 
 
 The robin whistled merrily. Afar, 
 
 Upon the river's bank, and stretching thence 
 
 Back to the o'er-topping hills, the city lay. 
 
 Above us, was the cloudless blue — the sun. 
 
 Descending to the verge, shone 'twixt the trees. 
 
 And burnish'd the clear waves with liquid gold. 
 
 And every swelling dome and steeple high; 
 
 And every hill's brow blest with yellow crown. 
 
 All things rejoiced. 
 
 Alas ! — one joyless group. 
 We, weeping, stood around that open grave : 
 The trembling mother and the struggling sire; 
 The sister, with swollen eyes and throbbing heart; 
 The brother, striving sadly with his grief. 
 Oh! who could comfort them? — ^who bind their hearts, 
 Their broken hearts, in bonds of peace again ? 
 Who soothe their troubled souls ? 
 
190 
 
 The passing wind 
 "Was more consoling far, than would have been 
 The voice of heathen or poor infidel ! 
 For heathen eye ne'er saw the flowers of hope, 
 And infidels but crush them under foot. 
 
 If e'er my heart had joy — if ever yet, 
 Pleasure hath fired mine eye or loosed my tongue, 
 'Twas when, with healing words, from God's own mouth, 
 I bade the mourners think of Him, who says — 
 
 "I AM THE RESURRECTION AND THE LIFE." 
 
 The Resurrection! — Calvary's cross was red 
 
 With Jesus' heart's blood, and the sealed tomb 
 
 His pierced body held; but cruel death, 
 
 Though it had mangled him ; and the strong grave. 
 
 Though it had bound him for eternity; 
 
 Both were dragg'd captives at his chariot wheel. 
 
 From the rock sepulchre he rose again. 
 
 As though he left the downy bed of sleep. 
 
 And, surely as he rose, this Christian's frame, 
 
 With all the strength, and grace, and hues of youth, 
 
 Of youth no more to fade, shall rise again. 
 
 The resurrection and the Life 1 — the life ! 
 
 Immortal life ! What though these rural charms. 
 
 Yon city's pomp, he witnesseth no more ? 
 
 What though this pile of clay shall be cast down. 
 
 Hiding his body from his fellow's gaze ? 
 
 What though his flesh shall blacken and then rot 
 
 And feed a thousand worms ? — make it as foul 
 
 As pitiless fancy can ! What then ? Why life 
 
 Again I say, immortal life is his. 
 
 No sooner had his spirit left his frame. 
 
 Than friendly saints, well-known in former days, 
 
191 
 
 And glorious angels, with their golden wings, 
 Sang him their welcome, and conducted far 
 "Where Paradise in fadeless beauty blooms. 
 And now — ^while we, with decent rites, inter 
 His much-loved form, — the hand, the gentle hand 
 Of smiling Jesus haply lifts the crown. 
 And, while his servant kneels before him, bends. 
 And rests it on his brow — ^bright as a star ! 
 
 The parents yielded resignation meet, 
 The brother's and the sister's hearts grew calm. 
 Uncovering then our heads, in reverence due, 
 We bless'd the Lord for our sweet gospel hopes ; 
 And thence, with fresh resolves to follow Christ, 
 Departed to our homes in perfect peace. 
 
GENIUS. 
 
 In childhood he had loved to wander forth 
 And feast his soul on beauty. Where the brook 
 Flow'd darkly pure beneath the forest shade ; 
 And where the hermit lilies on the bank 
 Sat in their snowy robes, all meekly bent 
 As though ashamed to show their loveliness; 
 And where the cascade shouted, as it leap'd 
 From knoll to knoll down to the lucid stream ; 
 And where the wild bird, on the bough o'er head, 
 Sang to its mate, that on the tiresome nest 
 Patiently brooded, longing for the day 
 When the sweet younglings, from the broken shells. 
 Should lift their voice for food, and open wide 
 Their thronging beaks impatient for the worm; 
 And where the cool breeze rustled the green leaves, 
 And kiss'd the dimpling waters, and bestow'd 
 Motion and life on all things-as it pass'd : 
 There loved he to repose, and yield his mind 
 To desultory musing and sweet peace. 
 
 Youth came; — and nature's lovely walks were left. 
 For the still world of books. Stern science led 
 His weary eye through tomes all dull and dead; 
 And bade him yield the bright imaginings 
 
]',)3 
 
 Vision'd in childish joy: and strip the sliy 
 
 Of its pure holy beauty, and the earth 
 
 Of all its strong enchantments, and employ 
 
 His thoughts on things of dismal truth. The blue. 
 
 That like a rich pavilion-circled earth, 
 
 He learn'd was naught. The stars, that came at eve. 
 
 Like angels watching o'er a sleeping world. 
 
 Were worlds themselves, that roll'd afar away 
 
 Heedless of earth, absorb'd in selfishness. 
 
 The moon, that seem'd an angel nearer come. 
 
 More fond, to watch the better, was an orb 
 
 Whose lustre was all semblance — borrow'd all. 
 
 And then the glorious sun, that oped the gate 
 
 Of rosy morn, and waved his golden locks. 
 
 Rejoiced to see again mountains and vales, 
 
 Was but a fixed fire, so far remote 
 
 That numbers scarce could count the mighty space. 
 
 One talk'd of metals, clays, and crystals bright; 
 And closed by saying diamonds worth a plumb. 
 Were mere black charcoal ! Then another came, 
 And snatch' d away a rainbow-color'd flower. 
 And bade him think no more of hues or scent. 
 But mark the shape of stalks, the taste of roots ! 
 Another wisely prated on wild thought, 
 And said 'twas naught but the effect of some. 
 Or all, the worm-like motions of the brain ! 
 Another proudly preach'd that noble man. 
 With all his lofty claims, was but an ape 
 Shorn of his tail ! But wherefore swell the list ? 
 The atom insect that can only breathe 
 A thimble-full of air before it dies ; 
 As well as the vast mammoths that ere now, 
 17 
 
194 
 
 Exhausted tlie blue vault — the mighty race, 
 All famishing for lack of a mere breath : 
 All things, alive or dead, were made to appear 
 Alike and useless, loveless and untrue ! 
 
 He turn'd away disgusted — as a chief. 
 
 Used from his cradle to the twanging bow, 
 
 And all the wild ambition of the chase ; 
 
 Used to bold freedom, roaming through deep woods, 
 
 Climbing the loftiest heights, and joying in 
 
 The thundering storm as in the sunny calm; 
 
 E'en as the chief thus used, when far away, 
 
 From scenes of former life; and wandering sad, 
 
 Among the stationary piles of art; 
 
 And midst a race as soulless as their bricks ; 
 
 As he repines, and pants for his own trees, 
 
 And wayward waters, and turns back with joy : 
 
 So did the youth from all that science taught. 
 
 Turn back to live with nature; and to live 
 
 'Mid an ideal race, that smiled around, 
 
 To him, in every shady nook of earth. 
 
 Or sunny spot, or waters wandering wild. 
 
 Then he rejoiced, his spirit burn'd within, 
 
 And when his thoughts grew cold, he held a steel 
 
 Up to the lightning, and brought down the bolt 
 
 That broke his bonds, and set his spirit free! 
 
DEATH OF THE YEAR. 
 
 The weary Year, that, for the last three moons, 
 Has wander'd joyless over hill and dale, 
 Wither'd and chill; and, through the cheerless woods, 
 Toil'd, rustling the dry leaves that strew the path, 
 At every step, is breathing his last hour. 
 
 I saw the Pilgrim, on the mountain-top, 
 
 With footsteps slow and sad still wending on. 
 
 His restless vision ranged the treacherous earth, 
 
 Or upward turn'd, to watch the rising star 
 
 Of Destiny ! — which, once heaven's height attain'd, 
 
 Should claim the way-worn as a sacrifice. 
 
 Bright beam'd the star, still brightening as it rose. 
 
 Yet, but more feebly, went the Pilgrim on. 
 
 At length he trod upon the broken verge 
 
 Of an abyss, so deep — the keenest glance 
 
 Of fire-eyed lightning could not pierce its depth. 
 
 A cloud came o'er the star, but, as the brink 
 
 Began to crumble, out again it gleam'd. 
 
 And lo ! its station was the point of death. 
 
 A voice, from some Unseen, with awful tone 
 
 Startled the silence, as the doom'd one stood, 
 
 Dizzy, and tottering — saying: " Yield thy scroll!" 
 
Eterrdtijl 'tis /hi/if! — the Pilgrim said: 
 
 And bowing, meek, held forth a trembling scroll. 
 
 No form apjjear'd, no hand; but as the scroll 
 
 Shone in the star-light, instantly — 'twas gone ! 
 
 Eternity received it! — and the Year, 
 
 The weak and weary Year, with one step more, 
 
 Found endless rest far down that searchless void. 
 
THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 
 
 Tlirough all the walks of life, the sons of death 
 Pursue their errands. Some expand their wings 
 Dark o'er the populous city, and dispense 
 Wide from their dripping plumes the horrid plague. 
 Some sound the trump of battle, call abroad, 
 From halls and huts, the chivalry and strength 
 Of vengeful lands ; reflect by voice and glance 
 The roar and flash j and in the rising clouds 
 Hover with joy and quaff the smell of blood. 
 Some smite secluded homes j lead forth the boy 
 Of gray-hair'd hope, and 'tomb him 'neath the wave; 
 Send down the lightning at noon-day to scathe 
 The stay of weakness ; and the midnight flame 
 Fan, while love shrivels in its dire embrace. 
 Some lift the awful bowl to lips obscene; 
 Some cast cold billows o'er the shrieking bark; 
 Some rend the earth to bury all she bears; 
 While others seal their victims at their birth. 
 And leave a withering blight that must prevail. 
 17* 
 
IMMORTALITY. 
 
 The flower that opens to the rising sun, 
 Sweetening an hour the pure and dewy air, 
 And then before the reaper's sickle falls j 
 Is God's own emblem of the life of man. 
 Yet when the sun that shines upon the flower — 
 The kingly sun, to whose controlling laws, 
 Still mighty as at first, the willing spheres 
 Harmoniously submit, — ay, when the sun 
 Shall see his crown in fragments, and in twain 
 His golden sceptre, and the whirling clouds 
 Of endless darkness closing round his throne ; 
 And hear the breaking of the bonds that hold 
 The orbs in his dominion; then shall man. 
 The same that lay beside the perish'd flower. 
 Awake, immortal, from his long repose. 
 And in the presence of Destruction stand 
 Fearless and beautiful, till angels come 
 To guide him to an everlasting home. 
 
THE RESURRECTION, 
 
 Adorn thy vales, again, earth! with bloom, 
 Eeclothe thy wooded hills with wonted green. 
 Roll on thine ocean waters, and rejoice! 
 Thy path is midst the stars ! uplift the pomp 
 Of chanted glory ! Glow round all thine orb ! 
 Yet know a still small voice shall stop thy course 
 When in full grandeur. Dumb shall be thy tongue, 
 And hush'd thy heart, and dim thine eyes in death. 
 Thy mountains shall dissolve to particles. 
 And all the quickening surface move with life ! 
 Thine oceans shall evanish, and their depths, 
 Dry in a moment, nations shall disclose. 
 Rising from graves o'er which the wrathful storm 
 Triumph'd for ages ! 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 I. DUTY. 
 
 Thou hast required, 
 Father ! all Thy children need perform. 
 If Thee they honor, round them high will grow, 
 With night-dews mellowing soil, and root and leaf; 
 And day-beams glowing to the heart of all; 
 The green, and bloom, and fruitage of all grace, 
 All virtue : rising o'er their lowly homes 
 And yielding, like a blessed Tree of Life, 
 The shade of safety and the breath of peace, 
 And wholesome fulness of angelic food. 
 
 II. SYMBOLS. 
 
 No superstitious symbol sways my soul. 
 Avaunt all error ! What are forms to me, 
 Without their spirit ? What but death — drear death ! 
 Yet what is spirit separate from form ? 
 God is a spirit! Is there aught beside. 
 Like God ? In all His works, the form 
 Is first — and then the spirit, breathing life. 
 So Adam — so the Church; in each, the form 
 Was moulded first, then came the quickening soul. 
 
THE EEPUGE. 
 
 Infinite One ! in all good infinite ! 
 
 What praise should ever from my heart ascend, 
 
 For knowledge of Thy nature and Thy will : 
 
 What prayer attend my praise ! — that, as I know. 
 
 Grlowing and glad I may obey and love : 
 
 Loving, obeying, feel Thee ever near; 
 
 Communing with Thy Spirit — as a child 
 
 Its sparkling eyes to brighter sparkling eyes, 
 
 Lifts, as its mother smiles; and thrills with joy 
 
 Of speechless, spirit-piercing sympathy : 
 
 That so — unhappy, in this crowded world, 
 
 This lone, wild, wicked, wretched, dying world, 
 
 I, cleaving still to Thee, my Father, God ! 
 
 In Thee, and what Thou orderest, may exult : 
 
 Thee — if the universe were now a void — 
 
 My home and friends ! my sun, moon, star, heaven, earth ! 
 
 Cherub and seraph ! Saviour ! All-in-all ! 
 
 Immense, eternal fulness of all grace, 
 
 All glory! 
 
TO A YOUNG FRIEND, 
 
 Read, think, and fix thy duty in thy mind; 
 
 And then, despite the world's alluring charms. 
 
 Despite the strong temptations of the iiend, 
 
 Despite the evil stirrings of thy heart, 
 
 Sternly perform thy duty to the last. 
 
 Swerve not a moment. Let thy lofty hope 
 
 Stand at the throne's foot in mid-heaven ! The flowers 
 
 Of sinful pleasures, trample on; and wear 
 
 The thorns of persecution on thy brow, 
 
 Should such a crown be bound there, with a smile. 
 
 In GrOD be thy dependence ; in the blood 
 
 Of Christ, thy self-abjuring faith. And then, 
 
 The path of life, or long or short, shall be 
 
 A path of peace ; and when the gate appears, 
 
 The gate of Death, thou shalt advance with joy, 
 
 And sound the iron knocker: glad to think 
 
 That, as the folds shall part, all heaven will shine 
 
 Pull on thy sight — thine own inheritance ! 
 
PKAYER FOR A FAMILY OF MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Almighty ! thine are all things; and thy love 
 Delights to show its fulness in rich gifts, 
 To all thy meek disciples. 
 
 In thine ear, 
 I breathe a fervent prayer that these, my friends, 
 May know thy goodness fully and forever ! 
 Health, wealth, extended life, the thousand joys 
 Of social intercourse with kindred hearts ; 
 Oh ! may I ask, and earnestly, all these ? 
 Nay, who of mortal frame can apprehend 
 Th' effects and fitness of the things to come ? 
 Thou only. Lofty One ! who lookest abroad. 
 From unimagined height, o'er all the years 
 Of infinite duration ! — Thou, alone. 
 The circumstances leading to result 
 Of final bliss, may'st know ! With thee, I rest 
 The choice of outward portion. 
 
 But I pray, 
 (Thou dost permit, and Thou wilt grant such prayer) 
 I pray that all simplicity of truth, 
 All gentleness of feeling, such as dwelt 
 In our Exemplar, may be ever theirs. 
 
204 
 
 I pray that faith, and hope, and love may he 
 
 The treasure of their souls. Unwavering faith ; 
 
 Firm as a rocky islet, mid the surge 
 
 Of myriad temptations : sun-like faith ; 
 
 Scattering the darkness of futurity, 
 
 And pouring on the palaces of heaven 
 
 Immortal radiance; cheering to the eye 
 
 Of weary pilgrim, longing for the gate. 
 
 — And hope, sweet hope, with strong, untiring wing; 
 
 Sporting before them o'er the heavenward way : 
 
 At times, far onward in its rapid flight, 
 
 Bright as a meteor near the throne of God ; 
 
 And then, returning, floating on spread plumes 
 
 Just overhead and singing, like a lark 
 
 That from the dawn-cloud sees the rising sun, 
 
 Its song of rapture, quickening the faint step 
 
 And gladd'ning the sad heart with thoughts of rest. 
 
 — And love, triumphant love, o'er all supreme : 
 
 The fairest spirit in the universe ! 
 
 Thy favorite, Father ! O permit her voice 
 
 To prompt them to thy praise, and to the boons 
 
 Claim'd by their suffering fellows ! Let her walk 
 
 In beauty in their midst, and they will be 
 
 Of all the happy, happiest; and their looks, 
 
 Smiling like hers, shall win them entrance, soon 
 
 As they shall touch the threshold of thy courts ! 
 
 The prayer thou hearest — for Christ's sake let it be ! 
 
MORSE AND REMORSE. 
 
 " Remorse, fear, a consciousness of being detested, disgust with life and 
 horror of death — these were the sentiments which troubled the sick couch of 
 llie absolute king." — Bancro/fs Miscellanies, page 78. 
 
 Morse fires the present, brings the distant near, 
 Exchanges thought and keeps the world astir. 
 
 But — Remorse fires the past, the future fires. 
 
 As well as present : fills the air of all 
 
 With lightning messages whose wires arc stretch'd 
 
 From earth to heaven and hell; whose wheels and keys 
 
 Are in the soul, all working day and night. 
 
 While conscience, pale as paper, and as quick 
 
 As a prest nerve, still writhes beneath the steel, 
 
 Indelibly receiving, as it rolls, 
 
 All marks of shame, and grief, and fear, and wrath, 
 
 Spinning its length to madness. 
 
 Ah, poor soul ! 
 May pity drive the dragon from his prey ! 
 May pardon, from the Man of Calvary: 
 And peace, from Christ in glory, touch thy strings 
 With God's salvation ! 
 
 Man must feel for man : 
 Poor sinner ! fly to Jesus and be saved ! 
 18 
 
'WHERE THE PINNACE TOUCH'D THE STRAND, 
 LEAPING — FOREMOST OP HIS BAND, 
 BOWING — ON ABORINQ KNEE, 
 CONSECRATING ALL THE SOIL, 
 COLUMBUS— AND THE CROSS 1" 
 
 P. 210. 
 
COLUMBUS: 
 
 THE DISCOVERY OF THE NEW WORLD. 
 
Sections;— I. The Ages; II. The Sun; III. The Moon; IV. The Stars; Y. 
 The Comet; VI. The Sky; VII. The Sea; VIII. Intenser Wonder; IX. The 
 Winds; X. The Spirit; XI. The Event; XII. Followers; XIII. Close. 
 
COLUMBUS: 
 
 THE DISCOVERY OE THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 I. THE AGES. 
 
 The Ages still rejoiced to see 
 The matchless beauty ever blooming here ; 
 And as our turning sphere 
 Below them brought 
 Old sail-girt realms of Art and Thought, 
 They wonder'd it could be, 
 That not a man was found, 
 In all the nations round, 
 This Mystery to sound, 
 And leap, the Startler of the World ! the first upon the 
 ground ! 
 
 II. THE SUN . 
 
 It seem'd some chosen one 
 
 Must sometime mark the Angel of the Sun — 
 
 Where, every eve, 
 
 More and more loth to leave 
 
 This Secret yet unknown, 
 
 18* 
 
21.0 
 
 lie linger'd on the western horizon : 
 
 There stretch'd symbolic clouds from pole to pole. 
 
 In snow-white mountain lines; 
 Lit up their peaks as with volcanic fire ; 
 Smoothed down their yellow slopes like golden mines; 
 Spread out the prairies in their purple pride ; 
 And open'd far and wide 
 Lakes, bays and gulfs, all calm and bright, 
 
 And full of isles of light : 
 And then, to wake the world's desire. 
 Lifted his great round shield, 
 Drew back the folds that dimm'd its radiant field. 
 And turn'd its whole of glory on the whole : 
 Then, thoughtful of but one thing more, 
 Inclined its rim 
 To the ocean's brim, 
 Blazed a broad path from shore to shore, 
 And sunk from sight! 
 
 III. THE MOON. 
 
 It seem'd some pensive one. 
 Contemplative of twilight seas and skies, 
 Must heed the Maiden op the Moon, 
 Oft disappearing but returning soon. 
 Sailing alone. 
 Serenely in her slender, silver, crescent caravel : 
 Night after night. 
 Filling its horns with light, 
 Outrounding presently a perfect sphere. 
 As though to say : " Look here I 
 And solve the simple spell : 
 In this the secret lies — 
 
■Ml 
 
 8afe voyaging, I add unto my store, 
 Until my laden bark can hold no more, 
 And lo ! within its limits curl'd, 
 I show a new-discover'd world ! 
 There lies the Land : 
 Can no one understand ?" 
 
 IV. THE STARS. 
 
 It seem'd such pensive one 
 Must hear the Stars, each singing from his throne :- 
 " No part of space is bare, 
 No ether is so rare 
 But floats some sign its Maker to declare : 
 The firmament 
 Eeflects the sea o'er which 'tis bent, 
 
 That men may know, 
 For every star above, an isle below !" 
 
 V. THE COMET. 
 
 It seem'd some studious ear. 
 Must catch the Comet's lone but glad refrain : 
 When from its ancient absence calm it came, 
 With unshorn flame, 
 And to the hush'd heavens chanted this sweet strain : 
 " Away with fear. 
 All nature is the same ! 
 Go where you may. 
 The terrors of the timid fade away. 
 If I from world to world so sure return, 
 From age to age so even-orbed burn, 
 UnshaJcen by distress, 
 With not one ray the less. 
 
212 
 
 Circling the system with my splendid train ; 
 How long shall man still linger on that shore ? 
 Linger, and look, and wish, but dare no more !" 
 
 VI. THE SKY. 
 
 It seem'd some earnest eye 
 Must mark the meaning of the smooth and azure Sky. 
 How grand its lift ! 
 How vast its sweep ! 
 Yet not a rift 
 Hangs o'er the deep ! 
 All day, all night. 
 It turns and turns. 
 And shines, and burns. 
 With never a crack to challenge affright. 
 Then wherefore deem th' unknown of Earth so dread — 
 With realms of wildest chaos o'er it spread ? 
 All this instead. 
 As from Cathay to Spain, 
 So round and round again. 
 The continents and seas their equal state maintain. 
 
