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TORONTO TiMMS & Co., THE Oxford Press 1894 fH^ r f r MY DEAR CHILDREN AND FRIENDS THIS BOOK I.S AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. ^ ) ' I .• 3iH $ 38 I iV ren of J S star beii IN enc hop hea: 4 Tor I 4 PREFACE. |V/IY first thodght of writing this little hook ^ '^ * sprang fiom the debire of helping my child- ren and friends to appreciate and enjoy the poems of John Greenleaf VVhittier. Some of the poems are not complete, only those stanzas illustrating the point under discussion being given. Many times have these poems refreshed and encouraged me, and T send them forth with a hope and prayer that they rnay find echo in other hearts. Martha Swift. Toronto, January ist, i8g4. I i r-k if 1 rk CONTENTS. CHAPTKR I. Short Sketch of His Life II. Fond Re:coelections . III. The Friends or Quakers . IV. A Truth Seeker V. Eternal Torment VI. His Views Stated VII. The Inward Voice VIII. The Brotherhood of Man IX. Whjttier and Tennyson— A Comparison . X. Conclusion . . . . PAGE 9 13 17 21 26 41 47 50 54 56 ^^Ti^ f ^F^W^ Half Hours with the Toet IVhittier. CHAPTER 1. SHORT SKETCH OF HIS LI*^.. 1 N passing through life, how few we meet who * are not lovers of poetry — who hare not his or her favorite poet. In glancing over the names of our standard poets — Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, Byron, Moore, Longfellow, Tennyson, etc., it is difficult to choose from among them ; they all have a loving place in our hearts. In youth I revelled in the lays of Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Moore; but in later years none have been so sweet to me as the writings of John Greenleaf Whittier. The motto that was written over my copy-book when a child may be true, "Comparisons are odious," but I do not think it applies in this case, for I think it well to compare the lives and charac- ters of noted men. We gain a knowledge of them by their writings. . If we study the poems of Scott, Byron, Moore, Burns, etc., we find their characters reflected in lO HALF HOURS WITH their verses. We notice much that is charming and pleasing to sense, but we fail to see the pure, uplifting sentiments that we discover in the writ- ings of Longfellow, Tennyson and Whittier. The latter is so simple, homely and natural ; and for purity of thought cannot be surpassed. John Greenleaf Whittier was born at Haverhill, Massachusetts, December j 7, 1807. Until the age of eighteen he v/orked on a farm, and occasionally as a shoemaker. In 1829 he went to Boston as editor of a newspaper, and in the following year became editor of the New England Weekly Review, published at Hartford, Conn., but in 1832 returned to Haverhill to edit the Haverhill Gazette, He remained there until 1836, being twice a repre- sentative in the Legislature of the State. John G. Whittier, wide though his fame as a poet is, was Uttle known as a man. Indeed, he never cared to be so known, for he was modest, even to shyness, shunning mixed society, and sel- dom appearing on public occasions or at public assemblies, unless they were discussing principles to which he was devoted. He had no ii:>clination to travel, never having been abroad, and having made few journeys in his own country. Once a prominent Bostonian, by way of additional induce- ment to cross the ocean, told him that he had thousands of admirers in Great Britain, who would ^^w^ THE POET WHITTIER. II be delighted to greet him and extend to him every^ kind of honor, public and private. At this the poet smiled sadly and said : "My good friend,, thee adds terrors to travel that I have not thought of, and I have not the cou»"age to encounter the common difficulties that must beset every man." He was wholly opposed to lecturing. No amount of money could tem.pt him, for he had been offered repeatedly as high as $i,ooo a night. " 1 can never understand," was one of his remarks, "how a modest man can be willing to make an exhibition of himself" In 1836 he was chosen secretary of the Anti- Slavery Society, and his stirring poems, expressing his convictions against the great national wrong, early made him conspicuous in the then small band of Abolitionists. For the last twenty years or more he had been, to some extent, a recluse, rarely going away from home, and keeping, in unfavorable weather, within his simple, sedulously neat house at Amesbury. He had frequent visitors from all parts of the country, drawn thither by his great reputation as a poet. He made it a rule to see all who came, when he was v^ell, and he was uniformly consid- erate and courteous. Our Poet was not regularly or classically edu- cated. He had never been on foreign soil. Perhaps 12 HALF HOURS WITH to this is due the fact that he was altogether Ameri- can in his themes and their treatment. He never aimed at the admiration of scholars. He tried to reach the common heart, to touch the chord of popular sympathy, and he succeeded. He will outlive many more pretentious and elaborate poets, who, like Dante and Milton, are continually praised, 'but seldom read. He belonged to the home and heart. He interpreted the innermost feelings of •ou nature, and spoke to the conscience. He recognized his poetic gift to be as much a spiritual gift as that of preaching, and every line he wrote was to emancipate and elevate mankind. It is such lives as his that teach us that Christ's religion is true ; for, great and good as were his writings, greater, deeper and more lovely was the man himself. Never, since the days of Fox, Penn and Barkley, has there been one who more completely voiced in his writings, and presented in his example, the ideal Friend. Living for the brotherhood of man, he never forgot the fatherhood of God, and this enabled him to so order his days that in the end peace crowned all. His end was a very peaceful one. He passed away while on a visit to Hampton Falls, N. H., on September 8, 1892. He was conscious of his sur- roundings to the last moment, and attended by THE POET WHITTIER. 13 **I|W». his nearest relatives. The funeral took place at Amesbury, Mass. CHAPTER II. FOND RECOLLECTIONS. IT is evident from many of his early poems that Whittier had a romance, but the grave closed over the girl he loved, and when he was an old man he loved to think of her. Hov; touching is the memory of " The Old School House." Long years ago a winter sun Shone over it at setting ; Lit up its western window panes, And low eave's icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes, full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. For near ner stood the little boy Her childish favor singled ; His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled, Pushing with restless feet he snow To right and left, he lingered ; — As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered. 14 HALF HOURS WITH He saw her lift her eyes ; he felt The soft hand's light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing. «' I'm sorry that I spelt the word ; I hate to go above you, Because " — the brown eyes lower fell, — " Because, you see, I love you ! " Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl ! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing ! He lives to learn, in life's hard school, How few who pass above him Lament their triumph and his loss. Like her,— because they love him. Again, we find him by the sea shore, and tnemory goes back to the loved object of his affections. We hear him saying in "A Sea Dream": — Thou art not here, thou art not there, Thy place I cannot see ; I only know that where thou art The blessed angels be And heaven is glad for thee. But turn to me thy dear girl-face Without the angel's crown. The wedded roses of thy lips. Thy loose hair rippling down In waves of golden brown. • ""^"f ,*n^". THE POET WHITTIER. 15 In these pathetic lines we trace the melody of a love not lost, but gone before. We quote yet another sorrowful lament in ** My Playmate " : — The blossoms drifted at our feet, The orchard birds sang clear ; The sweetest and the saddest day It seemed of all the year. For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She laid her hand in mine : What more could ask the bashful boy Who fed her father's kine ? She left us in the bloom of May : The constant years told o'er Their seasons with as sweet May morns. But she came back no more. I see her face, I hear her voice : Does she remember mine ? And what to her is now the boy Who fed her father's kine ? It appears our poet was most unfortunate in his loves, for in another of his poems he makes men- tion of — With step as light as summer air, l6 HALF HOURS WITH Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl, Shadowed by many a careless curl Of unconfined and flowing hair ; A seeming child in everything, Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms, As Nature wears the smile of Spring When sinking into Summer's arms. I hear again thy low replies, I feel thy arm within my own, And timidly again uprise The fringed lids of hazel eyes, With soft blown tresses overblown. Ah ! memories of sweet summer eves. Of moonlit wave and willowy way, Of stars and fiOwers, and dewy leaves. And smiles and tones more dear than they ! It is evident this lady changed her faith, which was the same as his own in youth, for he con- tinues : — And wider yet in thought and deed Diverge our pathways, one in youth ; Thine the Genevan's sternest creed. While answers to my spirit's need The Derby dalesman's simple truth. For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, And holy day and solemn psalm ; For me, the silent reverence where My brethren gather, slow and calm. Can we doubt that these sorrowful memories were the means used for the developing of his II .