 VII. THE SEA. 
 
 "Behold!" — exclaimed the Sea: 
 " Through all the lapse of ages slow and grand, 
 
 I've brought my billows from the farthest West, 
 And cast them, curling, foaming, on this strand. 
 If aught of chaos there were known, 
 Here would its floating proofs be shown, 
 But still the coast from all such signs is free. 
 One wave is like another, 
 As though it were twin-brother. 
 
218 
 
 And all alike obey one Sire's benign behest. 
 
 I'ye trail'd you trees, of growth unseen before — 
 
 Ships without sailors then : 
 Another time I've laid upon the shore, 
 
 Strange forms of drowned men — 
 
 Sailors with ships no more : 
 Again, to show the savage sleight of hand, 
 I've thrown the carved club upon the sand : 
 And can it be that none shall understand ?" 
 
 VIII. INTENSER WONBER. 
 
 It seem'd some charmed one. 
 Must soar in spirit from that crowded strand 
 
 To heaven's high throne. 
 And see the surf-lines of th« Lonely Land : 
 See Greenland's icy shore, 
 Alaska's broken forms, 
 The surging of the Southern seas around the Cape of 
 Storms ; 
 
 See AUegania's woods, 
 Niagara's foam and bow, 
 Mar&,non's ocean floods. 
 And Chimborazo's glow : 
 See all — and hear the roar ! 
 
 IX. THE WINDS. 
 
 The Winds turn'd architects, and wrought 
 The cliff-moor'd clouds to ships of every size ; 
 
 Then launch'd them on their westward way, and 
 sought 
 By gay processions gliding through the skies, 
 
214 
 
 To tempt the harbor'd fleets below 
 To weigh the anchor, spread the sail, 
 Kun up their banners to the gale, 
 And follow in the pilot-shade of some celestial prow. 
 The lightning-rockets signall'd glad surprise. 
 The thunder-trumpets shouted — "Land, ho ! land!" 
 In vain, enchanted all, they could not understand. 
 
 X. THE SPIRIT. 
 
 And yet — not all ! 
 When Grod's time comes, no want may lag behind it : 
 There was a world to find — He found the man to find it. 
 A grave and godly Marinere, 
 Care-worn and early sere, 
 Studious and wise. 
 Beyond compeer : 
 Not dull of sense or soul to Nature's guise, 
 But honor'd with the Spirit's surer call : 
 He now for many a year 
 Had sought the Hidden Prize : 
 In many a famous Port — with canvas idly furl'd ; 
 In many a splendid Court — where lips of mockery 
 curl'd ; 
 He begg'd a boat — to find a world ! 
 At length a Woman's hand 
 Conferr'd the high command, 
 And made the venture of her jewell'd store. 
 For seas of pearls, and diamond cliffs, and continents 
 of ore ! 
 
215 
 
 XI. THE EVENT. 
 
 One night — 
 A fearful way from home : 
 A little light 
 Sparkled upon the sight 
 Of the sleepless man with the hopeful heart : 
 As though Time's steed, 
 Just at the goal decreed, 
 With his last leap had struck the spark 
 From the New World in the dark. 
 The Ages saw their hero come, 
 They saw him start ! 
 They started ! and each star 1 
 Unlike a spark, 
 That twinkle still illumed the dark ; 
 The sympathetic skies 
 Flash'd everywhere with sudden, joyous eyes 1 
 The clouds were drifted far. 
 The glad winds ceased to blow. 
 And the Marinere's bark lay to, rock'd by the swell below. 
 The Angel of the Sun, that eve, 
 Like one on urgent errand taking leave. 
 Had scarcely deign'd a smile 
 Ere he was gone : 
 So great his haste to reach again that now eventful Isle ! — 
 To hail a light more glorious than his own — 
 The rise of Thought, where Sense had ruled alone ! 
 The modest moon forecast the coming ray, 
 Breathed her blessing o'er the tide, 
 Veil'd her face and stept aside : 
 Then rush'd the Sun, and all was day. 
 
216 
 
 Transfix'd tlie Angel stood, all else on earth forgot — 
 Templed Asia, palaced Europe, Ai'rio, waste and hot: 
 There he stood, in time to see, 
 Rich reward for all his toil, 
 Recompense for utmost loss. 
 Where the pinnace touch'd the strand. 
 Leaping — foremost of his band, 
 Bowing — on adoring knee, 
 Consecrating all the soil, 
 Columbus — and the Cross ! 
 The Angel graved the scene upon his shield, 
 Name, deed, and date, forever : 
 The Earth to wrong may yield 
 The Heavens — never ! 
 
 XII. FOLLOWERS. 
 
 But — who are these ? — 
 The white-robed millions of three centuries ! 
 Slow and dread 
 They leave the Cities of the Dead, 
 Bearing many a deathless name. 
 Won by works of boundless fame, 
 Moving on. 
 In thy majestic charge, 0, peerless Washington ! 
 
 And who are these ? — 
 The motley millions sweeping like the breeze 
 O'er all the vast expanse between the seas; 
 To the wilderness still giving 
 Countless Cities of the Living ; 
 Swarming mountain, plain and river. 
 Warming all with Heart, 
 Charming all with Art, 
 Charming, warming, swarming, with all life forever : 
 
217 
 
 And who are these ? — 
 The rearward millions, on their way 
 Night and day, 
 From every kingdom, nation, tongue, and clime. 
 Bringing new names to thrill the future time : 
 Ay, who are all. 
 But followers of that Marinere, 
 Care-worn and early sere, 
 Studious and wise, 
 Beyond compeer. 
 Not dull of sense or soul to Nature's guise, 
 Who — honor'd with the Spirit's surer call, 
 Was prompt to say : 
 " Come the triumph when it may,. 
 I live but to obey !" 
 These, 0, abused Columbus ! form thy train, 
 These show thy triumphs circling land and main ! 
 
 XII. CLOSE. 
 
 And now, 
 Let all above and all below. 
 The God of glory bless ! 
 To Him all praise is due : 
 He crown'd Columbus with success, 
 To vindicate the True : 
 But then — to cheek the pride of wit and skill, 
 To prove that even a breath of wind 
 May supersede the master-mind. 
 And quite as well fulfil 
 His sovereign will — 
 In open sight of every eye. 
 He wrote two names upon the Southern sky : 
 Cabral — Brazil ! 
 19 
 
HORSEBACK- ON THE HEIGHT 
 
 (a contrast of eartu and sky.) 
 
 I. 
 
 A round of green : 
 
 A bowl of blue : 
 
 Of the world in whole, this round and bowl 
 
 Are all that meet my view. 
 
 II. 
 
 This round of green — 
 
 Uneven green : 
 
 With distant waving lines of wooded hills; 
 
 And gloomy glens, with hidden murmuring rills; 
 
 And silent, sunny, upland fields, between : 
 
 Wheaten fields of wisp-bound grain, 
 
 Shock'd slant, or pitch'd on many a high-piled wain. 
 
 Slow led, oft stopping, o'er the yellow stubble-plain : 
 
 Oaten fields, that wait awhile. 
 
 Nodding wide, 
 
 Along the hillock's breezy side, 
 
 Down to the grassy meads, where whitest wild-flowers 
 
 smile : 
 
 And where the laughing rills, 
 
 Escaping from the hills, 
 
 Smoothing their fretted ripples, glitter as they glide. 
 
■212 
 
 This round of green — 
 
 Tufted here and shaven there : 
 
 Forest-black, or knoll' d in sheen; 
 
 And ! so fair, 
 
 So very fair, 
 
 With many a shaded homestead whitening all the scene : 
 
 Cattle about in herds. 
 
 Lawn-illuming poultry and eave-chatting birds : 
 
 Window bowers and blossoming trees. 
 
 Full of flashing humming-birds and buzzing busy-bees : 
 
 And in the porches human eyes of fire, 
 
 Grlancing at the gilded spire. 
 
 Rising from the place of graves. 
 
 Where the weeping willow waves. 
 
 And, gathering to itself each pure -desire, 
 
 Pointing higher ! 
 
 This round of green 
 
 Is all of earth that may be seen. 
 
 III. 
 That bowl of blue — 
 Of even blue : 
 No hills or rills, no glens or fields, no meads or home- 
 steads there ! 
 No place of graves, 
 Where the willow waves, 
 Or glimpse of gilded spire, in that better air ! 
 That bowl of blue — 
 Transparent blue — 
 A seeming shape, but only a hue, 
 With all the universe shining through : 
 All day — the sun, excessively bright; 
 The stars — all night; 
 And, blessing all hours, the meek moonlight : 
 
I'hat bowl I if blue. 
 
 Ethereal blue — 
 
 All smooth aud hard as it seems to be, 
 
 I see ! I see ! 
 
 The outlet of hope is there! 
 
 No refuge for hope is here ! 
 
 Could I compass the whole of this earth of green, 
 
 In every part would be seen, 
 
 The place of graves. 
 
 Where the willow waves, 
 
 And death and despair have been : 
 
 But, away and away. 
 
 By night or by day, 
 
 The spirit may fly through the yielding sky, 
 
 And find the heaven, 
 
 Where sin is forgiven, 
 
 And none of the shriven 
 
 Can ever die ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 A round of green : 
 
 A bowl of blue : 
 
 Of the world in whole, this round and bowl 
 
 Are all that meet my view. 
 
 V. 
 
 But — faith has a keener sight. 
 
 And lives in a purer light, 
 
 And to them who look at the upper world, 
 
 All is right ! 
 
THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 
 
 With power commission'd by the Source of Power, 
 To quench a planet or to crush a flower^- 
 To scolirge a nation, or an infant pain — 
 To vex a worm or make a world complain — 
 Prone on the buoyant winds, in flowing robe. 
 The Spirit of Destruction sweeps the globe. 
 
 Where yonder space glooms black upon the sight, 
 A sylvan mansion rear'd its modest height. 
 There artless Pleasure, smiling, fix'd her seat, 
 And Eden's angels graced the green retreat. 
 Fired by the Spirit's torch, its flames arose. 
 And the charr'd fragments now its site disclose. 
 
 Swift from the open hills, the swollen floods 
 Whelm all the vales, and toss th' uprooted woods. 
 The startled peasant, bounding from his sleep, 
 Feels his walls trembling to the rushing deep ; 
 Cities, surprised, usurping water beats ; 
 And Peril plies her life-boats through the streets. 
 
 Loud roar the reinless winds : their headlong rage 
 No force can quell, and distance scarce assuage ; 
 19* 
 
The lioary forests, wrench'd, in ruin fly ; 
 And trunks, and leaves, and branches shade the sky. 
 Lone homesteads, razed, lament their lawless wrath ; 
 And unroof'd hamlets mark Destruction's path ! 
 
 On booms the whirling tempest, ocean raves, 
 Heaves treacherous hills, and scoops a thousand graves. 
 The shrieking sailor, plunging down th' abyss. 
 Resigns to fate, and yields the hope of bliss ; 
 While, hovering ghastly in the meteor's glare, 
 The Spirit of Destruction triumphs there ! 
 
 The trees are touch'd with poison; withering fast; 
 The shrivell'd foliage rustles on the blast. 
 The burning pastures harden to a crust ; 
 Where flow'd the brooks, the cattle paw the dust. 
 The blooming virgins, sick'ning, waste away, 
 Blanch'd is the rose, and dimm'd the visual ray. 
 The sturdy shepherds sink, unnerved, and faint ; 
 And " water ! water !" loads earth's loud complaint. 
 
 Yon nursling infant to the bosom turns ; 
 
 And where was life — a deadly fever burns ; 
 
 The mother pores with anguish on her child; 
 
 She moves not, speaks not ; but her eyes grow wild — 
 
 Her brain is crazed, — and hark ! the maniac sings : 
 
 " An angel points me to yon cooling springs ! 
 
 Cheer up my Ishmael ! Lo ! the waters rise, 
 
 And shady groves defend from scorching skies !" — 
 
 'Twas heaven she saw — and there her soul has fled ; 
 
 And ner sweet infant, nestling, hugs the dead ! 
 
 See ! fondly twined, he shuts his weary eye ! 
 
 Oh ! orphan infant ! wake beyond the sky ! 
 
Unclouded azure o'er yon city reigns. 
 
 And golden glory gilds its glancing fanes. 
 
 Yet Hunger there for food despairing calls : 
 
 Plucks the spare grass that sprouts along the walls : 
 
 Or, madly prostrate at his palace gate, 
 
 Gnaws his lank arms, and bites the rod of fate. 
 
 The noon-day terror — and the midnight death, 
 
 Destruction's venom fills the common breath. 
 
 The strong grow weak, the active sink supine ; 
 
 And purple spots reveal the fatal sign. 
 
 The streets are grown with grass ; the Sabbaths smile, 
 
 But silent sleep the belfry and the aisle. 
 
 One general lazar-house, the city stands ; 
 
 And one vast sepulchre, the neighbouring lands. 
 
 Destruction stamps the earth, — the valleys rend. 
 Towns prostrate fall and topmost hills descend. 
 Where lakes lay level, mountains touch the skies ; 
 And where spread cities, wreckful oceans rise. 
 A world of horrors dims the aching sight, 
 And shrieks and thunders shake the orbs of night. 
 
 Fires, floods, and whirlwinds to thy nod conform ; 
 And drought and famine — deadher than the storm ! 
 The plague, gaunt terror, strews the putrid ground ! 
 And heaving earthquakes spread their victims round ! 
 Tet, were thy sway here bounded — earth would bloom , 
 And Eden, rising, triumph o'er the tomb ! 
 Thy robes be bloodless; and thy power a name. 
 Scarce heard amidst the loud reports of fame ! 
 These slay thy thousands, — but thy arrows fly 
 Thick as the streaming sunbeams through the sky ! 
 
224 
 
 The earth is vein'd with poison — herbs and trees 
 Suck in the death and shed it on the breeze ! 
 Beasts prey on beasts, and lap the crimson flood ! 
 Envenom'd reptiles fire the human blood ; 
 And unseen insects, mocking pomp and pride, 
 Throw down their ghastly myriads at thy side ! 
 While man uplifts his fratricidal hand. 
 And pours his brother's life at thy command ! 
 
 Thou shalt consume the globe, — the stars shall fall; 
 And silence, wreck and darkness compass all ! 
 And thou no more ! Then new-born worlds shall shine. 
 And universal roll the eternal golden line ! 
 
THE RAIN CLOUDS. 
 
 Dun clouds, that only dim the day, 
 
 O'erspread the ample sky. 
 And summer realms, in rich array, 
 
 Calm in the shadow lie. 
 
 'Tis but an intervening veil, 
 
 Alive with beams above, 
 Where hill and valley gladly hail 
 
 The gleaming form of Love. 
 
 How blest the holy angel now, 
 Who folds his heavenly plumes, 
 
 On some far mountain's silent brow. 
 Which still the sun illumes ! 
 
 Thence wide his radiant eyes compare 
 The landscape, low and green ; 
 
 The high blue beauty of the air 
 The showering clouds between : — 
 
 The upper light, the under rain. 
 The blended, guardian bow ; 
 
 The grandeur of the solar plain, 
 The streaming good below : — 
 
220 
 
 How soon the shadow disappears, 
 
 While yet the blessing stays ; 
 And nature, smiling in her tears, 
 
 Is rapt in speechless praise : — 
 
 How heaven and earth unite again, 
 Eefresh'd, and cool, and bright ; 
 
 The bloom and verdure bent with rain. 
 The rain-drops fill'd with light. 
 
 World ! thus cheer'd by power Divine, 
 
 Thine altar, hush'd and lone. 
 To him becomes a hallow'd shrine. 
 
 Whose place is at the Throne. 
 
 And there he learns — meek Child of Love ! 
 
 E'en clouds their Maker show : 
 Reflect His glory from above, 
 
 And pour His grace below. 
 
COMMUNION WITH GOD. 
 
 Infinitely Perfect One ! 
 
 What consciousness is Thine ! 
 How diiFerent from the wondering awe 
 
 That oft oppresses mine ! 
 
 My nature is a living point, 
 
 Round which the dead worlds roll : 
 The space, that circles all their range, 
 
 Concentres in my soul. 
 
 My nature is a living point. 
 
 Round which the dead years roll : 
 
 The time, that circles all their range, 
 Concentres in my soul. 
 
 My nature is a living point, 
 
 Round which the faith-realms roll : 
 Their spaceless, timeless, spirit-range, 
 
 Concentres in my soul. 
 
 Could I those amplitudes explore, 
 This pressure might depart : 
 
 But, here confined, their mysteries 
 Lie heavy on my heart. 
 
228 
 
 When from this point I look abroad, 
 
 Space seems too vast for me : 
 And time — inexplicably sad ; 
 
 And faith — like vanity. 
 
 Yet — am I but a floating film, 
 
 Reflecting sea and shore ? 
 Then, breaking with the stranded wave. 
 
 Eternally no more ? 
 
 Surely my anxious consciousness 
 
 Claims some diviner state : 
 " Fear not!" — methinks I hear Thee say- 
 
 " Be humble, child, and. wait!" 
 
 And wait I will ! Still let the worlds 
 All round and round me roll — 
 
 Light, motion, music, from all space, 
 Still pour into my soul. 
 
 Let sins and ills of all time, past 
 
 And present, pain me still : 
 And faith-realms hide, unseen, unheard : 
 
 Yet — humbly wait I will ! 
 
 Let even death eclipse the scene. 
 
 Still, while one ray is left — 
 Until the darkness be complete — 
 
 I shall not be bereft. 
 
 Nor then ! — for life is all eclipse, 
 
 And death is but its height : 
 Then comes the oblivion of the shade 
 
 In everlasting light. 
 
Then shall my consciousness expand, 
 
 Till it resemble Thine : 
 And, like my blessed Saviour, " all 
 
 The Father hath" be mine. 
 
 Infinitely Perfect One ! 
 
 What consciousness is Thine ! 
 How different from the wondering awe 
 
 That now oppresses mine ! 
 
 Thy nature is the living whole ! 
 
 All I believe and see, — 
 iVll space, all time, all worlds, all life, — 
 
 Are only points to Thee ! 
 
 In Thy serene immensity 
 
 All mysteries are clear : 
 And every breath at once reveals 
 
 Its meaning in Thine ear. 
 
 And it may be. Thou knowest not one 
 
 Of all the worlds in space, 
 Save this, where sin and death obscure 
 
 The glorious reign- of grace. 
 
 And it may be, the lesson here 
 
 Contemplates such avail. 
 That love itself would weep to see 
 
 Its consummation fail. 
 
 So, let me humbly, calmly wait, 
 
 Till all this life has flown : 
 Then shall I see as I am seen, 
 
 And know as I am known I 
 
 20 
 
A MIDNIGHT RAPTURE. 
 
 Amen ! 
 The will of G-od be done ! 
 He calls the beautiful away, 
 To worship at the throne. 
 The beautiful in soul, 
 The saintly and the good. 
 The sinner freed from sin's control, 
 
 Wash'd in redeeming blood. 
 Grod calls the holy one away ; 
 With crown of light, 
 And vestments bright, 
 To walk amidst the bloom of everlasting day. 
 
 Amen ! 
 The dream of life is past ! 
 O, what a maze of mingling hues. 
 Far backward, melts at last ! 
 And what a roar of sounds, — 
 Gay laugh and chilling wail : 
 Like thunder on the sun-set bounds, 
 
 Now, like a dying gale : 
 The voices, and the rainbow hues, 
 They faint, they fade, 
 The flight is made : 
 To thee, O mocking earth ! no more the spirit sues ! 
 
231 
 
 Amen ! 
 An onward verge of light ! 
 
 Landscapes uncursed and cloudless skies ! 
 Fair groups in robes of white ! 
 
 And coming voices bland, 
 
 Of melody and bliss ; 
 The pressure of an angel's hand, 
 
 The warmth of saintly kiss ; 
 A deathless world with nightless skies : 
 
 Beauty and Youth, 
 
 And Love and Truth, 
 0, blest exchange, for all that lives, of all that dies ! 
 
 Amen ! 
 The Vision of the Blest ! 
 The sweetness of the Saviour's voice ! 
 The happiness of rest ! 
 The Majesty Divine, 
 In solar pomp serene : 
 From whose far rays, all suns that shine 
 
 Their golden glories glean ! 
 O, Loved of Heaven ! lift up thy voice 
 With kindred tongues, 
 Unite thy songs. 
 Or, rapt in silent praise, in God alone rejoice ! 
 
MY DAUGHTER'S BIRTH-DAY. 
 
 Then thought I, every chord of thine, 
 
 Harp oF my youth ! with joy shall ring. 
 The young immortal ! gift divine ! 
 
 Her welcome to the earth I'll sing. 
 But when I saw the world, though bright, 
 Was bathed in a delusive light, 
 My yielding faith was lost in fears, 
 And every harp-string wet with tears. 
 
 Oh, shame ! when G-od, in tender love. 
 
 Had granted such a precious boon, 
 That I should stay the burst of joy 
 
 And doubt His faithfulness so soon ! 
 My harp — ^when such a bliss was given 
 That earth assumed the hues of heaven — 
 To sweeter song should have been strung. 
 Than childless angel ever sung. 
 
 Behold ! a year the sun has past 
 
 In daily glory o'er her head. 
 And He who brought her into life 
 
 Has still preserved her from the dead. 
 And more — though many hours have been 
 When pale and weak her form was seen — 
 
283 
 
 Her gentle eye so blue and coy, 
 
 Ten thousand times has flash'd with joy ! 
 
 'Twas sweet to watch her opening mind, 
 
 From the first living glance that proved 
 The soul within was looking out. 
 