^ISJS* . * * /« » 1 1 «^P**4 THE POET WHITTIER. 17 beautiful Christian character ? How many, like him, have been crushed by sorrows and trials I but the discipline and chastening has produced in them the peaceable fruits of righteousness (right thinking and acting). We know that the memory of such pure and virtuous love had a sanctifying effect upon his character. » * /« » i CHAPTER HI. THE FRIENDS OR QUAKERS. OUR Poet belonged to the society of Friends, or Seekers, as they called themselves, there- by indicating their desire to discover Truth. The name of " Quaker " was given to them by their enemies as a term of derision and reproach. George Fox, their predecessor and founder, was unquestionably a good man, and sincerely aimed at discovering the primitive truth and practices which had been overlaid in the course of centuries. In a time of deep conflict of soul and trouble of spirit, he found he could not discover by the read- ing of his Bible anything that satisfied or soothed, or dispelled the anguish of his spirit ; and when he consulted with his ministers, who had been educated to preach their interpretation of the Bible, they in turn were unable to give him the i8 HALF HOURS WITH comfort he was seeking, and could only direct him again to the Bible which had failed to bring it to him. When he turned from a dependence on all these, in silent communion within himself, he found a revelation was being made to him espec- ially adapted to his then needs, and he recognized it to be an inspiration coming to him from a source higher than man. It brought to him the comfort he had been seeking, it soothed his troubled spirit, quieted his doubts and fears, and brought the rest his soul had been longing for. And it always will. We have only to come in contact with the All- Presence, only to recognize and acknowledge that link that unites us lo the All-Father ; we have only to ''come to ourselves," like the prodigal son, and arise and go to ihe Father, with the consciousness of sonship, and we shall find, like him, peace and rest in the Father's outstretched arms. So George Fox believed he had founJ ?. new truth, one which was of far greater value to him than any that had been realized in his day, and it was his duty to go abroad and proclaim it. In 1647 he began his missionary career, and eight years afterward ministers of the new society were spreading their doctrines in various parts of the world. grievous suffering and oppression. As many as dk THE POET WHITTIER. 19 thirty-four hundred of these earnest, God fearing people were at one time confined in noisome prisons, and many of them died as martyrs to their faith. Their meetings were broken up, their per- sons were assailed, and they were treated with every form of indignity and contempt. The society spread very rapidly in England, and when William Penn founded the colony of Penn- sylvania, the cause extended under his influence on thi' continent, and the different meetings as- sumed a more settled form. Strange as it may seem in this day of light and peace, even in New England their trials- were most severe. A godly woman and three men of culture and earnest piety were hanged on Boston Common for their faith. We find our Poet referring to these times of persecution and trial in many of his poems. I remember many years ago in London, Eng., I used to meet many of the Quakers, as we always called them. Their peculiarity of dress was strik- ing, although there was very little difference in the dress worn by the early Wesleyan Methodists. The bonnets were of the coalscuttle shape, made of cardboard, covered with silk of dove color, drab or lavender ; the shawl was a square piece, crossed over, without lace or fringe ; the dress was made of the same color, perfectly plain, without trim- ming of any kind. The elder ladies usually wore 20 HALF HOURS WITH a white net or muslin handkerchief across the bosom. They were most gentle and unassuming in their behavior. About fifteen years ago I remember going from Toronto to Flint, Mich., on a visit to my children- I was looking from one to another of the passen- gers in the railway carriage, in the hope of selecting v.n agreeable companion to converse with, other- wise the journey always appeared so long. At last I saw a little old lady knitting. She was dressed as a Quakeress. She had one of the sweetest smiles, and with her mild blue eyes and peach- blossom complexion, she made a most attractive picture. Her dress was composed of the finest texture, and she was the very picture of neatness and elegarxe. I was struck at once with the resemblance to the lady in " Uncle Tom's Cabin," whom Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe portrays, and I felt inclined to ask the same question that she does : *' Why does not someone sing the praises of beautiful old women ? " There are not wanting poets always ready to sing the praises of the young ; but are there not beautiful old men and women, the light of love and goodness just beaming from their countenances — men and women that we can take into our hearts and love at first siprht? Such was my Quakeress. I kept glancing over to her longingly, and I think she must have caught THE POLT WHITTIER. 21 my thought, for when the passenger at my side changed her seal she came over to me, and we at once entered into conversation. I found her so agreeable and Intel. \y3nt, — so liberal in her views. She said she was not particular at what meeting house she worshipped, nor what they chose to call themselves. We ^injoyed our chat immensely, and parted as regretfully as if we had known each other for years ; but I have not for- gotten that sweet face. It was like a mirror of the pure thought within. CHAPTER IV. A TRUTH SEEKER WE follow our Poet as he passes through the troublous times of slavery, raising his voice and pen against every form of oppression and wrong doing ; dealing his blows heavy and sharp against tyranny of every form, whether manifested in politics or religion. He was a bold reformer, fearlessly denouncing those evils destructive to the honor and happiness of a nation. We know that his verses assisted to inspire the public sentiment agflinst slavery, and his songs of liberty and free- dom we love to sing. But it is his Christian character I love most to dwell upon. He earnestly sought for truth, not in 22 HALF HOURS WITH creeds and dogmas, for theologica'i teachings he never subscribed to. He sounded the depths and shoals of ancient and modern thought, and in striving to solve his many problems he arrived at conclusions that will help many another searcher in time to come. I often think of our Quaker Poet, as he sat in his study contemplating the hard and knotty ques- tions which will sooner or later trouble the mind of every thinking Christian. We find in some of his poems the breathing of a mind in a state of unrest. He wrestled with the dark shadows of doubt and distrust, and as we trace the arguments whereby he is delivered, and emerges from that state into one of liberty and freedom, we can share with him his deliverance. Indeed, he always came out of those trying ordeals victorious. In the fol- lowing soliloquy he reaches a point of terror which few undergo ; but at the same time it shows us that he underwent many severe spiritual exercises : — MY SOUL AND I. Stand still, my soul, in the bu^nt aark ; I would question thee, Alone in the shadow, drear and stark, With God and me ! What, my soul, was th^ errand here ? Was it mirth, or ease, Or heaping up dust from year to year ? " Nay, none of these ! " o THE PORT WHITTIER. 23 And where art thou going, soul of mine ? Can'st see the end ? And whither this troubled life of thine Evermore doth tend ? What daunts thee now ?— What shakes thee so ? My sad soul, say. I see a cloud liUe a curtain low Hang o'er my way. Whither I go I cannot tell : That cloud hangs black, High as the heaven and deep as hell, Across my track. I see .ts shac ow coldly enwrap The ;.ouls before ; Sadly they enter it, step by step, To return no more. I call on the souls who have left the light To reveal their lot ; I bend my ear to that wall of night, And they answer not. But I hear around me sighs of pain, And the cry of fear. And a sound like the slow, sad dropping of rain, Each drop a tear ! 'Ah ! the cloud is dark, and, day by day, I am moving thither : I pass beneath it on my way — God pity me !— Whither ? " But never for this, never for this, Was thy being lent ; For the craven's fear is but selfishness, Like his merriment. 