 And, looking, something saw it loved ; 
 To when, with most enchanting grace, 
 The kindling smile adorn'd her face ; 
 And still she laugh'd while, small and white, 
 Both hands were waving with delight ! 
 
 And now, though many weary miles 
 
 Of land and water intervene, 
 Methinks my darling babe I see. 
 
 With careful step and brow serene, 
 Tott'ring along, while at her side 
 Her watchful mother walks as guide, 
 And, hoping that I soon may come. 
 Tells her to call her father home ! 
 
 I can no more. Great Shepherd ! thou. 
 Though I am distant, still art near ! 
 
 Yet in thy bosom bear my lamb. 
 And keep it safe another year! 
 
 The lamb is thine ; but let me hold 
 
 And lead it nightly to the fold. 
 
 And all the day with it abide, 
 
 Where the still waters smoothly glide ! 
 
 20* 
 
THE INVITATION. 
 
 Where the Lily-isle sleeps in the lap of the hills, 
 Like a babe in its cradle^ a bird in its nest ; 
 
 Where the plaint of the doves and the lapse of the rills 
 Like the voices of angels, sink deep in the breast; 
 
 Where the breezes blow cool, and the willow grove shades, 
 
 And the urns of the mountains pour down their cascades; 
 
 There thy brother, enraptured, calls — Sister, love ! come ! 
 
 For the spirit of Eden has here fix'd her home ! 
 
 The wild eagle calls shrill, on the cliff-top alone, 
 
 As to waken the ear of the heroes above ; 
 While young Liberty smiles from her azure-hued throne. 
 
 And her favorite sons bless the land that they love. 
 Here the Spirit of Beauty, midst fountains and flowers. 
 Has embrighten'd her colors, and painted the bowers; 
 And her rosy cheeks flush, and her starry eyes shine, 
 For her dwelling on earth is so like her divine ! 
 
 Here the crystalline brook ripples softly around. 
 And the willows, like sentinels, compass the isle ; 
 
 Here the freshest of verdure is spread on the ground, 
 And the choicest of flowers in their loveliness smile : 
 
 Here the wild rose and woodbine their fragrance declare, 
 
 And the perfume of violets hallows the air. 
 
'Tis the censer of nature ! and sweetly a voice 
 From the heavens proclaims — Let the island rejoice 
 
 In the midst is a fountain, that springs from its bed, 
 
 Like a beautiful naiad, to gaze on the vines ; 
 And a shower of diamonds around her is shed, 
 And a halo of rainbows her temple entwines. 
 Like a zone round the margin, and looking below. 
 Where their images whiten like figures of snow,. 
 Bend the sad nuns of nature, the pale lilies bend. 
 And complain o'er the heaven they cannot ascend. 
 
 Through the arch of the precipice gleaming afar. 
 
 On the shore of the lake that now glistens in light, 
 'Midst the green-bosom'd hills tha,t ne'er echoed with war. 
 
 The most lovely of villages breaks on the sight. 
 There the fane of Religion shines bright in the sky, 
 And the cots of the villagers gladden the eye ; 
 There's the home of our childhood ; and far, far away. 
 Like the vapors, the mountains seem melting to day. 
 
 I have tested the strength of my beautiful boat, 
 
 And its safety is sure as if broad as the lake ; 
 
 Like the glide of a duck, is the ease of its float. 
 
 And the beamings of sunshine bespangle its wake. 
 It is white as a cloud never tinged with a hue, 
 And its sapphirine path as the heavens is blue ; 
 And the breezes blow fresh through the vaporless dome. 
 And thy brother, enraptured, calls — Sister, love ! come ! 
 
TO MARY. 
 
 " But one thing is needful ; and Mary hatli chosen that good part, which shall 
 not be taken away from her." — Luke x. 42. 
 
 " But one tting is needful :" — tte World, in her pride, 
 And with scorn on her features, may scoff at the truth; 
 And the angel-like Tempter may walk at thy side. 
 
 To fasten on earth the affections of youth ; 
 And Fancy may brighten — thy footsteps to win, 
 The hues of the flowers in the pathway of sin ; 
 But the frown of Jehovah all evil shall blast. 
 And the truth of the Lord be acknowledged at last. 
 
 "But one thing is needful :" — to sit at the feet 
 
 Of the Saviour of sinners, in meekness and love ; 
 With His smile resting on us, to hear Him repeat 
 
 The glory that dwells in His palace above ; 
 To learn from His lips that the Spirit is given 
 To th' humble in heart to prepare them for heaven ; 
 And to feel, as we catch the sweet tones of His voice. 
 That the soul, when with Jesus, cannot but rejoice. 
 
 Then list to me, Mary ! this portion be thine. 
 
 In the morning of youth from the world turn away ; 
 With the warm words of prayer seek assistance divine. 
 
 For the boon shall be given as sure as you pray. 
 And when thou hast chosen this excellent part, 
 A heavenly peace shall be breathed on thy heart. 
 And as fragrance can never be drawn from the flower, 
 So to separate these there is none shall have power. 
 
SATAN. 
 
 Apostate angel ! Fallen from glory's height ! 
 Thy plumeless wings have lost their primal flight ! 
 Beamless and shorn, dethroned morning star ! 
 Eternal darkness shrouds thy wandering car ! 
 Ruler and bane of earth's sustaining breath ! 
 Thy heart is poison, and thy frame is death ! 
 Soon fall the storms that on thy triumphs lower, 
 And stayless thunders paralyze thy power ! 
 
 Malignant fiend ! tell why — late blest and fair, 
 Do Eden's tenants droop in mute despair? 
 Why are her cedars blighted ? and why fade 
 Her glowing roses? Wherefore falls the shade 
 Of jasmine bowers, and myrtles, rustling round? 
 Why desert sand where fountains should abound ? 
 Why hang her birds their heads and wings supine ? 
 And why, in helpless woe, her beasts recline ? 
 Tell why, — before yon Seraph's flaming sword, 
 With guilt and shame, departs her mournful lord ? 
 And why, with tears and trembling, as he moves. 
 Leans on her lord the partner of his loves ? 
 Where'er they turn, surrounding charms decay ! 
 Why fade those charms ? Why speedeth man away ? 
 Answer, thou envious fiend ! yea, lift thy crest ! 
 Thy subtle malice triumph'd o'er the blest ! 
 
288 
 
 The well-springs of enjoyment ceased to roll, 
 And grief's slow poison rankled in the soul ! 
 
 Why o'er yon lifeless youth does beauty weep ? 
 Why mourns old age with sorrow still more deep ? 
 Why artless infancy caress the dead ? 
 And why the cloud of justice brood o'erhead ? 
 Why shrinks yon haggard form ? Ha ! sudden blow ! 
 Hot lightning scathes the fratricidal brow ! 
 And Abel's parted soul pronounced a tone, 
 That made to tremble thy exulting throne ! 
 
 Earth glooms ! the sun is blood ! the mighty rain, 
 
 One world-wide cataract, booms from heaven amain ! 
 
 Earth's firm foundations burst ! the waters rise ; 
 
 And mountain tops, like islands, brave the skies ! 
 
 Far, far below, their storm-beat bases rock, 
 
 And their throng'd summits, shrieking, own the shock! 
 
 Still swell the waves, till not one isle appears ! 
 
 Till wreck'd the glories of a thousand years ! 
 
 Why thus ? — Alas ! but one on earth was good ! 
 
 Thy myriad slaves provoked th' o'erwhelming Flood ! 
 
 Why glows the reddening sky with burning haze ? 
 Why are yon cities swallow'd by the blaze ? 
 The sulph'rous showers with fatal fumes descend. 
 And groans, and crashing towers, the welkin rend ! 
 On thy seduced ones pours the fiery rain, 
 And hell ingulfs the Cities of the Plain ! 
 
 Why roll yon chariots 'twixt the parted waves ? 
 Why speed yon horsemen blindly to their graves ? 
 Thy harden'd vassal leads their awful way. 
 Till coil'd destruction, plunging, whelms his prey ! 
 
239 
 
 With tenfold rage, the surging ocean roars, 
 
 And strews the slaughter'd hosts along its shores ! 
 
 From Eden's withering to Egypt's death. 
 Thy venom tainted all of human breath ! 
 From Egypt's death cry to the passing hour, 
 O'er reckless man has reign'd thy baleful power ! 
 And, till the wheels of time shall cease to roll. 
 Till earth is fire, and heaven a shrivell'd scroll — 
 Mankind shall yield their off'rings at thy shrine. 
 And God's creation serve thee, — as if thine ! 
 Yet, what the cost of free-will vows to thee ? 
 Oh! that rash man would question Calvary 1 
 
 Exiled archangel ! does no ray of light 
 
 Allure thine eye beyond eternal night ? 
 
 To where the sapphire gates and pearly wall 
 
 Surround the glory of the Grod of all ? 
 
 To where thy birth-right throne — a beaming sun, 
 
 Bright with the shadow of the Holy One — 
 
 Peers o'er the stars of wing-veil'd seraphim. 
 
 That holy anthems never cease to hymn ! 
 
 Say ! would thy wings renew their former flight ? 
 
 But thou art doom'd to flames and endless night! 
 
 Yon ocean rook beholds thy midnight form, 
 And hears thy voice loud rolling on the storm ; 
 When, plunging in the grave thy fiery spear, 
 Thou cry'st — " The Scourge of Nations moulders here ! 
 "I urg'd him on! — Yea, since the pristine fall, 
 "All guilt is mine that stains this cursed ball ! 
 "Not I alone unhappy! Still, each woe, 
 " I dealt to others, caused myself a throe ! 
 
240 
 
 "Hated by all that's good, I know full well; 
 " And ' fit to master' — all that serve in hell I" 
 
 First foe of man ! the universal air 
 Exalts to heaven the Christian's fervent prayer : 
 "Soon fall the storms, o'er Satan's crown that lower; 
 "And stayless thunders paralyze his power!" 
 
FASHION. 
 
 While fallen Adam mourn'd the fatal stroke, 
 That sear'd creation as the law was broke; 
 From the kind heavens, a form of beauty came ; 
 By Mercy sent — Improvement was her name. 
 And thus her message : " Mourning one, rejoice ! 
 And praise whom I obey, with thankful voice !" 
 
 Alas ! said man, can pleasure soothe the heart 
 That soon must quiver on destruction's dart? 
 Can he who holds a hell within his breast, 
 Sing as in heaven; and lull the storm to rest? 
 Command fair Eden's lightning-scathed trees 
 To bloom afresh, and perfume every breeze ! 
 Or bid yon cataract, thundering to the plain. 
 Turn to its fount, and sleep in peace again ! 
 Will they give heed ? then ask not me to raise 
 A single sound of happiness or praise. 
 
 Look o'er the earth — the withering curse hath made 
 The young to wrinkle, evergreens to fade. 
 Where late the angel Beauty look'd around, 
 Palaced in Eden, and with glory crown'd; 
 And saw her image in the dark clear lake, 
 And her fair pictures hung on every brake, 
 21 
 
And not uiie f<jiot on all crt'iitiou'p i'acc. 
 
 But bloom'il with health, and shone with smiling grace : 
 
 Look now, and see — alas ! that I have seen ! 
 
 What dreadful ravage mars the sweet serene 1 
 
 Behold the blasted Paradise ! the path 
 
 Is red with vengeance ; and the voice of wrath 
 
 Mutters afar, as if repeating still, 
 
 The curse that drove me from the holy hill. 
 
 See the prone, smouldering woods ; the mountains brown ; 
 
 The clouds that gloom creation with their frown ; 
 
 And lo ! the turbid river swells and roars, 
 
 And heaps the spoils of ruin on its shores. 
 
 No wing i.s there in heaven; and earth below 
 
 Is dumb with all the eloquence of woe. 
 
 The throne of Beauty ci-umbled to the ground, 
 
 And her dash'd crown in fragments fell around ; 
 
 And as she fled, a long loud howl arose. 
 
 And traitor Echo triuroph'd with her foes ! 
 
 " But cheer thee. Mourner !" bright Improvement said, 
 
 " The God of mercy sends thee ample aid ; 
 
 But list my voice, and earth, that seems so sad, 
 
 Deck'd with new charms, again shall make thee glad. 
 
 Thy doom is but to toil ; I come to bless 
 
 Thy whole employ, and make the labor less. 
 
 Soon shall young Time the darken'd heavens clear; 
 
 And woods and mountains bloom throughout the year; 
 
 The turbid streams in lucid lustre flow, 
 
 And all ci'eation in fresh beauty grow. 
 
 But list my voice, — and every new employ 
 
 Shall bring less pain, and yield increase of joy. 
 
 And, as thy sin from Eden turn'd thy path. 
 
 And made the world the heritage of wrath. 
 
■24:; 
 
 Thy toil, by me direetetl, shall compel 
 Prom ruin, better than from what you fell: 
 And make, for loss of Eden full supply, 
 A fairer garden all beneath the sky." 
 
 The Fiend of Darkness, hid in robes of light, 
 Stood near, and heard. Then, to the den of night, 
 Swelling with fury, swift he glanced; and there. 
 Thus, to the host infernal, pour'd his care : — 
 
 " He whom I hate, has sent Improvement down, 
 To wake to smiles, what I have taught to frown. 
 I heard the minion promise joy to man, 
 But I exist, and joy he never can! 
 What ! is it thought that I, who lately drove 
 The wheels of terror through the bowers of love, 
 Will tamely bear the tortures of my doom, 
 And see those bowers again array'd in bloom ? 
 No ! while there lives a soul of Adam's race. 
 The groans of earth shall pain the ear of space! 
 
 " Spirit of Change ! arise ! 'tis thine to be, 
 Again the cause of human misery ! 
 E'en while I hate, I bid thee near my throne, 
 For still my hope depends on thee alone ! 
 Spirit of Change ! — ha! how can I but feel. 
 That but for thee, I still could bear to kneel ! 
 That but for thee, my kingly-crowned brow, 
 Would brightest shine of all in heaven that bow! 
 Yet go ! — for sure the subtle power that raised 
 My rebel arm 'gainst Him I should have praised, 
 The power that triumph'd in the recent fall, 
 Can poison Mercy's cup with bitterest gall! 
 
244 
 
 Go ! — and, where'er Improvement bends her path. 
 Assume her semblance, and let loose thy wrath ! 
 Gro ! and though man, behind the mask, may trace 
 The blended horrors of thy fiendish face; 
 Thy toys shall make him oast her works aside, 
 And follow thee, in all the pomp of pride ! 
 The mimic, rather than the mimick'd, love ; 
 And wish the angel housed again above ! 
 Then shall thy name be Fashion, and mankind 
 Shall crave thy hand, and vow themselves are blind ; 
 While, trusted thus, all other fiends shall be 
 As peace to fury, when compared with thee !" 
 
TO A SKELETON* 
 
 Thou monument of death! Thou wreck of life ! 
 Sole, sad remembrancer of mortal strife! 
 
 Thou image of destruction ! — type of doom ! 
 
 Mocker of joy ! — and index to the tomb ! 
 
 Thou smilest ghastly on our living forms, 
 
 And seem'st to whisper — Ye shall feed the worms ! 
 
 Thine eyes, how desert ! and thine ears, how dull ! 
 How lost to thought, thine empty-eaten skull ! 
 Thy ribs, how heartless, cold, and reft of love : 
 And motionless thy limbs, so wont to move ! 
 
 Thou wast as I; — sensation clothed thy bones; 
 AVith bliss thy bosom glow'd, or heaved with groans. 
 
 A thousand wants, a thousand whims impell'd. 
 Thy buoyant feet to trace the verdant field ; 
 
 * The most of these lines were written in the Lecture Room of Dr. Joseph 
 P*****hj of Philadelphia. The author entered the room a few minutes be- 
 fore the time of the lectu^ and, having a skeleton, pendent from the ceiling, 
 for one of his companioiivhe was prompted to pencil this address. It was 
 intended to be very respectfully inscribed to the excellent Lecturer, — but the 
 writer's sense of its unworthiness prevented him frftm associating it with a 
 n:imo snhighlv esteemed. 
 
 21* 
 
24H 
 
 Or speed thy longing eyes to see the player ; 
 Or keep the pathway to the house of prayer : 
 Thy hands, to bless the poor with daily bread, 
 Or tear the suffering debtor from his bed ; 
 Or, haply, to some pledged but faithless friend. 
 Thyself, the trembling, piteous palm extend. 
 
 Ha ! strong the fancy that could see thee now, 
 Hard by the helm, or plodding at the plough ! 
 Once, all instinct with art, thy will controll'd 
 Its countless instruments with subtlest hold ; 
 Unseen — but still omnipotent to move, 
 To deeds of bitterest hate or sweetest love. 
 
 Yet where is now that will ? Canst thou declare ? 
 Unclose thy haggard jaws, and tell me where ! 
 All unsubdued, uncheok'd, triumphant still. 
 Immortal flames the free and glorious will ; 
 O'er time, o'er distance, spreads its wide domain ; 
 The noblest subject of Jehovah's reign. 
 
 Farewell, gaunt Skeleton ! — thou tellest a tale 
 That makes the sinner sad in heart — and pale ! 
 
THE COMING OF THE SHOWER. 
 
 0, many a long and weary day, 
 Nature has waited for the shower; 
 
 The leaf has wither'd on the spray, 
 And faded every drooping flower. 
 
 The grain-fields watch with weary eye 
 
 Each hopeful cloud that floateth by ; 
 
 Man looks and mourns — but mourns in vain ; 
 
 There falls no blessed drop of rain. 
 
 But lo, the time has come ! the cloud 
 
 With welcome gloom o'erspreads the ground ; 
 
 There is the flash ! and hark I how loud 
 In highest heaven the thunders sound : 
 
 Drop after drop ! and full and free 
 
 On field and forest, flower and tree, 
 
 The cloud's whole treasure falls amain. 
 
 And earth rejoices in the rain. 
 
 Thus when the soul has mourn'd; — when all 
 
 The plants of grace have seem'd to die ; 
 When the faint spirit's feeble call 
 
 Has claimed the mercy of the sky ; — 
 Then the refreshing time draws near, 
 Down comes the shower; the dry and sear 
 Revive at once, and all are seen 
 In fragrant bloom and fruitful green! 
 
THE MOMENTARY GLANCE* 
 
 He thought of former days — and sigh'd ; 
 
 Beauty was veil'd to him, 
 And grandeur, glittering in its pride. 
 
 And novelty, were dim; 
 And memory sung the evening when 
 Night came — to leave him not again. 
 
 He thought upon that sacred day 
 When marriage vows were given, 
 
 When wit and beauty made him gay. 
 And earth appear'd a heaven ; — 
 
 When pleasure hung her lovely bow 
 
 O'er all the storms that rage below. 
 
 But one delight of nuptial life 
 
 That husband could not know; 
 For while his faithful, tender wife 
 
 Gazed fondly on his brow, 
 
 * These lines were written after hearing the relation of a fact, in substance 
 as follows; — A gentleman was deprived of the power of vision. He was in- 
 formed that, if he would consent to a certain operation, he might again see ; 
 though, probably, it would be only for a few moments. He immediately de- 
 termined that the operation should be performed; that, once more, he might 
 look upon the things of light. His wife and children, to him the dearest ob- 
 jects on earth — were brought into the room, and so situated as to become the 
 lirst subjects of his sight. The oculist exerted hie skill, and the effect was as 
 predicted. He was blessed with one Tnomentary pla 71 ce. — be saw those bf 
 Ifiveil best — niif] bis soul shrank back in darknesp. 
 
249 
 
 He could not meet her speaking eye 
 With love's bewitching sympathy. 
 
 And though his children climb'd his knee, 
 And sung their songs of mirth ; 
 
 And love imagined them to be 
 The fairest things of earth, 
 
 He saw not the peculiar grace 
 
 That kindled in each smiling face. 
 
 ! dark and dreadful was the doom 
 That fate had o'er him thrown; 
 
 'Mid flowers he looked not on their bloom, 
 'Mid friends — he was alone. 
 
 A star set in a starry sky. 
 
 But hid from all its brilliancy. 
 
 Hope sprung to life — the hand of skill 
 
 His misty eyes might clear j 
 And to his view, in sunshine, still 
 
 The loved of earth appear. 
 'Twas so — his soul look'd forth in light. 
 Then backward shrunk in deeper night. 
 
 He saw a soft, a piteous smile, 
 Beam from his anxious wife; — 
 
 He saw the dewy charms awhile, 
 Of those fair buds of life ; 
 
 And sight was not — ^but memory made 
 
 A sketch of all that could not fade. 
 
 All earth's magnificence — the glow 
 Of nature and of art — 
 
^50 
 
 Wealth, beauty, fame, — could uot bestow 
 
 Sucli rapture on his heart, 
 As that one momentary view 
 Of those, — the lovely and the true. 
 
 Thus, should some holy eye behold 
 
 The glories now unknown. 
 The palms — the crowns — the harps of gold- 
 
 The rainbow and the throne — 
 And then deep darkness pall the show, 
 Could he forget his vision ? No ! 
 
 Communings high, in silent hours, 
 Would fix his thoughtful soul ; 
 
 He'd muse on the celestial powers. 
 And bid the moments roll 
 
 More swiftly — till the day should come, 
 
 When he might soar from earthly home. 
 
 Neither could he, the blind one, cease 
 
 To think when dawning light, 
 Olave all his tenderness release. 
 
 And brought his all to sight; 
 And hope unto his soul would say, 
 " Ye all shall meet in endless day," 
 
STUDY TO SHOW THYSELF APPROVED 
 UNTO GOD." 
 
 Where siall the soul obtain, 
 Some MAXIM that will lead 
 
 From sorrow's desert plain, 
 
 To pleasure's fountain-head ? — 
 
 M'^hich, like an Angel guide. 
 Shall point where Jesus trod, 
 
 And bring at last to Jesu's side ? 
 'Tis this,— 'tis this ! 
 The golden key of bliss — 
 
 " Approve thyself to God 1" 
 
 How happy is the breast, 
 This maxim that maintains ! 
 