24 HALF HOURS WITH Folly and fear are sisters twain : One closing lier eyes, The other peopling the dark inane % With spectral lies. Know well, my soul, God's hand controls Whate'er thou fearest ; Round Him in calmest music rolls Whate'T thou hearesi. What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, And the end He knoweth ; And not on a blind and aimless way The Spirit goeth. Man sees no future, — A phantom show Is alone before him : Past Time is dead, and the grasses grow, And flowers bloom o'er him. Nothing before, nothing behind ; The steps of Faith Fall on the seeming void, and find i he rock beneath. The Present, the Present is all thou hast For thy possessing ; Like the patriarch's angel, hold it fast Till it gives its blessing. Why fear the night ? Why shrink from Death, That phantom wan ? There is nothing in heaven or earth beneath, Save God and man. Peopling the shadows, we turn from Him Ana iroui one another ; All is spectral and vague and dim. Save God and our brother ! .'" THE POET WHITTIER. 25 O, restless Spirit ! Wherefore strain Beyond thy sphere ? Heaven and hell, with their joy and pain, Are now and here. All which is real now remaineth, And fadeth never ; The hand which upholds it now sustaineth The soul forever. We cannot help wishing that the society of Friends had remained in one body, instead of separating, as they did in 1828. Elias Hicks had introduced many reforms and propounded several doctrines at variance with the orthodox beliefs; so, after much discussion and dissension, they concluded to separate. Mr. Hicks died in 1830, two years after the separation. Whittier was then a young man. He did not secede, but remained with his orthodox brethren, although his sympathies and views were in line with progressive Friends. It was the progressive party who represented the Friends at the World's Fair Religious Congress. They read a number of interesting and instructive papers, setting forth their faith, hopes and works. The fact of our Poet remaining with his ortho- dox brethren accounts for the apparei^t dissensions he had from time to time with them, on views and opinions not held by both parties. If he had Ill 26 HALF HOURS WITH \w belonged to many of our orthodox churches, or even to some of the many httle meeting houses, he would have had to contend agaii.it imputations of heresy and heterodoxy. How could such a man accept the dogmas of traditional denominational history ? Take, for example, the dogma of eternal torment. How could he subscribe to such a creed ? Liberal and thoughtful men have called it a horrible libel on the character of God. It has shocked the hearts and consciences of the best men '^nd women, and driven multitudes of thought- ful persons into infidelity. CHAPTER V. ETERNAL TORMENT. LET us try and glean from some of his poems our Poet's real sentiments on this subject. We will select "Tauler the Preacher." Then, as he mused, he heard along his path A sound as of an old man's staff among The dry, dead linden-leaves ; and, looking up, He saw a strangv^i, weak, and poor, and old. " Peace be unto thee, father," Tauler sr.id, " God give thee a good day ! " The old man raised Slowly his calm blue eyes. " I thank thee, son ; But rt// my days are good, and none are ill " THE POET WHITTIER. 27 '< Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again. God give thee happy life ! '* The old man smiled, " I never am unhappy." Tauler laid his hand upon the stranger's coarse gray sleeve : '• Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean. Surely man's days are evil, and his life Sad as the grave it leads to." " Nay, my son, Our times are in God's hands, and all our days Are as our needs ; for shadow as for sun, For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike Our thanks are due, since that is best which is ; And that which is not, sharing not his life, Is evil only as devoid of good. And for the happiness of which I spa'.ie, I find it in submission to His will, And calm trust in the holy Trinity Of Knowledge, Goodness, and Almighty Power." Silently wondering, for a little space. Stood the great preacher ; then he spake as one Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought Which long has followed, whispering through the dark Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into light : " What if God's will consign thee hence to hell ? " "Then," said the stranger, cheerily, " be it so. What hell may be I know not ; this I know,— I cannot lose the presence of the Lord : One arm, Humility, takes hold upon His dear Humanity ; the other, Love, Clasps His Divinity. So, where I go, H 6^ onrl b'='t<^'^t* firp-walled hell with Him, Than golden-gated paradise without." 