 Can aught disturb his rest, 
 
 Whose CONSCIENCE has no pains? 
 
 Earth frowns — but Jesus smiles ! 
 Strikes — but he wards the rod ! 
 
 And lures — but vain are all its wiles 1 
 Mortal ! may this 
 Direct thy way to bliss — 
 
 ' Approve thyself to God !" 
 
THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 
 
 I heard a prayer — and e'en an angel's ear, 
 Might thrill with rapture, such a prayer to hear : 
 I heard a prayer — the Holy one and High 
 Was pleased to listen to his handmaid's cry ! 
 
 I saw a Mother lift her eyes to heaven ; 
 And heard her claim the joy of sins forgiven. 
 Not for herself — for she through years had known, 
 The happiness that Christians feel alone : 
 But, for her children was that prayer exprest ; 
 That heaven, at last, might be their mutual rest : 
 That, let the world, with all its pomp and pride. 
 Glow as it might on time's deceitful tide : 
 Let penury, with all its frowns, descend. 
 And earth be bankrupt for a worthy friend : 
 Still might the hand Divine their footsteps lead. 
 And grant them grace sufficient for their need. 
 
 And was she answered ? Soon that Mother died. 
 And left her children in the world of pride. 
 Yet, scarcely had she praised the Lord above. 
 Before her children sung redeeming love ; 
 And while rejoicings sounded round the Throne, 
 Their grateful voices mingled with her own ! 
 
 Ye, to whose care Jehovah has consign'd. 
 
 The dying body and the immortal mind ; 
 
 Ah, claim not wealth, nor power, nor life, nor fame !- 
 
 Earth, misery, half-existence, and a name I — 
 
But, pray your God to keeji a watelaful eye, 
 iSujiport, defeud, preserve, and teacli to die I 
 ^Vnd priiy in f'aitli — -then, every child shall be. 
 Worth more than worlds, through such a legacy ! 
 
 A Mother's prayers — a thousand harps in heaven, 
 Attest the grace in answer to them given 1 
 Ten thousand louder songs the Lord shall hear 
 For grace in answer to a Mother's prayer ! 
 
 Let grateful feelings in my bosom reign, 
 
 And Jesu's love inspire my votive strain. 
 
 For one, enthroned in light, while here she dwelt 
 
 Preferr'd in prayer the wishes that she felt : 
 
 And, now my Mother's journey aye is done, 
 
 That journey I, with trembling, have begun. 
 
 Nor I alone — a Sister's step attends, 
 
 And onward to the Throne our pathway bends. 
 
 Another Sister, yet in tender years. 
 
 Awaits the answer of her Mother's prayers : 
 
 Her Mother's looks, impressive, mark her face. 
 
 And hope anticipates her Mother's grace. 
 
 One Parent, still, before us leads the way, 
 
 To meet the sainted in eternal day. 
 
 Yet, which shall first enjoy that glad embrace, 
 
 No tongue can tell — the future veils its face : 
 
 I, weak in frame, dejected, walk along, 
 
 Think over former times, and pour a plaintive song. 
 
 May God attend our journey to the dead; 
 His love, our joy; and sin, our only dread : 
 And, to His Name, eternal praise be given, 
 By all who serve on earth and glorify in heaven ! 
 22 
 
MY SORROWS. 
 
 These oaks, in mossy mantles hoar, 
 Their wither'd branches now dispread, 
 
 O'er one whose pleasures are no more — 
 O'er one whose warmest hopes are dead. 
 
 Through hazy clouds, her cheerless way, 
 The pallid queen of heaven pursues; 
 
 Emitting still a sickly ray. 
 
 And bathing earth in baleful dews. 
 
 The passing wind, with sullen moan. 
 O'er yonder grave-yard slowly sweeps ; 
 
 And by that dim-discover'd stone, 
 A broken-hearted widow weeps. 
 
 The stream that glimmers through the vale, 
 Her weedy garden sadly laves ; 
 
 But she delights, though faint and pale. 
 To weep amidst the field of graves. 
 
 Ah ! let no sound of mirth intrude, 
 To break the silence reigning here ! 
 
 Grief consecrates this solitude. 
 
 With hopeless sigh and burning tear .' 
 
Thou, Pity ! heaven-descended maid I 
 With pensive eyes of liquid blue ! 
 
 0, visit thou this mournful shade — 
 With sorrow sympathize anew ! 
 
 Not twenty summers on my path, 
 
 Have pour'd their horns of golden bloom ; 
 Yet dark misfortune's fatal wrath, 
 
 Has pall'd my mental sky in gloom. 
 
 Fond nature, to my raptured eye, 
 The brilliant course of glory shows ; 
 
 I see the onward crown, and sigh 
 To think the prize for others glows. 
 
 Yet envy's voice I scorn to hear, 
 I would the meed in triumph gain; 
 
 But sadly sinks my soul with fear. 
 Fast bound in fate's relentless chain. 
 
 The hectic glow that warms my cheek. 
 Allures the heartless dragon — death : 
 
 And friendly tears most keenly speak, 
 The quick surrender of my breath. 
 
 For me no more the glowing hearth 
 Of home, and all its charms, appear; 
 
 An outcast on the face of earth. 
 
 And doom'd the stranger's scorn to bear. 
 
 Twelve moons have scarcely sway'd the sky, 
 Since all the joys of home were mine ! 
 
 No tears of sorrow dimm'd mine eye. 
 Save, sainted Mother ! tears for thine ! 
 
.':>(, 
 
 Alas ! again that painful thought. 
 
 My aching bosom wildly wrings 1 
 "Where shall forgetfulness be sought ? 
 
 Oh, where are found th' oblivious springs ? 
 
 Can he, whose sister sought the skies — 
 Can she, whose brother sleeps in clay — 
 
 Can they conceive the pains that rise. 
 When loving mothers pass away? 
 
 No ! ye may shed the feeling tear, 
 
 Where blooming verdure marks their tomb ; 
 But ah ! the motherless must bear, 
 
 A night of unimagined gloom. 
 
 There rise a thousand little woes, 
 
 A thousand little joys, to tell; 
 To gain, from grief, a slight repose — 
 
 To make the bliss, unspeakable. 
 
 And where, but in a mother's breast, 
 Can woes like these one sigh command ? 
 
 Or joys receive as sweet a zest, 
 
 As from a mother's smilings bland? 
 
 Remembrance paints an awful storm. 
 
 When rung, with beating hail, the dome; 
 
 When howls proclaim'd the demon's form, 
 And swift destruction rent our home. 
 
 Then, o'er that storm, maternal love — 
 A rainbow, to our sight was given 1 
 
 And while our gaze was fix'd above, 
 It gently vanish'd into heaven ! 
 
I've watcli'd the early, crimson streak; 
 
 And upward glaucinii' golden ray 1 
 Have seen the mountain's kindled peak, 
 
 And hail'd the flood of glowing day ! 
 
 And thus, I vainly hojjed, would be, 
 The opening of my youthful years ; 
 
 That glory should arise on me ; 
 
 And bright'ning fortune chase my fears I 
 
 But, sick, and homeless, and bereft, — 
 I claim thy guidance, 0, Despair! 
 
 My mother's tomb-star still is left — 
 Conduct my tottering footsteps there ! 
 
 22* 
 
OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 " How blessings brighten as tbey take their flight!" — YouNO. 
 
 Time onward flew — but his fair offspring staid ; 
 
 Young Opportunity! — witli angel smile : 
 Loose in his hand he held a gift for man, 
 
 Which oft, he, offering, waved with wanton wile. 
 
 And men collected round that angel's form, 
 They praised his beauty and his kindness too; 
 
 His golden wings were folded by his side, 
 
 And bright his blooming face appeared to view. 
 
 But man ! oh, foolish man ! in wonder lost. 
 
 Ne'er stretch'd his hand that blessing to receive; 
 
 When Time, again come round, summon'd his child. 
 And left the simple mortal long to grieve. 
 
 Oh ! when that angel spread his wings in flight, 
 How did his pinions glitter in the sun ! 
 
 His treasure shone more brilliant than before. 
 
 And man, in tears, sat down and cried — Undone ! 
 
FIFTY YEARS OLD. 
 
 A SONNET FOR JUNE 4tHj 1858. 
 
 "Then said the Jews unto Mm, Thou art not yet fifty years old; and hast 
 thou seen Abraham?" — John Tiii. 57. 
 
 Not far from fifty! So, it seems, they thought; 
 And yet few more than thirty had gone by 
 Since o'er Thy birth the still and starry sky 
 Fill'd, thrill'd, with glory-music, angel-brought. 
 And earth-enchanting. When the shepherds sought 
 Thy baby-bed, and found Thy smile and voice 
 More fair and sweet than all of heaven : " Rejoice I" — 
 They might have sung — " For Thee all time hath wrought. 
 All space hath treasured, bliss. Thy course foretold. 
 Thy lips. Thine eyes, sighs, tears, shall never know I" 
 And yet, Christ ! Thy manhood bent below 
 Our sins, and in Thy youth men thought Thee old ! 
 I, this day fifty, still much older seem : 
 0, sinless Saviour ! sinful me redeem ! 
 
TO A FIRE-PLY. 
 
 Little twinkler ! in the shade, 
 Of the melancholy gloaming; 
 
 Through the summer's green arcade, 
 Self-illumined, joyful, roaming : 
 
 Greater thou, in reason's eye, 
 
 Than the worlds that shine on high ! 
 
 Stars on burning axles roll. 
 
 Through infinity of space; 
 Never reach a resting goal, 
 
 jSTerer weary in their race : 
 Rolling on and shining bright. 
 Cheering all the realms of night. 
 
 Yet thy light exhibits power. 
 
 More than all the stars that shine ; 
 
 Life ! — though but for one short hour, 
 Life — the breath of God is thine ! 
 
 Let thy little heart expand ! 
 
 Wing thy lamp through all the land ! 
 
 He that made the hills and vales, 
 Rivers, oceans, earth and sky; 
 
 Talks in storms, and breathes in gales : 
 Giveth thee self-wiU'd to fly ! 
 
 Greater power in thee is shown, 
 
 Than in midnight's starry zone ! 
 
FEAR. 
 
 Beside me speaks the phantom, Fear: 
 '■ The time of trial draweth near !" 
 His hand is laid upon my hreast; 
 My throbbing heart no more can rest : 
 My trembling frame, my shrinking soul, 
 Suffer, like slaves, his stern control. 
 
 What ! shall a spirit born to wave 
 
 Its victor pinions o'er the grave — 
 
 And then, from sin and error shriven, 
 
 Surmount the highest star in heaven — 
 
 And soaring on, from far espy 
 
 The palace of eternity — 
 
 And there arrived, an heir of God, 
 
 Walk through the coiarts by angels trod- 
 
 And oft of burning planets hear. 
 
 And new orbs kindling in their sphere — 
 
 Surviving all material change. 
 
 With endless life and boundless range — 
 
 Shall such a spirit, hither come. 
 
 So far forget its native home. 
 
 As thus to cower beneath a shade ? 
 
 As thus to own itself afraid ? 
 
 Aroused by faith, I snap the chain 
 And breathe ray liberty again. 
 
THE CONTRITE. 
 
 With weeping eyes upraised, he meekly cried ; 
 " Hear me, God ! for whom thy Son hath died I 
 let thy Spirit breathe upon my heart, 
 And all the joy of pard'ning love impart !" 
 
 Light beam'd around; the contrite was forgiven ; 
 
 Earth, sea, and sky seem'd lost in love and heaven ! 
 
 All nature shone more glorious than before ; 
 
 " Lord ! thou art here !" he said; he could no more; 
 
 A holy silence reigned; a sacred fear; 
 
 He could but whisper, " Saviour! thou art here 1" 
 
 EPITAPH. 
 
 Earthly good is certain never; 
 
 Morning sun may cloud ere noon ; 
 Friends we fain would keep forever, 
 
 Death withdraws, alas, how soon ! 
 Seek we then the saints immortal. 
 Where they shine in glory's portal. 
 Smiling, beckoning, calling — " Come! 
 Heaven is an enduring home I" 
 
HYMNS. 
 
 THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 
 
 We need not soar above the skies, 
 
 Leave suns and stars below ; 
 And seek Thee with unclouded eyes, 
 
 In all that angels know : — 
 The very breath we here inhale, 
 
 The pulse in every heart. 
 Attest with force that cannot fail, 
 
 Thou art— G od ! Thou art ! 
 
 If, 'midst the ever-during songs 
 
 Of universal joy, — 
 The chime of worlds and chant of tongues- 
 
 The praise that we employ, 
 May breathe its music in Thine ear. 
 
 Its meaning in Thy heart; 
 Our glad confessiou deign to hear. 
 
 Thou art— God ! Thou art! 
 
THE UNITY OF GOD. 
 
 When God — neglected or denied — 
 
 Prom ancient tribes withdrew his grace, 
 
 How soon the erring myriads strove, 
 "With phantom forms to fill his place. 
 
 On every hill, by every stream, 
 
 All homes within, all way-sides near, 
 
 The hallow'd idols senseless stood, 
 
 The helpless suppliants bow'd with fear. 
 
 With gods for every foot of land, 
 And every pulse of passing time. 
 
 In life, no soothing peace they found, 
 In death, no heavenly hope sublime. 
 
 Thou, the true and living God ! 
 
 Maker of all, above — below ; 
 Eternal — self-existent One ! 
 
 How blest are we Thy name to know ! 
 
 One God — enlighten'd faith adores; 
 
 One God — harmonious nature cries; 
 One God — our common Sire and Lord, 
 
 The brotherhood of mind replies. 
 
 To Thee — Supreme ! — to Thee alone, 
 Be hymns of highest glory sung ; 
 
 The source of joy to every heart. 
 
 The theme of praise to every tongue. 
 
THE TRUTH OF GOD. 
 
 Can truth divine fulfilment fail ? 
 
 Sooner shall star-crown'd nature die : 
 Truth is the very breath of God — 
 
 Part of his own eternity ! 
 
 Earth's every pulse may cease to flow, 
 And every voice be heard no more ; 
 
 The forest, crumble on the mount — 
 The sea, corrupt upon the shore ; 
 
 The moon's supply of light, expire ; 
 
 The sun itself, grow dense with gloom ; 
 And fairer systems, sphered afar, 
 
 Dissolving, own the common doom. 
 
 But, long as stands Jehovah's throne. 
 Long as His being shall endure ; 
 
 So long the truth His lips proclaim, 
 Eemains inviolably sure. 
 23 
 
THE LORD'S POOR. 
 
 Methought I saw the Son of God ; — 
 
 The thorns still red, the nail-prints fresh : 
 
 His patient look betray'd a pain 
 
 Sharper than all that thrill'd His flesh. 
 
 suiFering, saving Lord of Love ! — 
 
 Warm from my heart the language came — 
 
 Could' St Thou forsake the throne of heaven, 
 To bear, on earth, such wo and shame ? 
 
 Thine own creation knew Thee not — 
 Thy chosen cried — away ! away ! 
 
 But all the ardour of my soul, 
 
 Entreats Thee, Master ! — stay, stay ! 
 
 I'll soothe Thy griefs, I'll heal Thy wounds. 
 With trembling joy Thy brow unbind ; 
 
 Gentile and Jew from me shall learn 
 The common duty of mankind ! 
 
 Lo ! crown'd with glory — changed, He stood ! 
 
 Sun-like, the radiant bosom-scar ! 
 His hands, the orb and sceptre bore! 
 
 And shone, on either foot, a star ! 
 
267 
 
 How sunk my heart ! ashamed to know 
 I could not bless the Lord of all ; 
 
 When, suddenly and silently, 
 
 A pale group came, at Jesu's call. 
 
 Pointing to them — with smiles, He rose ! 
 
 But rising said — Disciple ! see, 
 Though I depart, the poor remain — 
 
 Kindness to them is love to me I 
 
"STAND UP FOR JESUS." 
 
 (Dtiho Charge of Rev. Dddlet A. Trsa.) 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! Strengthen'd by His hand, 
 Even I, though young, have ventured thus to stand; 
 But, soon cut down, as maim'd and faint I lie, 
 Hear, my friends ! the charge with vrhich I die — 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! Dear ones of my home ! 
 Who made me slow to leave and swift to come : 
 Sweet wife and children ! gifts of perfect love ! 
 Still, as ye catch my smile from climes above, 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! Thou, my honor'd sire ! 
 Blest with the heart of truth and tongue of fire ; 
 Whose brave example taught me how to live. 
 Take from my lips the lesson thine should give — 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! All who lead His host ! 
 Crown'd with the splendors of the Holy Ghost ! 
 Shrink from no foe, to no temptation yield, 
 Urge on the triumphs of this glorious field — 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
269 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! Ye, with whom I stood 
 In purer, stronger bonds than those of blood : 
 Church of the Covenant ! favor'd, firm, and true, 
 Remember Him to whom all thanks are due — 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 Stand up foe Jesus ! Listeners to that word — * 
 " Ye that are men, go now and serve the Lord !" 
 Only to serve in heaven, on earth I fall ; 
 Ye who remain, still hear your comrade's call — 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! Ye of every name. 
 All one in prayer and all with praise a-flame : 
 Forget the sad estrangements of the past, 
 With one consent, in love and peace at last. 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! Lo ! at God's right hand 
 Jesus himself for us delights to stand ! 
 Let saints and sinners wonder at His grace : 
 Let Jews and Gentiles join, and all our race 
 
 Stand up for Jesus ! 
 
 * Exodus X. 11 — Mr. Tyng'a text on occasion of preaching to the thousands 
 of young men at Jayne's Hall. 
 
 23* 
 
GLORY TO GOD.* 
 
 ^'Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good-will to men." 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 In Him alone we make our boast, 
 And, face to face, from coast to coast, 
 We lift the watchword of His host — 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 Let highest heaven exalt His name. 
 Let farthest worlds increase His fame, 
 Each Morning Star relume its flame, 
 Each Son of God anew proclaim — 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 Let all the earth His power confess. 
 His wisdom laud. His goodness bless ; 
 Good-will and peace succeed distress, 
 Christ comes — the Lord our Righteousness ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
 * Written for the Atlantic Telegraph Celebration, by the Young Men's 
 Chriatian Association, at Jayne's Hall, Philadelphia, September, 1858. 
 
271 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 Be not afraid your hearts to raise, 
 Be not ashamed to sing His praise ; 
 Let Nature veil her borrow'd blaze, 
 And Science shout in all her ways — 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 At first He bade our pride retire. 
 Then calm'd the deep to our desire, 
 With His own hand safe laid the wire, 
 And gave each wave a tongue of fire — 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 Lo ! now the Sea-Apostle stands, 
 Redeem'd, inspired, with trembling hands 
 Blessing the fair united lands. 
 And chanting to the crowded strands — 
 
 Glory to God! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 Our fathers fear'd the foreign scene, 
 And wish'd a sea of fire between ; 
 Love sends one spark, with smiling mien. 
 And lo ! both worlds are all serene — 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 Our flag foreshows the morning light : 
 Its stars, indeed, are of the night. 
 But long, and broad, and red, and bright. 
 Its sunbeams break upon our sight — 
 
 Glory to God ! 
 
272 
 
 Griory to God ! 
 The whirlwind folds its wing at last, 
 The earthquake slumbers with the past, 
 The thunder-fire no more shall blast, 
 Still, Small Voice ! we bow in haste — 
 
 Glory to God! 
 
^NOT UNTO US."* 
 
 Not unto Tis, but unto Thee — 
 O Lord our God ! — all glory be ! 
 Witt grateful hearts, we now appear, 
 To close with praise this blessed year : 
 
 Holy year ! Happy year ! 
 The Lord be praised for such a year ! 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 Our Churches cry — all glory be ! 
 With crowded court and echoing shrine, 
 The only saving power is Thine : 
 Unto Thee ! Unto Thee ! 
 Head of the Church ! — all glory be ! 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 Our Tradesmen cry — all glory be ! 
 When commerce fail'd, Thy richer grace 
 With Noon-Day Prayer supplied its place : 
 
 Unto Thee ! Unto Thee !— 
 God only wise ! — all glory be ! 
 
 * Written for the Fourth Anniversary of the Young Men's Christian Asso- 
 ciation of Philadelphia, Jayne's Hall, Tuesday evening, November 2i, 1858. 
 
•274 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 Our FiBEMBN cry — all glory be ! 
 Their halls with sacred altars flame, 
 Their silver trumpets sound Thy fame : 
 
 Unto Thee ! Unto Thee ! 
 Like priests they chant — all glory be ! 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 Our Tentmen cry — all glory be ! 
 Their Canvas Chapel for the poor. 
 Has welcomed thousands to its door : 
 
 Unto Thee ! Unto Thee ! 
 As kings they shout — all glory be ! 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 
 Our Seamen cry — all glory be ! 
 
 They knew Thee great where ocean rolls. 
 
 But find Thee greater in their souls : 
 
 Unto Thee ! Unto Thee ! 
 Salvation's God ! — all glory be ! 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 Our SiSTEES sing — all glory be ! 
 For fears allay'd and hopes renew'd, 
 For love restored and sins subdued : 
 
 Unto Thee ! Unto Thee ! 
 Grod of our homes ! all glory be ! 
 
 Not unto us, but unto Thee — 
 For all the past — all glory be ! 
 The year to come — 0, may it prove. 
 More full of faith, and hope, and love : 
 
 So to Thee ! Only Thee ! 
 Forever, Lord ! — all glory be ! 
 
CHRIST'S DAY OF POWER. 
 
 (ALIiUSION TO THE IIOTH PSALM.) 
 
 Thy day of power has come ! 
 This holy dawn divine ! 
 And Zion's hills, renew'd in youth, 
 With dews of beauty shine. 
 
 Now may the promised grace 
 Be fully shed abroad ; 
 And all thy willing people haste 
 To do the will of God ! 
 
 The Father wills that Thou, 
 Exalted at His side, 
 Our only Prophet, Priest, and King, 
 Forever shalt abide : — 
 
 That all who love Thy name 
 One Brotherhood shall be ; 
 Kept by the standard of Thy word 
 From all divisions free ! — 
 
 That all Thy foes shall bow 
 Submissive at Thy feet ; 
 
276 
 
 And heaven and earth, with one accord, 
 Thy perfect empire greet! 
 
 Let Jews and Gentiles cry — 
 Amen ! G-od's will be done ! 
 Jesus ! who died upon the Cross, 
 We hail Thee on Thy Throne ! 
 
SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN. 
 
 If, while the Jewish ages 
 
 Still added to the Word; 
 Kings, Prophets, Priests and Sages, 
 
 Look'd vainly for the Lord : — 
 How blest are we to know Him 
 
 So early in our youth ! 
 How gladly should we show Him 
 
 Our love, in deed and truth ! 
 
 If when He came from glory, 
 
 The angels flew to sing 
 Redemption's opening story — 
 
 The Birth-Day of the King :— 
 Well we may lift our voices, 
 
 Rememb'ring how He died ; 
 While every heart rejoices 
 
 To praise the Crucified ! 
 
 If all who ever sought Him, 
 
 Have had their sins forgiven ; 
 And even children, brought Him, 
 
 Are welcomed home to heaven : 
 Look — look we all above us. 
 
 And lift our hymn on high ; 
 For He who so doth love us 
 
 Is smiling from the sky ! 
 24 
 
THE TRUE REFUGE. 
 
 Thy Goodness is my refuge, Lord ! 
 
 Here let me ever rest : 
 I feel the Spirit of Thy word — 
 
 Thou wiliest what is best ! 
 
 Thy Knowledge is my refuge, Lord ! 
 
 Here let me ever rest : 
 I feel the Spirit of Thy word— 
 
 Thou knowest what is best ! 
 
 Thy Wisdom is my refuge. Lord ! 
 
 Here let me ever rest: 
 I feel the Spirit of Thy word— 
 
 Thou choosest what is best ! 
 
 Thy Power completes my refuge. Lord ! 
 
 Here let me ever rest : 
 I feel the Spirit of Thy word — 
 
 Thou doest what is best ! 
 
 Thou art our Perfect Refuge, Lord ! 
 
 Here let creation rest : 
 Charm'd by the Spirit of Thy word — 
 
 Grod's ways are always best ! 
 
CHEERFUL GRATITUDE. 
 
 A SIMPLE HYUN FOR IHE REVIVAL. 
 
 Lord ! we thank Thee, that the shining 
 Of Thy face is not declining ; 
 That the breathing of Thy blessing 
 "Still our heart-strings is caressing : 
 
 So to prove Thee, 
 
 So to love Thee, 
 Oh, 'tis heaven on earth possessing ! 
 
 Still Thy people are reviving, 
 Sinners still for pardon striving; 
 Still Thy Spirit keeps in motion, 
 On the land and on the ocean : 
 
 Happy season! 
 
 Oh, what reason 
 Find we now for full devotion ! 
 
 Father ! Spirit ! leave us never ! 
 Jesus ! help us, now and ever ! 
 Brethren ! keep from worldly straying, 
 Onward march without delaying. 
 
 Lift the Banner ! 
 
 Shout Hosanna ! 
 Upward pressing, praising, praying ! 
 
CHRISTMAS HYMN* 
 
 A noon of glory fill'd the noon of night, 
 
 A song from heaven was heard by mortal ear; 
 The favor'd shepherds trembled with affright, 
 The loving seraph bade them cease to fear ; 
 And, pointing to the hill where Bethlehem lay, 
 " For you," he cried, " the Saviour's born to day I" 
 
 Then shook the golden air with glad acclaim ; 
 
 Thick as the stars the angels shone around ; 
 All, looking up, extoll'd the Father's name, 
 
 All downward worshipp'd where the Son was found ; 
 " Grlory to Grod !" they sang, " enthroned on high. 
 Peace and good will, where Christ has come to die !" 
 
 As now, God ! Thy Son before Thee stands, 
 
 That Christmas music lingers near Thee still ! 
 And ah ! the death-wounds in His priestly hands. 
 
 Are fresh as when they bled on Calvary's hill; 
 While, long-return'd, those angels round Thee sing. 
 And saints, yet coming, shout to see their King! 
 
 O God of grace and glory! is there one. 
 
 Who feels Thy grace. Thy glory hopes to see, 
 
 * This hymn and the following one were written for a Christmas Festival 
 in relief of a Church Debt. 
 
281 
 
 Trusts in the cross, or ventures near the throne, 
 
 Who stints the gift that now he brings to Thee ! 
 Far more than this, thy Son hath borne for all, 
 Strike not the dimmest from His coronal ! 
 
 let the Holy Spirit now descend, 
 
 As to the early church, so let Him come ! 
 
 Inspiring every member, every friend, 
 
 With mutual zeal to disenthrall Thy home ! 
 
 And when we press our pillows this glad night. 
 
 Our hearts, relieved, shall bless Thee with delight. 
 
 24* 
 
CHURCH DEBT. 
 
 At length, Lord ! ashamed we see, 
 
 How little we have done for Thee ! 
 
 Though Thou hast crown'd our life with good, 
 
 And saved our souls by Jesus' blood ! 
 
 We were no people ! some, with pain, 
 Remember'd efforts old and vainj 
 But most, of sin were dupes and slaves. 
 And rushing blind tow'rd hopeless graves ! 
 
 Then blew the trumpet of Thy Word ! 
 Then flash'd Thy Spirit's two-edged sword ! 
 We burst our bonds, our freedom won, 
 And now tow'rd heaven are marching on ! 
 
 We had no temple ! years had gone. 
 Since lost was yonder pleasant one,* 
 At Thy command, the second rose, 
 And lo ! what greater glory glows ! 
 
 Thousands on thousands here have come, 
 Like children to their Father's home; 
 
 * In Cherry Street, below Eleventh — now owned hy the Reformed Presby- 
 terian Church, of which Rev. James M. Willson is pastor. 
 
283 
 
 They found within — the debtor's call ! 
 Without — ^the placard on the wall ! 
 
 Father of all ! how can it be, 
 Thy children care no more for Thee ! 
 Thine altar, — suffer to grow cold, 
 Thy very Mercy-seat, — be sold ! 
 
 Grreat God of glory and of grace ! 
 How can we hope to see Thy face, 
 While proudly in our homes we shine, 
 And let the curse still rest on Thine ! 
 
 Forgive, for Jesus' sake ! forgive ! 
 Speak, Lord ! and still Thy church shall live ! 
 Shall shine — its sphere enlarging fast, 
 Till all th' eclipse be off at last. 
 
 Then, with the shadow, gone the dread. 
 All heaven in beauty round us shed ; 
 Returning thousands long shall raise, 
 Salvation's anthems in Thy praise ! 
 
NATIONAL HYMN.* 
 
 "In the name of our God we will set up our banners." — Ps. xx. 5. 
 
 I. 
 
 In the name of Jehovah our banner we raise, 
 With its stars and its stripes pledged anew to His praise ; 
 'Tis the ensign of truth, 'tis the standard of right, 
 'Tis the herald of liberty, union and light. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And this flag of our fathers, in God's name unfurl'd. 
 O'er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 
 
 II. 
 
 If it ever prove false to its glorious trust, 
 May its foes drag it down with contempt to the dust; 
 But as long as 'tis true to the blazon it holds. 
 Shall the arm of Omnipotence bear up its folds. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And this flag of our fathers, in God's name unfurl'd, 
 O'er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 
 
 * This hymn may be sung to the air of Moore's Song — " i knew hy ike smoke 
 that go gracefully curled ;" — omitting the "repeat" in the fourth line, and 
 using it in the second line of the chorus. 
 
285 
 
 III. 
 
 Here at home, witli one sky and one land, let it be 
 But the flag of one people, harmonious and free; 
 From the north to the south, from the east to the west, 
 With no treason to part us, no war to molest. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 And this flag of our fathers, in God's name unfurl'd. 
 O'er their children shall wave to' the end of the world. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So abroad on all seas and all shores let it shine, 
 As the symbol of manhood redeem'd and divine; 
 That the down-trodden nations in triumph may rise 
 With their feet on their chains and their brows to the skies. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 While this flag of our fathers, in God's name unfurl'd. 
 O'er their children shall wave to the end of the world. 
 

 
 
 A SCENE ON THE YOUGniOOIIENY. 
 
 P. 300. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 AUTOBIOGKAPHIC 
 
 OTHER NOTES. 
 
AUTOBIOGRAPHIC AND OTHER NOTES. 
 
 PMladelpMa : November 9 : 1861. 
 To an Imaginary Friend : 
 
 My Dear : 
 
 Wishing the attention of a combination-friend — one 
 uniting all the qualities most congenial to my purpose, I take 
 the liberty of addressing you. 
 
 I proposed to print a book " of about three hundred pages " 
 — containing poems and illustrations, with " autobiographic 
 and other notes." The edition was to consist of one thou- 
 sand copies. The popular and courteous editor of the 
 "Living Age" — E. Littell, Esq. — referring to the plan in 
 his attractive periodical, remarked: — "We hope that this 
 small edition of a handsome volume by our respected friend 
 and relative, may be immediately taken up. The Autobio- 
 graphic Notes ought to be especially interesting — as his ex- 
 perience has been long and varied." 
 
 It was not designed, however, that the class of notes thus 
 specified should assume the form of a regular and thorough 
 Autobiography. Far from it. Few men, perhaps, are bet- 
 ter prepared than myself for a work of this kind, so far as 
 materials are concerned; and it may be that tliese materials 
 include characters, incidents, and lessons, the presentation 
 of which would prove somewhat pleasant and profitable. 
 But, there is no just occasion for such a prodaetion. How 
 few are they who would care to have it! Alas for bereave- 
 ments ! Besides, if demanded, an appendix to a collection 
 of poems would neither afford room nor be a proper place 
 for it. 
 
 The purpose was rather of this kind : — As the book was 
 intended for circulation, chiefly among known friends; with 
 some overflow of the edition in dreamy contemplation of pos- 
 sible unknown friends ; 1 would make such notes as should 
 25 
 
290 
 
 be suggested by its contents, or seem likely to be agreeable 
 to any sympathetic range of anticipated readers. They might 
 be strictly autobiographic or relatively reminiscent; reli- 
 gious or secular; assthetic, critical, or otherwise. At any 
 rate, they must be brotherly and simple; even though some 
 of my brethren should smile at their simplicity. 
 
 Now, therefore, my dear , I attempt the falfllment 
 
 of my purpose ; though, of necessity, partially and in the 
 most condensed form. The poetic part of the volume being 
 completed, 1 find myself limited to comparatively a few pages. 
 These, perhaps, may be best improved by a summary, in chro- 
 nological order, with items and expansions according to cir- 
 cumstances. Trying, on my own part, to conduct so delicate 
 a matter with propriety, the understanding is that you are to 
 be satisfied with the result, be it as it may. 
 
 1807, April 8. Married, in Burlington, New Jersey, by Eev. 
 Thomas Ware, an Itinerant Minister of the Methodist Epis- 
 copal Church, William Smith Stockton and Elizabeth So- 
 phia Hewlings — members of the same church. The wed- 
 ding-day was the bridegroom's birth-day. He had just com- 
 pleted his twenty-second year. His bride was sixteen months 
 younger. Hereafter it will be seen that I might take plea- 
 sure in tracing a remoter ancestry. But, if this were all, it 
 would be enough — that these became my parents. No won- 
 der the tears started as that sentence came into my mind. 
 Such a father ! ' Such a mother ! Thank the Lord, forever ! 
 
 1808, June 4, Born, in Mount Holly, court town of Bur- 
 lington countyi N. J., Thomas Hewlings Stockton — the 
 first of six children, three boys and three girls ; two boys 
 and one girl dying in infancy, the others surviving to become 
 heads of families. As long as king Geoegb the Third con- 
 tinued to live, my birth-day was celebrated throughout the 
 British Empire — though less affectionately, it is presumed, 
 than at home ! 
 
 1808-13. Having returned to Burlington soon after my 
 birth, my parents resided there until the Fall of 1813. When 
 about four years old, I was put to school with Mrs. N. 1'., 
 wife of Eev. J. P., both Methodists. Doubtless I derived 
 great advantage from her teaching; but the lesson which I 
 remember best was that of being shut up, with my mates, in 
 darkness and silence, in the little back room, during the 
 thunder-storm ! Even yet, I seem to see the glare of the 
 lightning on the hearth, and hear the rolling of the thunder 
 
291 
 
 over the trembling roof and rattling windows. The estimor 
 ble lady is, I believe, still living; and I expect the pleasure 
 of alluding to her again. 
 
 1813-18. Home, for five years, in Trenton, the capital of 
 the State. Education proceeded — first, at the private school 
 of Danirl Coleman, Esq., afterward Secretary of State, a 
 Methodist also ; and then, at the city Academy. At the 
 Academy, I remember particularly the union of the boys of 
 different departments on one day in each week for oratorical 
 training. 
 
 1818-19. From Fall to Spring of these years, our home 
 was in Easton, Pennsylvania. Perhaps the first Methodist 
 meeting in that town was the prayer-meeting in my father's 
 house. Attended the Academy there. Thence, removed to 
 Philadelphia ; and thence, returned to Trenton. 
 
 1819-22. Home in Trenton. School, chiefly, that of Jam rs 
 E. Slack, Esq. — an excellent instructor. In the spring of 
 1822, removed to Philadelphia. Schooling, afterward, irre- 
 gular and defective. 
 
 1823. Constitution impaired by nearly a year's sickness : 
 bilious fever, chills and fe vei-, and varioloid. Friends thought 
 me about to die. Our venerable pastor, the pious and gen- 
 tle James Batbman, was called in to talk and pray with me. 
 
 1824. My first publication — a brief poem, in the "Satur- 
 day Evening Post." Thenceforth — frequent contributions, 
 to various periodicals : poems, tales, essays, criticisms, &c. 
 
 Hitherto, my dear , notwithstanding a natural in- 
 clination to linger among the scenes of early life, I have 
 glided rapidly from point to point, here reaching the age of 
 sixteen. A poor sick boy, I then began, anonymously and 
 very imperfectly, to act in public. What was ray prepara- 
 tion ? Constitutionally, I need say nothing. Relatively, a 
 tew words will suffice. Nature, except the common subli- 
 mities of the sky, had been shown to me chiefly in its gentler 
 forms of level field, open grove, and placid river. About 
 Easton, there was some rocky roughness, forest wildness, 
 and hill swell. But, — 
 
 "The cataract blewits trumpet from the steep;" 
 the Summer peak of snow invited one 
 
 — " To breathe 
 The difficult air of the iced mountain's top ;" 
 
292 
 
 and the ocean, though not very distant, flung its fulness on 
 the shore, beyond the limits of my little locality. Society, 
 in like manner, presented its plainer appearances in both 
 Church and State — very different, indeed, in the style of its 
 development, from the material conveniences and luxuries, 
 and intellectual advantages, of the present ; though not in- 
 ferior, perhaps, in other relations, equally if not more impor- 
 tant. But, there was ray humble home. The Bible was in 
 it — the literary light of the world. My parents believed and 
 studied it as the Book of God. They taught me to do the 
 same. I cannot remember when I began to do either. I 
 have done both, though not as I ought, ever since. I found 
 the Bible full of both nature and society, earthly and hea- 
 venly, in all forms and changes, historic and prophetic. It 
 was the opening, not only of the world, but of the universe ; 
 with God, himself unseen, shining on it all with a light sub- 
 tler than that of the sun, and touching my spirit with its rays 
 wherever I turned. Skies and seas, mountains and plains, 
 lakes and torrents,. cedars, palms, and roses; lions and co- 
 nies; eagles and turtledoves ; angels and men ; kings, courts, 
 and kingdoms ; armies and caravans ; Eden's Garden and 
 the city of the New Jerusalem ; Calvary's Cross and Crea- 
 tion's 'Throne — these and an almost infinite series of things 
 thus became familiar to me, with a spiritual beauty and holy 
 solemnity cast over them all. The Bible, however, is an ex- 
 haustless theme. But, other books were there. Clarke's 
 Commentary, in its first quarto form, came at certain inter- 
 vals, in blue-covered numbers, and was always hailed as a 
 priceless treasure. And not only Methodist writers, but such 
 as Bishop Butler, Watts, Wilberforoe, and Hannah 
 More, were there. And the Wbsletan Htmn-Book was 
 there. In all probability my ear was tuned to its music and 
 my heart melted by its pathos before I could read a line. 
 Perhaps my earliest metrical recitation was the following. 
 How sweet for a child ! It seems as though I were standing 
 and repeating it again at my mother's knee. No wonder 
 that more than thirty years afterward I made sure to have it 
 in our Church Hymn Book : — 
 
 " Loving Jesus, gentle Lamb, 
 In thy gi-acious hands I am ; 
 Make me, Savinur, what thou art, 
 Live thyself within my heart. 
 
 I shall then show forth thy praise, 
 Serve thee all my happy days, 
 Then the world shall alwaj'-s see, 
 Christ, the holy child, in me." 
 
293 
 
 And not only the Hymn-Book, but otlier volumes of poetry 
 were there. Milton, and Young, and Thomson, and Gray, 
 and Collins, and Akensidr, and Cowpee, and others, were 
 with us. And so with books of other classes. How well I 
 remember standiag at my father's side, in the store, when 
 about eight years old, while a travelling book-agent was try- 
 ing to sell him an illustrated book of Natural History. 
 The price was two dollars and a half, and my father hesitated. 
 Meanwhile the pages were opened, the pictures of beasts, 
 birds, fishes, and reptiles, appeared in all their attractive or- 
 der; and my whole nature earnestly pleaded for the pur- 
 chase. The money was paid, and the book virtually was 
 mine. Not only did I study it, but copied its figures on 
 cards, colored them according to the descriptions, cut them 
 in half, and played match-games with them for years after- 
 ward. Then again, there was the book of Indian Wars — • 
 so exciting to an ardent boy. My first prose composition, 
 that I can now recall, was an Indian Story, illustrated by 
 drawings and paintings of my own. In a word, my parents 
 were eager readers: conscientious also— delighting only in 
 the best works. As to Robinson Crusoe, that, perhaps, was 
 not in their collection. At least, I remember being on a 
 visit to my grandma and aunts in Philadelphia, when I was 
 a little fellow, and sitting one day on the step at their door, 
 next to the old " Enniskillen Castle " in South Fifth Street, 
 when a boy came up, showed me a copy of the book, engaged 
 my interest in it, and then offered it to me for three cents ! 
 Hastening to one of my aunts for help, and being cheerfully 
 supplied, the bargain was soon consummated, and the Boy's 
 Paradise opened its gate at my touch. But, besides books, 
 there was prayer; to which, of course, I was personally 
 trained earlier than I can now recollect. " Our Father " — 
 "Now I lay me" — and "Make me a good boy, bless father 
 and mother:" ah me! has that dear voice been hushed so 
 long! To this influence was added that of the family altar, 
 my mother officiating if my father were absent; and, also, 
 of the prayer meeting and class meeting. The Sabbath, 
 moreover, was hallowed there as I have seldom seen it else- 
 where. Everything that could be done on Saturday, in pre- 
 paration for it, was done. The house was full of stillness. 
 Reading was more exclusively sacred. Conversation was 
 more solemn. At church time, the door was locked, and 
 parents, children, and the " hired girl," repaired to the place 
 of public worship. All day cooking was avoided, as far as 
 practicable. It was a day of bodily rest, of spiritual enjoy- 
 
 2.5* 
 
294 
 
 ment and improvement. But, my dear , this will not 
 
 do! A liundred sources of influence must be omitted. 
 Preachers, teachers, school-mates, and school-implements, 
 must pass. Look at these dingy books, corner-cut to pre- 
 vent dog's-ears, — Grammar, Geography, Reader, Arithmetic ; 
 with slate and copy-book. Lo! 
 
 "In all my wanderings roimd this world of care, 
 In all my griefs, and God h&s given my share," — 
 
 though no doubt graciously and wisely — I have retained and 
 cherished these and other humble instruments, and here they 
 are, but not to be used here. Pond as I was of play, also ; kite, 
 marble, top and ball ; running, leaping, and wrestling ; arch- 
 ery — copied from the Indians, who shot small coins from the 
 post-tops; a little gunning; fishing and swimming; sled- 
 ding and skating ; snow-fort building and snow-ball fighting; 
 and, as already intimated, of drawing and painting ; and, 
 moreover, of pet-keeping, — as chickens, squirrels, and rab- 
 bits; and, above all, of pretty little maidens — this whole 
 world of boyhood, must be thrown off, like a bubble from a 
 pipe, to break just as it begins to float and glisten. Suffice 
 it to say, that I cannot remember a time when I did not love 
 the beautiful, and revere the great, good, and true. The fear 
 of God was always before my eyes, and when I sinned the 
 mercy-seat was my refuge. As to my literary tendency, that 
 was an early development; not excited by companionship, 
 but originating in the simple pleasure of expression and being 
 confirmed by the relief it afforded in the subsequent loneli- 
 ness of disease. As I approached sixteen, my third-story 
 front room became quite a study. Between the windows, I 
 had three shelves, suspended on cords, and supplied with 
 some of my father's finest authors. Under these was my 
 writing-table, with its ready materials. Betiring there, fee- 
 ble and fatigued, I would take down one or two of my favo- 
 rite poets, recline upon the bed, and read, until from very 
 rapture I could read no more. Then I hastened to pen and 
 ink for my own record ; and so, though little to ray credit, 
 gradually grew cool again. If enlightened and sharpened 
 in College, by the wisdom of the professor and the wit of the 
 student, doubtless I should have been very much ashamed 
 of such trifles as pleased me in the obscurity of home. Still, 
 I have never much, if at all, troubled publishers or the 
 public for poetic recognition ; contenting myself rather, for 
 thirty years or more, with brief occasional and anonymous 
 ventures through the periodical press, and with certain man-- 
 
295 
 
 nificent ideals, reals if not actuals, which, under all circum- 
 stances, in more or less completeness, have charmed my si- 
 lent contemplations. I now return to my summary. You 
 see what I was — a simple English scholar, with these sur- 
 roundings and influences. 
 