28 HALF HOURS WITH • i ii ii We get the same sentiment in "The Minister's Daughter." In the minister's morning sermon He had told of the primal fall, And how henceforth the wrath of God Rested on each and all And how, of His will and pleasure, All souls, save a chosen few, Were doomed to the quenchless burning, And held in th'i way thereto. And aft^i the painful service On that pleasant Sabbath day, He walked witn his little daughter Through the app!e bloom of May. Around on the wonderful glory The minister looked . id smiled : "' Hovnt good is the Lord ho gives us These gifts from His hand, my child. " Behold in the bloom of apples And the violets in the sward A hint of the old lost beauty Of the garden of the Lord ! " Then up spake the little maiden, Treading on snow and pink : " O father ! these pretty blossoms Are very wicked, I think. " Had there been no Gr.rden of Eden, There never had been a fall ; And if never a tree had blossomed. God would have loved us all." THE POIiT WHITTIER. 29 <( Hush, child ! " the father answered, " By His decree man fell ; ways are in clouds and darkness, I'ii It He doeth all things well. Thi And whether by His ordaining To us cometh good or ill, Joy or pain, or light or shadow, We must fear and love Him still." ' Oh ! I fear Him, said the daughter, "And I try to love Him, too ; But I wish He was good and gentle, Kind and loving, as you." The minister groaned in spirit As the tremulous lips of pain And wide, wet eyes uplifted Questioned his own in vain. Bowing his head, he pondered The words of the little one : Had he erred in his life-long teaching ? Had he wrong to the Master done ? To what grim and dreadful idol Had he lent the holiest name? Did his own heart, loving and human, The God of his worship shame ? And lo ! from the bloom and greenness. From the tender skies ab'^ve, And the face of his little daughter. He read a lesson of love. hv 1-h<* ''J editor of Toronto Saturday Night, several years n 30 HALF HOURS WITH ago. He is speaking of the *' Westminster Con- fession of Faith," and quotes Article No. 7 :— " ' The rest of mankind God was pleased, according to the unsearchable counsel of His will, to pass by, and to ordain them to dishonor and wrath, for their sins, and to the praise of His glorious justice.' • " Note, brethren and friends, the last line of No. 7, ' To the praise of his glorious justice ! ' If I had been born in order to be sent to hell, by the decree of God, tor the manifestation of His glory, and to the praise of His glorious justice, for something I could not do, or could not help doing, I feel justified in saying, I would pound upon the sooty walls of my infernal prison and make the blackened and gloomy caverns of hell re-echo with my shrieks of unjust ! unjust i " It is such doctrines as this which produce infidelity; it is such creeds as this which drive men from Christianity into the darkness and doubt of unbelief. I believe the Westminster Confession of Faith has driven more men into agnosticism than all the books of Voltaire or Paine, or all the lectures of Ingersoll. I hold that these articles are nothing but blasphemy — that the conception of a god who could do such things is more horrible than the creeds which lead mothers to throw their babes into the arms of a blazing Moloch, or prompts the bloody sacrifice beneath the wheels of J. T THE POET WHITTIER. 31 pC4. T Juggernaut. When a mother gives up her child to the fire of sacrifice, she believes she insures its salvation and assists in her own ; but when a man subscribes to a creed which says that his fellow- men were born to be damned and to suffer, time without end, he has intensified a million-fold the pagan idea that God glories in blood, revels in death. Now, where did this doctrine originate ? It is tedious to wade through the history of the Christ- ian Fathers, in order to trace the rise and progress of the doctrine of eternal torment. We find from Church history that Athenagoras, who lived from about 127 to 190 A. D., was the earliest known advocate of the theory of eternal life in hell. A master of the Latin tongue, a powerful reasoner, of a vehement nature and a vivid imagination, he was well suited to impress an idea on an age disposed to accept it, and he left the lasting impression of his mind upon the Church of suc- ceeding times. Accordingly, the theory of eternal torment culminated, in the secopd century, in this fierce and fiery African theologian. But, long before this, Plato, the heathen philosopher, taught a Tartarus, with its fiery streams, whence none could com.e forth. In the second, third and succeeding centuries Christian teachers taught the theory of Plato, •-•V" I 32 HALF HOURS WITH Athenagoras, Tertullian and Athanasius ; and Augustine taught beyond