 1826. Passing many interesting occurrences of the two 
 preceding years, I here approach, with holy love and solemn 
 joy, one of the most memorable events of my life. On the 
 tenth day of August, in this year, my mother died. I cannot 
 proceed without some sketch of one to whom I owe so much. 
 I know that such sketches are useful. 
 
 Elizabeth Sophia Hewlinqs was born in Burlington, New 
 Jersey, December 9: 1787. Her parents were Abraham 
 and Elizabeth Hewlings — the former a Churchman, the 
 latter a Quakeress. Her mother's maiden name was BnRR. 
 Both families were among the oldest and most respectable 
 in the Colony. The Hewlings family, (otherwise Hewling 
 or Hulikos,) had been variously prominent in England. 
 Few stories are more pathetic than that of the execution of 
 Benjamin and William Hewling, in 1683, under James II., 
 for their devotion to the cause of the Duke of Monmouth. 
 'J'heir youth, beauty, fortune, accomplishments, piety and 
 Protestant aeal; the intercessions of their sister Hannah 
 with the marble-hearted monarch ; the efforts of their grand- 
 father, the distinguished Kippin, to procure their release, 
 and his subsequent answer to the king when called upon to 
 render him help ; are points affectingly treated in histories 
 of the period. To perfect the sorrow, some have styled them 
 " the last males of their house." About a year after their 
 execution, their sister Hannah married Major Richard 
 Cromwell, grandson of the Protector; and, becoming the 
 mother of six children, survived until 1731. Other branches 
 of the family, however, had already been planted in America. 
 Burlington was founded in 1677 — five years in advance of 
 Philadelphia. The next year, William and Abraham Hew- 
 lings came from London and settled there. Until recently, 
 the name has continued its living representatives there. Its 
 deceased generations are recorded on the decaying tomb- 
 stones of old St. Mary's. When my venerable aunt, now 
 more than eighty years of age, was first shown the biography 
 of Bishop White — the Washington of the Church — whose 
 mother was a Hewmngs; and found the family described as 
 " reputable," she could not restrain the delicate but substan- 
 
296 
 
 tial criticism that the least the author should have said, was 
 respectable. In the event of a new edition of that work, it 
 may be well to remember this criticism. Without dwelling 
 on other antecedents, it is enough to say, that my mother's 
 father died before I was born; but her mother lived until 
 1839, so that I am able, gratefully and tenderly, to attest 
 the extraordinary blending of dignity and benignity in her 
 every-way admirable character. On her death-bed, at about 
 eighty-four years of age, as if in loving remembrance of the 
 church of her long-departed husband, she relinquished her 
 last peculiarity as a Friend, and, was baptized by an Episco- 
 pal clergyman ; and now, her body also rests am ong the graves 
 of old St. Mary's. 
 
 Elizabeth was one of eight children, all of whom lived to 
 maturity, three of them surviving still. How gladly would 
 I linger on her history and character! In addition to my 
 own recollection of her in later years, I have a manuscript 
 account, occupying more than fifty pages, prepared by my 
 father, soon after her death, for family perusal, "but" — as 
 he modestly adds — "for no other purposes." By the grace 
 of God, she was an honor, not only to her relatives and friends, 
 but to humanity. Through the azure interval of thirty-five 
 years, the saintly beauty of her image glides, to the present, 
 and passes on, like an angel toward the throne. Physically, 
 her constitution was delicate; mentally, clear, sound and 
 discriminating; morally, resolute as well as affeciionate. Her 
 educational facilities were slight, in comparison with those 
 which such a child would now enjoy. Worldly gayeties ga- 
 thered about her, but without much influence. For a time, 
 however, she became a novel-reader, to entertain a blind re- 
 lative. But, soon, the Spirit of the Holy One made the lit- 
 tle one a temple of glory. Before she was fourteen, she 
 joined the Methodist Society — the only Methodist of her 
 house. Thenceforth, her path was like that of "the shining 
 light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day." 
 She became a model of conscientious devotion — humble, pure, 
 and prudent; studious, watchful, and prayerful; plain, neat, 
 and industrious; cheerful, gentle, and winning; "without 
 dissimulation, never saying one thing and meaning another ;" 
 zealous for the salvation of her friends and neighbors ; and 
 always "strong in faith, giving glory to God.'' I have been 
 told of a season when her face shone, as if transfigured by 
 
 the spiritual joy within. But, my dear , the necessity 
 
 of restraint presses me. Moreover, you may be ready to 
 check me with the question, — " Was i/our mother superior 
 
297 
 
 to others?" I answer — Yes, superior to millions in the church 
 as well as out of it ; but, not to the myriads of true Chris- 
 tians, who, like her, are " full of faith and of the Holy Ghost." 
 They only are thus transfigured who have " Christ within — 
 the hope of glory." The last nine years of my mother's life, 
 were years of affliction. It was in one section of her ances- 
 try that consumption appeared. In her own generation, it 
 selected three, of whom she was one. She was fond of copy- 
 ing favorite passages in prose and verse ; and here is one of 
 the latter class that will suffice to show her constant spirit 
 during the progress of the disease : — 
 
 " Pain, my old companion. Pain, 
 Seldom parted from my side; 
 Welcome to thy seat again, 
 Here, if God permit, abide. 
 
 Pledge of sure approacliing ease. 
 
 Haste to stop my wretched breath, 
 Rugged messenger of peace, 
 
 Joyful harbinger of death. 
 
 Poe to Nature as thoit art, 
 
 I embrace thee as a fz-iend; 
 Thou shalt bid my griefs depart, 
 
 Bring me to my journey's end. 
 
 Yes : T joyfully decay ! 
 
 Homeward through thy help I haste. 
 Thou hast shook the house of clay. 
 
 Surely it will fall at last." 
 
 Ah me! how well I remember that harassing cough ! Some- 
 times, even in the earlier days of its development, and when 
 in a distant room, after mournfully listening awhile to the 
 spasmodic sound, self-reproachfully I stopped my ears as 
 really unable longer to endure the intensity of sympathy. 
 Sweet, sweet mother! what did she say? Let another of 
 her little extracts show us : — 
 
 " The same I yesterday did prove, 
 I find to-day, that God is Love : 
 And such as Thou art now to me, 
 Jesus, thou wilt forever be." 
 
 So, in due time, the end drew near. I cannot describe the 
 hundredth part of its blessings. "I feel peace" — said the 
 meek one. " My mind is stayed upon the Lord. I have given 
 myself to Him for time and for eternity. Here I rest." Again, 
 she cited the text; "He that believeth hath the witness in 
 himself," and then added — "Bless the Lord, I feel that IJhave 
 the witness in myself" Often she said, " sweet faith. It 
 is all by faith." And notice this grateful and beautiful retro- 
 
298 
 
 spection : — " Now I see how the Lord has answered my prayer. 
 I have prayed that He would bring me to himself in any 
 way. I have been brought through great afflictions. The 
 Lord has abased me — now he graciously lifts me up." Who, 
 without faith, can understand that? Now — He graciously 
 lifts me up ! Consummate depression, the moment of infi- 
 nite exaltation ! At last, the day of deliverance came. 
 There lay the wasted one, calmly awaiting her change. With- 
 drawing her hands from my father's, she felt the pulse in one 
 wrist, then in the other, and inquired of her mother if she 
 were not, apparently, near her journey's end. Understand- 
 ing the question as an assertion, her mother wept, and could 
 not answer ; but my father, with trembling voice, informed 
 her that she was. "Rejoice forme! rejoice forme!" was 
 her triumphant response. Then my father prayed for an 
 easy transit — and then my mother breathed: "Come, Lord 
 Jesus; come quickly" — and then, may I not say it? Jesus 
 came ! No wonder that I find such notes as the following, 
 referring to my father's narrative — "Just iinished reading 
 this narrative again : with gratitude, thanksgiving, and joy- 
 ful hope. Glory to God, to all eternity, for such a mother." 
 If, now, I take space within which to compress the subjoined 
 stanzas, it is chiefly because of the fact that they were writ- 
 ten about seven months before my mother's death, and that 
 I remember reading them to her. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Now, mother] would I sing to tliee. 
 Who oft in childhood, sang to me ; 
 Thy warbling soothed to sweet repose. 
 And fain would mine relieve thy woes. 
 Then listen, Mother ! to the lay. 
 
 That trembles on the lyric string; 
 Ah ! while my artless fingers play, 
 
 My sentry heart is sorrowing: 
 For clouds liave long obscured thy sky, 
 And sadness weighs thy weary eye. 
 
 Seven times hath Spring resumed her reign, 
 And eight, the Summer crown'd the plain; 
 As oft the Autumn poured her hoi'n, 
 And earth the Winter's famine borne; 
 Since fell disease, by humid airs. 
 
 Insidious, settled in thy breast ; 
 The parent of a thousand cares — ■ 
 
 The banisher of gentle rest. 
 Sad, Mother ! were thy lot indeed, 
 But Heaven shall recompense thy need. 
 
 Scarce fourteen summer suns had shone 
 Upon thy path, when thou — alone — 
 From 'midst thy friends, inquired the way 
 That leads from night to endless day. 
 
299 
 
 And though affliction shako thy frame, 
 
 If still religion cheer thy soul, 
 If still perfection be thine aim, 
 
 And heaven's bright porch thy resting goal ; 
 Disesise may toil to close thine eyes, 
 Thy soul's refining for the skies — 
 
 Yet ah ! my strain would linger now, 
 While thrills my fever-wilder'd brow; — 
 My veins distribute liquid fire, 
 And burning tear-drops rust my lyro. 
 Kind Heaven! 'tis thine alone to give, 
 
 Thy servants here repose or pain ; 
 Oh, grant my Mother ease to live, 
 
 Kemove the long-supported chain. 
 I would that health to her were known, 
 Although by faith she claim a crown. 
 
 Ah, Mother! bear my joyless song, 
 
 And chide not for the grief I show; 
 Such thoughts I would not now prolong, 
 
 But cannot check my bosom's flow: — 
 For still I hear th' escaping sigh, 
 
 And see the sad, convulsive start. 
 They exile pleasure from my eye — 
 
 Like arrows, quiver in my heart. 
 I cannot see ray Mother's pain, 
 And, listless, tuno a cheerful strain. 
 
 And yet I cannot turn my sight, 
 From yon celestial realm of light; 
 I cannot coldly look above. 
 And see the happiness of love! 
 And God is known to hide his face, 
 
 At seasons, from the heirs of heaven — • 
 Then bow we humbly to His grace, 
 
 And think of all the good He's given; 
 Still will I hope through many fears, 
 And smile with joy — though bathed in tears. 
 
 Now, my dear , I come back to the summary. I 
 
 cannot quit 1826, however, without adding, that my "hope- 
 ful conversion,^' and admission into the church — old St. 
 George's, M. E. C. — find their dates within that year. Per- 
 haps my regular religious training was a reason why the 
 change in my experience was not so decisive as in some 
 cases. It was not so much an inspiration of faith or hope, as 
 of love. My whole nature seemed to be melted into one feel- 
 ing of love to God and man. This kept me gratefully and 
 joyfully tearful, at home and abroad, all the day long ; re- 
 quiring various expedients to hide my emotions. Ever since 
 1 have thought myself more like a Christian in this respect 
 than any other, but am not sure of it ; and, at any rate, can 
 trust only in the mercy of God through Jesus Christ our 
 Lord, 
 
 1827. After various efforts toward self-subsistence, parti- 
 
300 
 
 cularly as compositor ia a priuting-office for about a year and 
 a half, I became a student of medicine. Preceptor — Dr. 
 Thomas Dunn. Fellow-students, Samuel R. Dunn, and Ga- 
 maliel Bailey. Lectures — at Jefferson College. Pro- 
 fessors, MoOlellan, Barton, Ebbrlb, Green, Ehees. Mc 
 Olellan was the father of the present Major General of the 
 Army of the United States, who was then an infant with no 
 visible forecast of bis military destiny. In courage, energy, 
 quickness and thoroughness, it will be hard for the son to 
 surpass the father. He lectured with unfailing spirit and 
 success on both anatomy and surgery; and can never be for- 
 gotten by those who had the pleasure and advantage of hear- 
 ing him. 
 
 1828, March 6. Married, by Rev. Elisha Andrews, one 
 of the Ministers stationed at St. George's, U'homas Hewlings 
 Stockton and Anna Roe MoOurdy. The bride was a 
 daughter of John MoOurdy, a Methodist from County An- 
 trim in the north of Ireland, aad Martha Matilda Roe, his 
 wife, also a Methodist, and a member of an old Philadelphia 
 family. Soon after, as had been anticipated, my father-in- 
 law removed to the "Porks of the Yough," between the 
 Youghiogheny and Monongahela rivers, in the western part 
 of the State. His new home was on the west bank of the 
 Youghiogheny — a wild but healthy, fertile and beautiful re- 
 gion, which it afterward became a great pleasure to us oc- 
 casionally to visit. The same year I joined a literary and 
 debating society, just organized, and called the " Hickory 
 Club:" in compliment, I suppose, to General Jackson, as 
 Old Hickory. Among its members, were Gamaliel Bailey, 
 Charles Naylor, Robert T. Conrad, Samuel R. Dunn, 
 Joseph Earnest, and others, chiefly students of Law and 
 Medicine, whose subsequent destinies, however distinguished, 
 I cannot now record. It is natural, though, to cling to the 
 memory of early friends. 
 
 1829, May 31. Preached my first sermon. Sabbath after- 
 noon, at an unoccupied country-seat, in the vicinity of Phila- 
 delphia. The next two Sabbaths, a second and third fol- 
 lowed, one in the city and the other at the place first men- 
 tioned; and then, on the fourth Sabbath, a ''stranger in a 
 strange land," I officiated twice, as a circuit preacher, at Eas- 
 ton, Talbot County, on the Eastern shore of Maryland. 
 
 Here, my dear , it seems needful to pause again: 
 
 but with the same restraint for. want of room. The greatest 
 
301 
 
 comfort I find in a review of my life is derived from the trust 
 that it has been overruled by Divine Providence. No em- 
 ployment seemed the right one. I was stopped ft-om print- 
 ing, by the tetter on my hands — a disease occasioned, per- 
 haps, by the type ; and which I never had before nor since. 
 The study of medicine was interesting, but I shrunk from 
 the thought of its practice. Literature had charmed rne 
 most ; but I was not duly trained to it, and had neither skill 
 nor opportunity to live by it. Within the five years, from 
 1824 to 1829, 1 had issued a prospectus for one paper, been 
 announced as editor of another, acted as silent editor of a 
 third, and corresponded, to quite a considerable extent, with 
 various publications; but with scarcely any substantial re- 
 compense. My wife's needle, during the last year, was worth 
 more than my pen. In short, like a tacking vessel, my sails 
 were all in a flutter — waiting for the desired inspiration. For 
 about three years, my most intimate friend had been Gama- 
 liel Bailey. We were soul-brothers. One day, standing 
 at the south-west corner of Sixth and Race Streets, this friend 
 and I were engaged in confidential conversation, during 
 whicb I was prompted to the remark, perhaps for the first 
 time in my life, that I had often thought I could do more 
 good by preaching the gospel, than in any other way. Why 
 not begin, then? But I had never been requested even to 
 offer a prayer. Finally, we agreed to go to the next prayer 
 meeting, at St. George's: did go: sat on one of the short 
 benches near the altar: but received no call. My destiny 
 was in another ecclesiastical connexion. The Associate Me- 
 thodists — now Methodist Protestants — had recently orga- 
 nized. Doctor Dunn was their chief minister; my father, 
 their chief layman. My training had identified me with them 
 in principle, and the way now opened for practical union. 
 One day, those two revered ones came to see me. I 
 told my thought to them. They, too, were surprised. My 
 father, however, remembered, though I had not learned it, 
 that my mother expected me to become a preacher. He 
 would be pleased — if the Lobd should call me to the office. 
 But the good Doctor had a question : "Thomas ! do you have 
 family-prayer ?" " I answered in the affirmative, and he ex- 
 amined me no further. Afterward he informed me that when 
 he heard my answer, he concluded in his heart — Well, if, 
 with no one but his wife, he kneels down here morning and 
 night to worship God, he must be in earnest: and so, he 
 rested. Thus satisfied, in addition to what he otherwise 
 knew of me, he at once proposed that I should preach at the 
 26 
 
302 
 
 place already alluded to, and which lie himself had been in- 
 vited to visit, but without finding time for it. " You can take 
 my gig," said he — " Prisoilla [his daughter] will ride out with 
 you ; Samuel and Gamaliel can walk out ; the neighbors, no- 
 tified beforehand, will collect; and you can make a trial of 
 your gift." Such, at least, was the substance. I consented, 
 the appointment was made; and without other human li- 
 cense I prepared and preached a sermon. Just then, Nicho- 
 las Snethen, President of the Maryland Annual Conference, 
 came to see the Philadelphia reformers ; I was introduced 
 to him, and soon, by his direction, went to the Eastern Shore. 
 Sudden and strange transition ! What was my preparation? 
 None at all — in the ordinary professional sense. But, by na- 
 ture, providence and grace ; by home, school and church; by 
 the Bible, and the general range of English literature, so 
 far as it came within my reach, and proved attractive, I had 
 been made observant, thoughtful, reverent and prayerful — 
 had been awakened to a consciousness of at least seeming 
 adaptation, with some impression of duty, some impulse of 
 desire, and some effort in self-culture. When I sat in the 
 congregation, under the ministry of such men as Dunn, and 
 Cooper, Ruslins and Pitman, Lybkand and Doughty, Pease, 
 and Mbevin, Summeefibld and Bascom, Eutee and Smith, 
 Eeese and Hannah, (the two delegates from England,) and 
 Maffit, and Cookman, and others, all, except De. Hannah, 
 now deceased ; it was natural for me to look and listen in- 
 tently, not only with sensibility, but also synthetically and 
 analytically, assuring myself pretty well of the plan and pro- 
 cess of discussion, and deriving from the service and exer- 
 cise more advantage, perhaps, than I then supposed. This, 
 I believe, was all, or nearly all.* Thus I became a preacher, 
 and the first four subjects I was led to treat, present, 1 think, 
 though undesigned, a beautiful collocation : 
 
 1. "Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall gee God." 
 
 2. "The lip of truth shall be established forever; but a lying tongue is but 
 for a moment." 
 
 3. "Bodily exercise proflteth little; but godliness is profitable unto all 
 things, having promise of the life that now is, and also of that which is to 
 come." 
 
 4. " Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever." 
 
 * It is due, however, to add that, although I never took regular lessons in 
 elocution, and have always had an instinctive aversion to the art, as an 
 art, I frequently met Professor White, of this city, at the house of some friend, 
 and heard enough of his style to appreciate it highly as natural and true. 
 Moreover, he would be a dull scholar who could hear even one lesson from 
 such a master without memorable profit. I have always taken pleasure in 
 commending him to inquirers for instruction. 
 
303 
 
 Purity, Truth, and Practical Godliness, with all their Pro- 
 mises, dependent on the Immutable Divinity and Redeeming 
 Mercy of our Ijord and Saviour Jesus Christ ! There, too, 
 was a fine circuit for a young man of twenty-one, with a col- 
 league of sixteen — the admirable and memorable Charles 
 Jacobs:* a circuit extending from St. Michael's to Eock 
 Hall; sweeping through the counties of Talbot, Caroline, 
 Queen Anne, and Kent; comprehending four " old side" cir- 
 cuits, as then called ; and requiring a ride of two hundred 
 miles or more to get round it. In a few years, we also had 
 four circuits within the same limits. Occasionally I rode 
 twenty miles on the Sabbath, and preached three times, be- 
 sides leading classes.' Our places were the best we could 
 get: court-houses, school-houses, farm-houses; some vacant 
 church or vestry-room, or ball-room ; or, in the summer, the 
 tinted and tented forest. How I would like to linger on my 
 first and only circuit ! — to notice the names — but, my dear 
 , 'tis impossible. A full record would make a vo- 
 lume. You can scarcely imagine the rigorous compression 
 of the following items : — 
 
 1830. Stationed in Baltimore, in charge of both churchesi 
 St. John's and Pitt Street. Member of the General Conven- 
 tion which met in the same city, in November, and adopted 
 " The Constitutiou and Discipline of the Methodist Protest- 
 ant Church." Elected editor of the Church Paper : declined : 
 recommended Dk. Bailey, who was chosen, accepted the po- 
 sition, and thus began his editorial life. 
 
 1831. Missionary at large — on account of delicate health. 
 Travelled North and West. Resting awhile in the Pall, at 
 my father-in-law's, on the Youghiogheny, I commenced two 
 of my chief poems, as they were intended to be — " Man," 
 and "Snow." The former, as will be seen by the "Propo- 
 sition OF THE Subject," on page 65, was designed to sweep 
 the whole circle of human interests, current and prospective, 
 as affected by all the influences of creation, providence and 
 redemption. ' I went a little farther with it than here ap- 
 pears ; but the only completeness it has attained, in thirty 
 years, is ideal. So with "Snow." The primary design of this 
 was, to make a simple home-commencement ; and then glide 
 away on the snow-line, from zone to zone, and from one peak 
 of perpetual frost to another, all round the world, observing 
 
 * See his Life — by Rev. Db, A, A. Lipscomb. 
 
304 
 
 the character, oonditioD, and customs of all nations. No 
 chill was to check my spirit-flight; but picturesque contrasts 
 the most magnificent, various and illustrious, were to make 
 my white and sparkling stand-points, between the blue hea^ 
 vens and the green earth, perfectly enchanting. Snow, snow, 
 snow! how diligently and perseveringly I traced its associ- 
 ations, at home and abroad, in Biblical, geographical, and 
 other scientific text-books ; in illustrated voyages and tra- 
 vels : in extraordinary paintings and engravings ; certainly 
 learning more, and much that was well worth learning, than 
 I should probably have cared to know without such an in- 
 centive. But, the snow-continents of the frigid zones ; the 
 snow-masques of the temperate zones, and the snow-islands 
 of the torrid zone, remain also among the idealities. 
 
 1832. Again stationed on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. 
 Nominated for the chaplaincy, in the United States Senate. 
 
 1833. Stationed in Georgetown, District of Columbia. De- 
 legate to the first United StatesTemperance Convention, held 
 in Philadelphia — its first session in Independence Hall. 
 Elected chaplain to Congress, by the House of Eepresenta- 
 tives. 
 
 1834. Lorenzo Dow preached his last sermon in our pul- 
 pit, and died in the house of one of our brethren. Visited 
 him in sickness and attended his funeral. Death of "Wil- 
 liam WiET. Three Congressional Funerals — Judge Boul- 
 DiN of Virginia; General Blair, of South Carolina; and 
 Mr. Dennis, of Maryland. Few more impressive auditories 
 ever assembled: President Jackson and his Cabinet: Chief 
 Justice Marshall, and the Supreme Court; Vice-President 
 Van Buren, with Clay, Webster, Calhoun, and their com- 
 peers of the Senate; Speaker Stevenson, and the House of 
 Representatives ; Foreign Ministers ; Clergy of the District ; 
 Officers of the Army and Navy ; citizens and strangers; a 
 great multitude, all silent and solemn in the shade of the 
 Old Hall, with its lofty columns and ample dome, the Bible 
 speaking from the desk, and the coffin in the aisle confirm- 
 ing its sacred appeals. — About the close of the session, I vi- 
 sited a distinguished statesman, under severe political disap- 
 pointment, and was abundantly assured of the vanity of the 
 world in comparison with faith in Jesus Christ. 
 
 1835. Failing, through misunderstanding as some said, of 
 re-eleclion ; I applied myself, at the close of the preceding 
 and opening of this year, to the composition of the poem two 
 parts of which commence the present volume — " Faith and 
 Sight." In this instance, my scheme came nearer consum- 
 
305 
 
 matioa than in any other similar scope. In about a month, 
 I wrote more than three thousand fiye hundred lines, passing 
 through the Five Parts intended, making an Index, and con- 
 templating publication. Still, it was only in outline, and re- 
 quired revision,.whioh circumstances prevented; and so it has 
 remained a secret thing even to myself, its image indeed of- 
 ten present, but its record seldom touched. The two merely 
 introductory parts of it, as already stated, are here ; but the 
 three main parts — the World of Sight and the World of Faith, 
 or the Sense- World and Spirit- World, with the conclusion, 
 summing up results of Truth and Duty — await due encou- 
 ragements. The plan, as usual, is comprehensive of all the 
 variety of earth and heaven. Alas for inadequate realiza- 
 tions, and the restraints which occasion them ! — In the Spring 
 I was appointed Travelling Agent, to assist in the establish- 
 ment of the Church Book Concern. Acted chiefly in the 
 West. When the winter came on, was re-elected to the chap- 
 laincy, and repaired to Washington. 
 
 1836. Stationed again in Baltimore — in charge of St. 
 John's. 
 
 1837. Finished the compilation of the Hymn-Book of the 
 Methodist Protestant Church, in fulfilment of commis- 
 sions from the Ueneral Conference and Book Committee. 
 This was a much more laborious work than would generally 
 be supposed. It was the first Methodist Hymn Book to give 
 the names of authors. Health still depressed: visited 
 Charleston, S. C, in company with Rev. Isaac Webster — 
 but, notwithstanding all kind attentions, was rather injured 
 than improved. 
 
 1838. Home still in Baltimore. Greatly excited by the 
 duel of Graves and Oillet. 'i^herefore, the poem in this 
 volume. Since the book was put to press, I wrote to a dis- 
 tinguished gentleman of Kentucky to inquire concerning the 
 truth or error of certain newspaper statements regarding the 
 last days of the survivor, Mr. Graves : expecting to notice 
 the case more fully here. But I have not room. Suffice it 
 to say, that the gentleman alluded to replied in such a man- 
 ner as to relieve the memory of Mr. Graves in the matter 
 involved. — Elected by the Annual Conference to the Gene- 
 ral Conference. Effort, by instructions, to bind the dele- 
 gates on the subject of slavery. As I could not consent to 
 this, I proposed to resign. Instructions failed. At the Ge- 
 neral Conference, which was held in Pittsburgh, after a three 
 days' debate on the vexed question, I was elected editor of 
 the Church Paper again, and the interest committed to my 
 
 26* 
 
306 
 
 discretion. On my return to Baltimore, the Book Commit- 
 tee resolved that nothing should be admitted into the paper 
 on the subject of slavery — thus undoing all that had been 
 done. Considering this a virtual enslavement of myself, the 
 press, and the church, of course I resigned. Soon after, I 
 removed to Philadelphia ; became Lecturer to the Philadel- 
 phia Institute, an association for the Improvement of Young 
 Men, and ministered in their Hall also to a new Methodist 
 Protestant Congregation. 
 
 1838-47. Nine years in Philadelphia — among the most 
 busy, most hopeful, most joyous, and in part, the most se- 
 verely trying of my life. I would gladly dwell upon them, 
 but cannot. When I review the interval, the things which 
 please me most, are such as these: — The Institute Meetings 
 of Young Men : the prosperity and usefulness of the First 
 Methodist Protestant Church: and the more enlarged de- 
 signs in behalf of Bible Christianity, contemplating, and ear- 
 nestly endeavoring to secure, the promotion of Christian 
 Union, Christian Liberty, Christian Literature, and Christian 
 Benevolence, in connexion with a common Christian Society, 
 Chapel and Press — many points in which plans have been 
 adopted and accomplished by other agents of Providence, 
 better furnished with facilities; and others attempted, but 
 not yet fulfilled ; all of which, however, might have been ex- 
 ecuted, and, in all probability, will be, when professors of 
 religion shall learn to live less for self and sect, and more for 
 " Christ and the Church." 
 
 1847-50. Eesidence in Cincinnati, for three years. Pas- 
 torate of the Sixth Street Methodist Protestant Church, for 
 more than two years ; then resignation in behalf of Christian 
 Liberty, and the assumption of an independent position. 
 Had been unanimously elected President of Miami Univer- 
 sity, at Oxford, Ohio, an institution endowed by the State ; 
 but feared to accept the office, and hoped to do more good 
 in the city. Proposed a Bible Church, School, Asylum, 
 and Press ; and, moreover, made promising progress, until 
 the awful recurrence of the Cholera seemed to prostrate all 
 interests. During its first year (1849) it had chiefly affected 
 the outskirts of the city, but in the next, it preyed upon the 
 centre as well as suburbs, and, of course, multitudes fled 
 from its ravages. Many reminiscences here invite attention, 
 but in vain. One only can be alluded to, that there the plan 
 occurred to me of publishing the Bible in separate volumes: 
 a mode which, though accomplished by me only in so far as 
 the New Testament is concerned, has been fully carried out 
 
307 
 
 by the emiDent Bible Publishers of London — the Bagsters, 
 without any acknowledgment, however, of the source whence 
 they derived it. The chief merits of the plan, after all, have 
 not yet been practically illustrated. When, if ever, they 
 shall be, I doubt not it will receive, in whole, far higher ap- 
 preciation. 
 
 1850-56. Residence in Baltimore, for six years — more 
 than five of them at St. John's, in connexion with Rev. Dr. 
 Augustus Webster ; and about three and a half, as tempo- 
 rary pastor of the Independent Associate Reformed Presby- 
 terian Church, founded by the late Rev. Dr. John Mason 
 Duncan. Some of my most delightful memories belong to 
 that interval, ' but, for the present, they must rest. One 
 event, however, of solemn tenderness, cannot be omitted. I 
 mean the death of my sister — Elizabeth Hewlings Evans. 
 
 Elizabeth Hewlings, daughter of W. S. and E. S. Stock- 
 ton, was born in Trenton, New Jersey, September 21 : 1817, 
 the youngest of the family. She was of a remarkably deli- 
 cate constitution ; and even when she grew to womanhood 
 seemed still like a child to me, a little, slender, sprightly 
 creature, with beautifully moulded head, dark hair, brilliant 
 eyes, smiling Ups, and cheerful voice ; innocent, loving, gen- 
 tle, gay ; full of poetic music and fancy ; timid in regard to 
 her religious experience, but always desiring the purest, 
 truest, and best. She was educated, with other choice 
 spirits, at the school of the Rev. Charles Alden, in Phila- 
 delphia ; and very early exercised her genius as a corres- 
 pondent of several leading literary publications. She mar- 
 ried Dr. M. P. T. Evans, a native of South Carolina, and re- 
 moved to Paineville, Amelia county, Virginia, where her hus- 
 band secured a good practice, and where she continued, as 
 the charm of the household and a blessing to the neighbor- 
 hood, until the third day of January, 1856, when God called 
 her, as we trust, to the holiness and happiness of the better 
 world. She left two daughters. Her body was brought to 
 Philadelphia, and rests in the Woodlands Cemetery. 
 
 In 1851, a handsome volume of Mrs. Evans' Poems was 
 issued ; but, for want of due interest in its circulation, it 
 never excited a hundredth part of the attention to which it 
 was and is justly entitled. It has been pronounced one of 
 the best collections ever presented by an American lady. 
 It combines the spirit of poetry with the spirit of religion and 
 the refinements of home in a manner unsurpassed if not un- 
 
308 
 
 equalled. In Bisliop Lee's useful work, entitled " A Life Hid 
 ■with God," may be found some correspondence of Mrs. 
 Evans with Miss AUibone, and one of her most beautiful 
 poems — ^"The Laud Far Away." It would give me great 
 pleasure to dwell longer here; but I must content myself 
 with Ihe submission of one piece, the sentiment and cadence 
 of which appear to me to be worthy of all commendation: — 
 
 THE DYING WIFE. 
 
 \yeep not, beloved, that I pass before thee 
 On the bright pathway to eternal rest; 
 
 That first my brow shall wear the crowD of glory. 
 My song of praise be heard among the blest. 
 
 But oh I rejoice to think what days of gladness 
 Have lent their beauty to our earthly path ; 
 
 That no harsh thought or word to waken sadnese, 
 May shade with gloom the picture Memory hath. 
 
 Think of the happiness, so deep and tender, 
 That filled my heart while wandering by thy side; 
 
 Think how thy faintest smile had power to render 
 The darkest moment one of love and pride. 
 
 Think, for I know 'twill wake a pleasant feeling, — 
 How ever kind thy words were wont to be ; 
 
 How mild the glance, thy faithful heart revealing, 
 How soft the cadence of thy voice to mc. 
 
 And now that this frail form in death grows colder, 
 A sweet, calm rapture fills the parting hour; 
 
 That thou art with me, though a sad beholder, 
 A witness of the dear Redeemer's power. 
 
 For oh, were not His arm my soul entwining, 
 How could I bear the pang of leaving thee? 
 
 Did not His presence gild life's day declining, 
 ^Vhat midnight darkness round my path would be 
 
 But now I die, and yet my soul rejoices. 
 Knowing that I shall surely love thee still ; 
 
 Even from the melody of angel voices 
 That float aroundj and all my senses thrill. 
 
309 
 
 Por oh ! if they in all their towoi-ing Bplendour, 
 Enfold their glorious plumes round mortal forms, 
 
 How shall the spirit of a saint surrender 
 The joy of whispering peace amid life's storms. 
 
 Ah yes, in danger ever hovering o'er thee, 
 My circling wings will shield thee night and day. 
 
 And when thy feet shall tread the path to glory. 
 My hand shall guide thee on the shining way. 
 
 There, never more shall scene like this distress us ; 
 
 The Stream and Tree of Life we there shall see ; 
 And side by side, shall hear Jehovah hless us, 
 
 And sing His love through all eternity. 
 
 1856-61. Eesidence in Philadelphia, for five years more- 
 Very eventful years have they been to me ; but I cannot 
 even make an index to them. One event, however, I cannot 
 pass. Writing on the evening of the nineteenth of Novem- 
 ber, 1861, 1 recall the fact that, on the twentieth of the same 
 month, last year, my venerable father ascended to the skies. 
 The year since is, therefore, just coming to its close. Having 
 been requested to furnish some sketch of his life and cha- 
 racter — especially for a new history of the Church now in 
 preparation, I must at least avail myself of this opportunity 
 of a summary of his course. 
 
 William Smith Stockton, first child of Samuel and Han- 
 nah Stockton, was born April 8 : 1785, in Burlington, New 
 Jersey. His parents were both Methodists — among the ear- 
 liest in the country. His mother's maiden name was Gar- 
 diner — an old, colonial and distinguished name. His fa- 
 ther's family also was one of the oldest — all of the name, I 
 believe, throughout the Union, being descendents of four 
 brothers who came from England, and settled in the Pro- 
 vince a century or more before the Revolution. My grand- 
 father's house was in the centre of the town, and in itself a 
 centre oi religion. Preaching was sometimes held there; 
 prayer-meetings and class-meetings were innumerable. Of 
 course, the religious spirit was always present with my fa- 
 
310 
 
 thcr. His literary education was limited by the circumstances 
 of the times, and hindered the more, perhaps, by an impedi- 
 diment in his speech. But he, too, was remarkably fond of 
 reading, and probably the more so because of his embarrass- 
 ment in talking. He had an extraordinary reverence for au- 
 thors. I have learned from him, that, one day, as he was 
 coming to the house from the garden, where he had been 
 sitting in the shade communing with some pleasant writer, 
 he concluded that he would rather be the author of a good 
 book than gain any thing else the world could give. Some 
 of the Friends — whose Society has always been highly re- 
 spectable and influential there — noticed his love of books, 
 and kindly invited him to the use of their Library — a favor 
 to which he often gratefully alluded, and which he so im- 
 proved as to acquire the highest esteem for " solid Quakers," 
 and retain it as long as he lived. At the age of twenty- 
 two, as previously stated, he married; then, removed to 
 Mount Holly; then back again to Burlington; a,nd thence, 
 to Trenton. I have often thought that the strongest attrac- 
 tion to him in Trenton must have been the nature of the em- 
 ployment to which he was called — the place of clerk in the 
 store of his uncle (by marriage) — Daniel Fenton ; the prin- 
 cipal if not only publisher and bookseller then in that city. 
 There the English Classics were grouped around him ; and 
 liis taste, naturally pure, was refined by the influence of the 
 best models. There, in after years, and probably as a news- 
 paper correspondent, he began his own course as an author. 
 There his first book was written, though issued in Philadel- 
 phia. It is an 18mo., of 270 pages, printed by Gkiggs and 
 Dickinson, and published by Josiah Shinn : dated 1820 : 
 and entitled : — 
 
 "Truth versus *AWesleyan Methodist,' and other Objectors; containing 
 Remaiics and Animadversions on a book entitled * Methodist Error,' &c. By 
 a Lay-Member of the Methodist Episcopal Church ." 
 
 The author of " Methodist Error" was the late John P. 
 Watson, Esq., the well-known '-Annalist" of Philadelphia. 
 My father, then in the freshness of thirty-five, and full of zeal 
 for Methodism, thus 'made his first effort in vindication of 
 the church which he afterward labored so long, honestly and 
 earnestly, to reform. In 1821, he published another volume, 
 entitled ; — 
 
 " Seven Nights : or, Several Conversations, containing Arguments from 
 Reason, Scripture, Facts and Experience, between individuals of Different 
 Denoininations. For particulars see the book. Edited by Julia Ann Pru- 
 hbnt. Sobriety: Published by Plain Truth and Honesty. Jazcr Meanwell, 
 Printer." 
 
811 
 
 This also was an 18mo., of 191 pages. As to its charaoter, 
 it was a decided plea for Temperance, four years prior to 
 the organization of the American Temperance Society, in 
 Boston : and so secures its author a place among the very 
 first advocates of the Cause in the United States. More- 
 over, it was useful in its day; and, perhaps, is still doing 
 good. But the work which identifies his name and memory 
 with the history and progressive improvement of American 
 Methodism; and more especially with the origin, organiza- 
 tion, and development of the Methodist Protestant Church ; 
 was a periodical entitled "The Wesleyan Repository." A 
 specimen number was issued in February, 1821. The regu- 
 lar publication commenced in April. The first volume was 
 a semi-monthly, of sixteen large octavo pages, two columns 
 on a page. I was then in my thirteenth year, and well re- 
 member the proof-reading in the house, and the tub-dying 
 and clothes line-drying of paper in the garden — the latter 
 fact occasioned by the difiiculty of procuring colored paper 
 then for covers. The second and third volumes were print- 
 ed in Philadelphia, monthly, with shorter page and solid co- 
 lumn. All its correspondents, I believe, except one, were 
 Methodists; more than twenty of them were Preachers, and 
 fourteen at least were or had been in the Itinerancy. Sketches 
 of several of those who have deceased may be found in the 
 Kev. Dh. Sprague's " Annals of the American Methodist 
 Pulpit," viz. — EzEKiEL Cooper : Nicholas Snethbn : Jas. 
 Smith (Bait. :) Henrt B. Basoom : and Samuel K. Jennings. 
 These and others were certainly among the most respecta- 
 ble and influential ministers' in the church. Asa Shinn, 
 and other prominent reformers, came in later. The leading 
 writers, however, were N. Snethen and the editor. My fa- 
 ther's name is connected with more than fifty articles ; but 
 Mr. Snethen's, with nearly a hundred and fifty I And these 
 were not pay- writings ; but, for the good of the cause. Pull 
 souls filled them. In the eighth number of the first volume, 
 two editorial articles on " Church Government " appeared. 
 In one of these, "lay-delegation" was first uttered. Mr. 
 Snethen, in the "Introduction" to his "Essay on Lay Re- 
 presentation," thus refers to those articles : — 
 
 "The publication of those, hroke silence, and to break silence, on the sub- 
 ject of cburcb government, in those days, called for no common resolution. 
 But the credit, not of a mere beginner, is due to Mr. Stockton : his eflForts in 
 behalf of lay representation, were unwearied, and knew no bounds short of 
 necessity." 
 
 My father himself, in a document prepared in 1849, at my 
 
312 
 
 request, thus alludes to them: — "Those two articles were 
 the first direct assault upon the M. E. 0. Government. They 
 gave great offence. I wrote to Mr. Snethen, that I had 
 brought an old house about my head. 1 was a Novice." 
 He was, indeed, a very simple actor ; without the slightest 
 evil design ; aiming only at good ends ; as true-hearted a 
 Methodist and Christian, I presume, as the Church contained. 
 If the results which hove followed, and are still in progress, 
 are not to be regarded as Providential, I confess myself una- 
 ble to understand them. 
 
 And now, my dear , what shall I say of his course 
 
 during the thirty-seven years that he continued a citizen of 
 Philadelphia? In 1824, the "Eepository" closed; its sub- 
 scription list was transferred to a Committee in Baltimore, 
 and a new organ of reform substituted, called the "Mutual 
 Rights," &c. Meantime, in Philadelphia, an effort had been 
 made to expel -my father from the church !• — and so crush the 
 cause by crushing its representative. I would like to de- 
 scribe that trial, with its picturesque associations. Like 
 Washington, he had to cross the Delaware through floating 
 ice to procure the document on which he rested to repel the 
 charge. With this, and a prepared address, he met his foes, 
 judge, accuser and witness, fairly laid them at his feet, and 
 received from the committee, without their leaving their seats, 
 a verdict that the charge was groundless — on hearing which 
 the people were ready to carry him off on their shoulders. It 
 may be well to add here, that, notwithstanding the prejudices 
 against the "Eepository" — as the pioneer in the controversy, 
 no writer or agent was ever expelled on its account. The "Mu- 
 tual Bights " became the occasion of expulsions. But, the 
 work of reform went on. " Union Societies " were organized 
 in various parts of the United States. Secessions followed 
 expulsions. Committees, congregations, and conventions 
 multiplied ; Quarterly, Annual, and General Conferences 
 succeeded ; all the arrangements, appliances and enterprises 
 of a New Ecclesiastical Denomination required self-sacrificing 
 attention— and no one was more prompt to render this than 
 my father. As delegate, secretary, committee-man, composer 
 of official papers, and correspondent of ,the press, he was 
 "abundant in labors." Notwithstanding many cares and 
 anxieties, and the pressure of civil duties for the prolonged 
 term of seventeen years, it may be said of him, with all pro- 
 priety, that, for about forty years, in whole, so far as laymen 
 are concerned and the speciality of Church Government, he 
 was the Methodist writer of America, if not of the world. I 
 
313 
 
 think it likely that during that time he wrote more largely 
 ou that subject than all the laymen of Methodism combined, 
 and more wisely than the great majority of its ministers. 
 'I'his was his "ruling passion;" or, rather, his providential 
 mission. As one illustration, it may be now mentioned, that 
 when, some years ago, the "Philadelphia Christian Advo- 
 cate" was started by the new friends of lay-delegation in the 
 M. E. Church, he became one of its chief contributors, con- 
 fronting, over difterent signatures and in different styles, the 
 choicest champions of the system as it is ; without a dream, 
 it is presumed, except in the editorial sanctum, that the 
 sharp logician and sprightly humorist were the same person, 
 or that the veteran originator of the cause was among them. 
 And what was the result? He, and many of his co-laborers 
 lived to see the Methodist Protestant Church extended from 
 Maine to Texas, and from New Jersey to Oregon ; and the 
 principles of the cause pervading the Methodist Episcopal 
 Church throughout its more magnificent and most beneficent 
 range. 
 