a question the eternal misery of the wicked. And this question was not confined to Plato and his times ; every school of philosophy took it up. The subject had not died out before the days of Christ, and, during the times of the Apostles, schools of Grecian thought were to be found in every city of the Roman world. The theory of eternal agony as the punishment for the sins of this life, had long been held as the view taught by Scripture \ and what v;as one of the immediate results of this teaching ? A refuge from it in Purgatory. Rome tells you that it is, and has been, very commonly held. So it has. It is and has been the belief of nine-tenths of professing Christendom. Take a large class of men, the profane, the irreligious and the sceptical ; you tell them that everlasting misery is the doctrine taught in the Bible. They willingly accept at your hands the comment on Bible teaching — it is just what they want. They do not love the scriptures ; they do not love God ; they want to live without any sense of responsibility or control. They willingly accept your account of this God : he is one who dooms to eternal misery millions who never heard of Him, and who would never have had this miserable I --T T' 1 THE POET WHITTIER. 33 life if He had not given it unasked. He dooms others, who did not hear of Him, and disobeyed Him. What is the consequence? They reje-t your God and your Bible together. They reject your God as a monster, and your Bible as a foul lie. Their whole nature, their reason, their con- science, their heart, tells them that punishment such as you speak of is unjust. Of what avail is your theory of punishment on these sceptics? They are not afraid of your hell, because your hell has given them their best reason for not believing in your God. A missionary proceeds to India, to preach there the gospel of Christ. He meets with a Brahmin. He addresses him as Paul addresses the Eppi- curiansand L:oics: "Whom ye ignorantly wor- ship, Him declare I unto you." Brahmin- •" What is your message to us ? " Missionary.—'' Life from the dead, to all who- believe and obey Jesus Christ, the son of God." ^^'^.—"That sounds well. What is this life you offer in Christ ? What is this death from which you promise deliverance ? " j//^._"The life I offer in my Master's name is spiritual life ; a new heart, loving God and all that is good, and consequent happiness forever. The death from which Christ will deliver you is spiritual death, i.e., moral pollution, its consequent misery. 34 HALF HOURS WITH and the eternal anguish and suffering which God will inflict on all who believe not the Gospel of His son Jesus Christ." Bra, — " When and where will your God inflict this death on unbelievers ? " Mis.—'' It has already been begun through the sinner's own sin, but God has prepared a place where he will complete what is here only begun, where all unbelievers shall suffer throughout an eternal existence for their sin and unbelief." Bra.—'' You say ' for their unbelief.' Then this hell of yours can be only for those who reject the Gospel of Christ ? " j//^,_'<]S[o ; hell is for all your forefathers, or at least for all of them who sinned against such light and knowledge as they were possessed of." ^;.^._''That would include, I fear, the vast majority of my forefathers. If this is true, it is a terrible message that you bring us. You say that all the past generations of India will suffer pain as a punishment for sin from your God through all eternity. Tell me plainly, for what must they suffer a punishment infinitely beyond all the punishment that has ever been inflcted by the cruelest tyrant of earth ? " j//^._"They will certainly thus suffer for eternity, but their suffering will be much hghter than that inflicted upon th )se who refuse God's THE POET WHITTIF.R. 35 ^ offer of grace. We have sprung from one father, the first man, Adam. God made with hin^ a covenant, which included his posterity. Adam violated this covenant, and thereby involved his posterity in the death he brought upon him- self." Bra.— ''Yon say, then, that because Adam sinned, his children, who had nothing to say per- sonally to his sin, will suffer pain for all eternity, and this by your God's arrangement ?" .T//i-.— " Yes." Bra.