 The preceding paragraph, however, gives only one aspect 
 of his life, during that interval, and even that imperfectly. 
 1 might allude to the " People's Advocate," — a political pa- 
 per, and the sanguine hopes connected with it : to his agency 
 in publishing the first complete American Edition of Wesley's 
 Works, in ten volumes: to the Life and Writings of Wil- 
 liam Hazlitt, a Philadelphia merchant:* to the "Lives of 
 John and Ohaeles Wesley," by Dr. Whitehead: to the 
 Sketch of the Methodist Protestant Church, in Kay's edition 
 of " Buck's Theological Dictionary :" to certain pamphlet 
 publications, &c., — but the want of space prevents. His in- 
 terest in Temperance continued, and was frequently mani- 
 fested in some of the daily papers of the city, his communi- 
 cations occasionally appearing as editorials. His last com- 
 position, left unfinished, was on this subject. I have alluded 
 to his civil-duties for seventeen years. During that time he 
 was Agent and Superintendent of what is now called the 
 Blockley Alms House. He was appointed in Ihe old Spruce 
 Street House, and had much to do, of course, with the remo- 
 val to, and settlement in, the great establishment over the 
 Schuylkill. Through all his term, that town -in itself had a 
 truly Christian Head, but comparatively few, even of his best 
 friends and supporters in the Board of Guardians, or through- 
 out the city, were prepared to appreciate the whole worth or 
 
 ■i' This is a mattt'i- of ninnoi-y — not porfpctly sure. 
 
814 
 
 influence of their officer. Here, alone, pages might be writ- 
 ten. 
 
 But, he ontgrew Methodist Protestantism, and all other 
 forms of sectarianism. He did not, indeed, outgrow his prin- 
 ciples; for they were the eternal principles of Love, Truth, 
 and Eight, applicable to universal and perpetual Christian 
 communion. But he saw and felt, more and more clearly and 
 deeply, that neither the root nor the remedy of our evils can 
 be found in modes of government, civil or ecclesiastical. 
 The root is in the heart, and the remedy is in Christ. Every 
 thing Christian increased its power over him ; although he 
 still clung, with great tenacity and pleasure, to what he con- 
 sidered the comparatively superior spirituality of original M e- 
 thodism, as a denominational development. Therefore, he 
 was most at home among the Methodists ; although, strictly, 
 for some years before his death, he was not a member either 
 of the New or Old Church. He never withdrew from the Me- 
 thodist Protestants, formally ; but was isolated by local mis- 
 management and general division. When the Northern and 
 Western Conferences separated from the South, on the sla- 
 very question, his sympathies were with the Free State move- 
 ment, but there was no congregation in Philadelphia to re- 
 present it. He gave his name to our congregation — the 
 Church of the New Testament: but seldom had an opportu- 
 nity of meeting with us. By force of circumstances, he was 
 a Christian at large, loving and communing with all, so far 
 as practicable. 
 
 But, the time for his change drew near. In 1828, he had 
 re-married: favored, apparently, by a special providence. 
 His second wife, also, was a Methodist — Emily H. Drean, 
 daughter of a Revolutionary officer, and a native of Lees- 
 burg, Virginia. They had nine children. The mother, four 
 sons, and two daughters, are now living. Several of these in- 
 herit the literary spirit. One of the sons is a Union Volunteer, 
 in the Army of the Potomac — a Sergeant of the California Re- 
 giment, and stationed not far from the town where his mother 
 was born. In the Spring of 1860, after so long a residence in 
 Philadelphia, my father, with his family, returned to his native 
 place. There, in Burlington, we all hoped that a series of serene 
 years would find him still happy and useful ; in particular, 
 gathering from old associations and reminiscences many ma- 
 terials for interesting records. Ho was then a little more 
 than seventy-five years old ; but had not attained, by nearly 
 ten years, the age of his father. It now seems that he was 
 led thither to die .=ioon; close to the spot where he first saw 
 
315 
 
 the light ; convenient to the old Methodist grave-yard where 
 the bodies of his parents, his first companion, and some of 
 his children were laid ; and, cei'tainly, by a mode of death 
 which we never imagined. The Summer passed, Autumn 
 opened, and, on the third day of September, while standing 
 on the wharf, surveying the old familiar river scenery, and 
 conversing with a friend, a wagon was backed so near him as 
 to occasion a sudden start and turn, when he fell and frac- 
 tured his thigh. From that time until the twentieth of No- 
 vember he was a sufferer — but then, at seven o'clock, P. M., 
 a still and starry night, his sufferings ceased forever! He 
 died in great peace. 
 
 Gladly would I narrate his expressions during those months 
 of pain. When I first entered his room : " Well," said he, " here 
 I am : an object of mercy still ! " After awhile he remarked : 
 " I have not the joys that some experience, never had ; I can 
 only trust in the Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God that 
 taketh away the sin of the world ; the crucified Redeemer ; 
 our High Priest and Mediator, who ever liveth to make inter- 
 cession for us." Another time, he spoke in like manner: — 
 "All 1 can do is, to commit myself to the mercy of God in 
 Christ Jesus our Lord." When he had come witlain a month 
 of his decease, he said to me, one day: — "I chargeyou, if you 
 survive me, as it is probable you will, to be very careful as to 
 what you say about me You are naturally inclined to mag- 
 nify things ; or, not to let any thing escape ; or, at least, not 
 to let any thing suffer for want of delineation. Your affec- 
 tion for me might urge you to go too far. As to my part in 
 our church organization — 'tis all nothing. We were all ig- 
 norant:" &c. Sometimes there was delirium; but it afiected 
 his senses rather than his intellect. It was wonderful how a 
 question would rouse him to sure thought. Even while his 
 perceptions were uncertain, his reflections would find utter- 
 ance thus : — " God must do the work." " God so loved the 
 world." " Wonderful, that such a poor, polluted, ignorant 
 sinner should be permitted to approach His throne of grace !" 
 At another time, he said : " I never thought much of what I 
 did. I have always thought, if it shall be found that I have 
 not done more harm than good, I shall be thankful, very 
 thankful." One day I recalled him to rational apprehension 
 by inquiring : — " Falher, what do you think of your own con- 
 dition?" Pausing awhile, he replied : — " I am not now in a 
 condition to answer." 1 varied the question: — "You don't 
 suffer much -pain now, do you ?" " Oh," — said he — " I thought 
 you meant wj spiritual condition." "I meant your whole 
 
condition," T responded — "body and Roul both." "Well," 
 said lie, raising his right hand and putting it in a position to 
 be brought down emphatically upon the lefi^ — " 1 know one 
 thing, that if I am not savedhy the sponlanenus love of God" 
 — adding something indistinctly, but seemingly about rege- 
 neration by the Holy Spirit — " I shall not be saved at all." 
 Some time after, with his usual profound reverence, he prayed 
 for "justification by faith, and peace with God through our 
 Lord Jesus Christ." At one time, I heard him repeat, in a 
 clear and musical tone, rising higher with each repetition : — 
 " Glory, glory, glory be unto the Lord our God forever! for" 
 and then he assigned some reason about the salvation of a 
 poor sinner lilse himaelf. Once he quoted: — "God was in 
 Christ, reconciling the world unto himself:" — adding — " the 
 very meanest sinner on earth reconciled, and exalted to the 
 same dignities as the highest. No difference: not the slight- 
 est :" &o. Five days before he died, when I entered the 
 room he failed to recognise me — for the first time. Looking 
 me full in the face, with the appearance of recognition, he 
 said: — "I did not know that you were sitting there, sir!" 
 "Why," said I, "don't you know me?" "No, sir!" he an- 
 swered. It required some effort to make him understand who 
 I was. After awhile, he lifted up his voice and remarked, 
 earnestly, — "I am an old man, and it can do nobody in the 
 world any harm to say — Principles and doings must be 
 alike!" That was an incidental illustration of his own fide- 
 lity to principle. Among his prayers was one for the mercy 
 of the Lord in the " separation " of his body and soul. And 
 so, when the time came, in the presence of his wife, and all 
 his children, with other relatives, he calmly jielded his spirit 
 to the love of Him who gave it, and left his body to be glo- 
 rified in the resurrection. Eather than attempt to describe 
 his character within such limits as these, 1 commend it to 
 the imagination of those who know how to estimate the true 
 nobility of our redeemed nature. Some other occasion may 
 more fitly answer my filial desire. 
 
 On the day of the funeral, the remains were borne to the 
 Broad Street Methodist Episcopal Church, and thence, after 
 service, to their proper rest beside those of my mother. The 
 officiating ministers were Messrs. Bbown and Maddux, the 
 two Methodist pastors; Robbins, Presbyterian; and J. G. 
 AViLsoN, IndepenSfSht. The service began with the hymn — 
 " Servant of God ! well done ;" and the very appropriate ser- 
 mon, delivered by the last named minister, a personal friend 
 for many years, was on the text : — " He that is our God is 
 
317 
 
 the God of salvation ; and to God the Lord belong the issues 
 from death." — Ps. Ixviii. 20. 
 
 And now, my dear , that I must close these "Notes," 
 
 I cannot but regret, again, that they are so different from 
 what I intended, and so incomplete. They do not even fur- 
 nish an Ikdbx to many things which I would gladly report 
 in full. But — this comparatively small edition is only an 
 experiment. Supposing, for the moment, that there may be 
 something in the book, which, at least as an intimation, de- 
 serves encouragement; and, indulging my wish in the case, 
 if it be proper to do so ; I would say, that, if the edition 
 should be disposed of among those who Tcnoiu me best, and 
 especially in this city, I would be most pleased ; and then — 
 life — health — leisure — hope — idealsbecomingactuals^ — some- 
 thing PAR BETTER ! But — the will of the Lord be done ! 
 Amen: now and forever: here and everywhere! 
 
 See : with the exceptions of " Faith and Sight :" " Snow :' 
 " Man :" and " The Duel :" — I have omitted all explanations 
 in reference to certain Poems, each of which seemed to re- 
 quire a few words — associated, as they are, with persons, 
 places, or occasions of no little interest. Thus, "Melan- 
 choly," "Visit to a Mother's Grave," " Mr Sorrows," &c. 
 show the effects of bereavement and sickness on the spirit in 
 early life; "Melting the Ice," was suggested by the deli- 
 cate embarrassments of a temporary pastorate, with the pul- 
 pit frequently occupied by candidates for a permanent rela- 
 tion, making one feel as if he should stand aloof, except as 
 duty imperatively called him to some of the homes of the 
 people; the "Sound of the Midnight Train" calls up the 
 beauty of "Meadow Vale," a fine country-seat in the vicinity 
 of Baltimore ; the " Death of Henry Clay " reminds a wit- 
 ness of his appearance and oratory in the Senate; the 
 " Pleasant Spirit " is connected with Christian consolations 
 during the prevalence of the Cholera in Cincinnati ; " Thanks- 
 giving FOR THE Bible" has a similar connexion, in remote 
 contemplation of Philadelphia ; "Unchecked Verse," being 
 inscribed to Dr. Bailey, late editor of the National Era, re- 
 calls the exceedingly interesting incidents of his opening 
 manhood; the "Death of Eev. S. Doughty" restores the 
 image of an admirable pulpit exemplar; * " William Kes- 
 
 * See Sketch of liim iu Rev. Dr. Spragoe's "Annals of the American Metho- 
 dist Pulpit."' One of his brothers, was the distinguished Landscape Painter; 
 another, one of the chief Naval constructors, at Washington. 
 
 27* 
 
sis 
 
 ley" brings up the whole Maryland Annual Conference ol' 
 the M. P. 0. ; " (.'oLUMBus " is strangely identified both with 
 President Taylok and Jenny Linu; "Horseback on thk 
 Height" belongs to the scenery in the neighborhood of 
 Cockeysville, Maryland, recently made familiar by the War; 
 "To A Skeleton," refers to the Lecture-room of Dr. Joseph 
 Parrish, the eminent Quaker physician, who taught a class 
 in the session-room of the Old Presbyterian Church which 
 was once so prominent on the North-West corner of Third 
 and Arch Streets; the "Mother's Peayek," simple as it is, 
 is retained because of its having been recited, as it may be 
 again, perhaps usefully, by a clever boy, at a Sabbath School 
 Celebration; and so, in many other cases. To me, my dear 
 
 , they are all links in the chain of memory ; and, taking 
 
 up almost any one of them, it might be made the pivot of a 
 wide-sweeping story. 
 
 Moreover, my immediate family remains unnoticed — a fact 
 which will only occasion a contented smile at our fireside. 
 But, certainly, for the good of youthful readers, — and they 
 might be directed to such a section, if otherwise uninterested, 
 — I did intend, among my very dearest designs, to make a 
 grateful record of the mercy of God in connexion with the 
 departure of three of our children to the " Better Land." In 
 all, Providence gave us eleven children — seven girls and four 
 boys: one girl and one boy died in infancy; a grown daugh- 
 ter, wilh her babe on her bosom, passed away within a year 
 after her marriage ; another, in her fourteenth year ; and a 
 son in his seventeenth. Four daughters and two sons are 
 yet with us. All the way from Oregon, came a sympathetic 
 letter, inquiring for the subsequent history of the one alluded 
 to in "My Daughter's Bikth-Dat." Ah! that was our 
 first child, named after my motner, our affectionate, graceful, 
 poetic, and beloved Elizabeth. She it was who went with 
 her babe to heaven. 0, even in eternity, can 1 ever forget 
 that trial? Yet, doubtless, if remembered there, it will be 
 only with gratitude and thanksgiving. And the next — Jes- 
 sie ! sweet, sweet Jessie ! and then Willie, kind, and bright, 
 and noble boy ! Perhaps 'tis well I did not before re-open 
 these fountains of tears. Blessed be God for the hope of 
 eternal life! 
 
 Indeed, when I review what I have thus hastily written, 
 as the book closes its forms; seeing that my "Notes" are 
 more "autobiographic" than any thing else, and yet remem- 
 bering what an autobiography ought to have been, if that 
 had been intended, I feel as though the mass of materials 
 
319 
 
 were scarcely touched. If there be any sufficient apology 
 for saying anything about myself, it is found in peculiarities 
 of providential training, position, and employments, as con- 
 nected with the great principles and interests of Bible Chris- 
 tianity, Christian Union, aud the incomparable completeness, 
 and glory of the Church, as designed by our Saviour, and 
 more fully described and illustrated by his Apostles. State 
 Relations ; Church Relations ; Pastoral Reminiscences ; Pul- 
 pit, Platform, and Lecture-Room Ministries; Bible Publica- 
 tions; Editorial Issues; Original Productions ; Bibliograph- 
 ical Collections; Proposed Reforms; Occasional Controver- 
 sies : Material Enterprises ; Embarrassments; Reliefs; Re- 
 wards; Successes; Prospects; &c. — such are some of the 
 topics which it might have been desirable and proper to in- 
 troduce. But, let them pass — with the following exceptions : 
 
 BIBLE PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 1. THE NEW TESTAMENT : iu Paragraph Form ; with all the Marginal 
 Kcadings; aud full Indexes. The pure, unbrolcen text, without even head- 
 linea to the chaptei's. ISmo., long-primer type, leaded. 
 
 This is the "Authorized "Version," as revised by the American Bible So- 
 ciety. The ODaission of the " head-lines," however, obviates some, if not all, 
 the objections which afterward occasioned the rejection of that version, while 
 it makes the text more exclusively sacred. This edition, particularly in its 
 fonr-volume form, has been pronounced, by a competent critic, the hand- 
 somest ever issued, in England or America. It is put up in any number of 
 volumes desired — from one to twenty-seven, in the latter case each book by 
 itself; sometimes in simple Tract form, without covers. Perhaps there is no 
 Testament in our language more pure than this ; if, indeed, there be any so 
 pure. 
 
 2. HORNE AND TEEGELLES' INTKODUCTIONS TO THE BOOKS OP 
 THE NEW TESTAMENT— supposed to bo the very best^either bound iu a 
 volume by themselves, or attached to the Books to which they belong. 
 
 3. THE STUDENT'S MBMOllANDUM OP THE NEW TESTAMENT. 
 This is a blank volume, beautifully prep.ircd for " Notes" by the private 
 reader — expositions, illustrative references, reminiscences of sermons, &c. 
 The Testaments, Introductions, and Memorandum are put iu a uniform series, 
 when so wished. 
 
 i. BIBLE TRACTS, or, LEAVES PROM TUB TREE OP LIPE: a series 
 of Inspired Tracts, as the " Sermon on the Mount." 
 
 Little does the world imagine what an Epic contemplation 
 opens in these simple connexions ! 
 
 EDITORIAL ISSUES. 
 
 1. THE METHODIST PROTESTANT LETTER-PRESS. Philadelphia, 
 1839. Small quarto, monthly. 
 
 2 THE CHlilSTIAN WORLD. Vol. I. Phila., 1840. Large quarto. Monthly. 
 
 3 '. " " Vol. II. " 1842. " 
 
 4. " " " Vol. III. " 1843. Octavo, " " 
 
 6 " " " Vol. IV. " 1844. " " '• 
 
 6. " " " Vol. V. " 1845. " " Quarterly. 
 
 7 THE MONTHLY REPORTER. " 1848. " Monthly. 
 
320 
 
 8. THM BIBLE ALLIANCE: or, the PEN, PULPIT, and PRESS. Cin- 
 cinnati, 1850. Octavo. Weekly. 
 
 9. THE BIBLE TIMES. Baltimore, 1856. Small quarto. Monthly. 
 
 10. " " " Philada., 1856. " " 
 
 11. STOCKTON'S BOOK AND JOURNAL. Philadelphia, 1857. Duode- 
 cimo. Monthly. 
 
 12. THE BIBLE TIMES. New Series. Philadelphia, 1858. Small quarto. 
 Weekly. 
 
 Besides the above, specimen numbers were issued of 
 the "Daily Christian World," and, the "Weekly Chris- 
 tian World," the design being, in whole, to supply a series 
 adapted to all varieties of mind and interest : the Daily, 
 Weekly, Monthly, and Quarterly Christian Worlds ; and these 
 were not to succumb to the pressure of either political, ec- 
 clesiastical, or secular partisanship or advantage, but to main- 
 tain Christian Principle at all hazards. Of course, the 
 poor projector had a hard struggle, and, so far as. continu- 
 ance of his press was concerned, ultimately succumbed, him- 
 self — saving, however, his principles, and having the satis- 
 faction of knowing that some of his improvements, by the 
 adoption of other publishers, became common possessions 
 and blessings to the country at large. It is a little curious 
 that the Methodists of Canada have chosen the old name of 
 my father's work — " The Wesleyan Repository," for their or- 
 gan; and the "American and Foreign Christian Union" has 
 selected mine for theirs — "The Christian World." 
 
 ORIGINAL PRODUCTIONS. 
 
 Besides the contributions of early and later life, in prose 
 and verse, to numerous periodicals, the following pui)lications 
 may be mentioned : — 
 
 1. THE PASTOR'S TRIBUTE; or, TLOWEES JEOM THE PARSONAGE. 
 Verse ; pp. 24. Philadelphia. 1843. To help a Fair. 
 
 2. FLOATING FLOWERS FROM A HIDDEN BROOK. A large poetical 
 collection. Pp. 168. Philada., 1844. 
 
 3. SOMETHING NEW. Verse; pp. 24. Philadelphia, 1845. For a Fair, 
 also. 
 
 4. PAMPHLET ADDRESSES; on the BIBLE, TEMPERANCE, MINISTE- 
 RIAL UNION, &c. 
 
 5. OCCASIONAL SERMONS; on the Death of PRESIDENT TAYLOR; of 
 REV. DR. S. K. JENNINGS; and of the venerable JOHN CHAPPELL; as 
 well as several Congressional Discourses ; each issued separately. 
 
 6. SERMONS FOB THE PEOPLE. A volume of 420 pages. Pittsbnrsh, 
 1864. 
 
 7. THE BIBLE ALLIANCE. (Fourteen Pamphlet Discourses, bound.) Pp. 
 2S4. Cincinnati, 1860. 
 
 8. THE PEERLESS MAGNIFICENCE OF THE WORD OF GOD. (In 
 print, except the last sermon, but not yet published in hook-form.) 
 
 0. THE BLESSING ; A Good Book tor Children. Philadelphia, 1857. Small 
 fpiarto. 
 
321 
 
 10. "STAXD UP FOR JESUS." An Ilhisti-ated Christian Ballad, witli Mu- 
 sic, He. Pliiiada., ISIiS. 
 
 11. POEJIS; with Autobiogi-apiiic and otlier Notes, &C. Illustvatod. Pliila- 
 delpliia, ISIJl. 
 
 Of these productions, the " Sermons for the People " is the 
 only book regularly published. Five editions of this were 
 issued, and it is yet in as good request as, under the circum- 
 stances, could be expected. But, the best of my composi- 
 tions, by far, remain in manuscript, and by far the larger 
 quantity also. I would gladly issue them, but have no pub- 
 lisher, and no disposition to hunt one — while, as to private 
 printing, my experience abundantly assures me of its great 
 disadvantages. In order to succeed, and do good, a book 
 must have some distributing agency to put it with the trade, 
 and "keep it before the iJeople." Even in the present in- 
 stance, the responsibility is wholly my own ; though I have 
 availed myself in the title-page, of the courtesy of a highly- 
 respectable Publishing House, in hope of some little service- 
 able distribution. 
 
 Now, therefore, my dear , I must and will close. I 
 
 thank you for your attention. If not as fully informed as 
 you expected to be, yon must remember that your pre-en- 
 gagement was, to be satisfied with the result, whatever it 
 might be. If, notwithstanding this, you are not satisfied — 
 viiither am I! But — " hope on, hope ever !" 
 
 Adieu, T. H. S. 
 
'iinij!!