—'' I was not taught from infancy to believe in your God, and what you now tell me of Him makes me resolve never to believe in Him. I reject Him as a monster of injustice. What ! to inflict endless agony on millions of men who never heard of Him or His laws. With us the worst of crimes is thought sufficiently punished with death. You tell me of His iove, but Hi^ .ve I cannot see, while this black stain rests upon His character. You tell me He has doomed all the past millions of India to eternal agony, either for Adam's wilful sin, or for their own sins of ignorance, or for both together. Then, I will have nothing to do with such a God ; I prefer mine to yours " Conversations like this do not rank among imaginary dialogues of the dead ; they are dia- logues of living men. 36 HALF HOURS WITH In Siam, a priest came to an American mission- ary and asked him how long his God tormented bad men in a future state ; when answered '* for- ever," he »•♦ lied : *' Our God torments the worst of men oniy one thoai;and years, so we will not have your American God in Siam." This subject may not be a pleasant one to most of us. In fact, it is a subject not often investigated or looked into carefully, and yet it is most import- ant. Our Poet evidently looked into it and care- fuHy examined it before he came to any satisfactory conclusion. Before leaving this subject, I will here insert a few brief extracts, taken from reliable authorities. Here is one taken from a little book entitled "The Child's Pathway to Glory," published in Birming- hr m, Eng., and which has passed at least seven editions : — ** There is nothing but misery in hell ; you would never have one moment's ease, for there is nothing but pain and torment there. Put together all you can think of that is miserable and painful and terrible, and it is a^' othing to what is pre- pared for tliose who go le, and that not for an hour, or a day or a year, but for all eternity. The lost souls who live in that horrible pit wish to d'e, but they are not abk, for God says : ' Their worm dieth not.' The frightful and cruel devil may tor- THL POi^T WHITTIER. 37 ment them as much as ne pleases ; they are made strong to bear it." Here is a description given by the famous Jonathan Edwards : — "The misery of sinners in hell will not be a cause of grief to saints in heaven, but of rejoicing ; though they hear you groan, and sigh, and gnash your teeth, these things will not move them at all to pity you. After your godly parents have seen you lie millions of years or ages in torment, day and night, they will not begin to pity you then. They will praise God that His justice appears in the eternity of your misery. The torments of hell will be immeasurably greater than being in a glow- ing oven, a brick kiln or fiery fuinace." Here is the way in which the Romish Church describes hell. It is taken from a book written by the Rev. J. Furness, and published by the authori- ties of the Church : — " 1 he fifth dungeon is the red-hot oven. The little child is in the red-hot oven. Hear how it screams to come out ; see how it turns and 'tv/ists in the fire ; it beats : is head against the roof of the oven ; it stamps its feet on the floor. God was very good to this liitie child. Very likely God saw that this child wouM get worse and worse, and would never repent, and so would have to be T.„*,;cV,ori mnrp «;pverelv in hell, so God, in His f 38 HALF HOURS WITH mercy, called it out of the world in early child- hood." Just one more extract, from a sermon by the celebrated C. H. Spurgeon :-- "Only conceive that poor wretch in the flames, who is saying : ' Oh ! for one drop of water to cool my parched tongue.' See how his tongue hangs between his blistered lips — how it excoriates and burns the roof of his mouth, as if it were a fire- brand. I will not picture the scene. Suffice for me to close by saying that the hell of hells will be to thee, sinner, the thought that it will be forever. Thou wilt look up there on the throne of God, and it will be forever ; when the damned jingle their burning irons in their torment, they shall say forever ! When they howl, echo shall cry forever ! " Forever is vvritten on their racks, Forever on their chains ; Forever burning in the fire, Forever ever reigns ! " There is a feeling natural to man — men tenderly cherished and nurtured by the Gospel of Christ — which might have interposed and forbid these con- clusions. It is the feeling of pity and mercy which is implanted in us by our Maker. In our com- paratively humane age, this feeling is ever rebelling against the dogma of endless misery, supposed to be the teaching of God's Word, taught to us at ;jiii»9'";'« THE POET WHITTIER. 39 at our mother's knee, and preached to us by men whom we look upon as ministering to us in God's stead ; loudly proclaimed as the Church's faith always, in every place, and by all the faithful accepted— save by a few heretics— but, in spite of all, mercy is ever raising her powerful protest in our midst. From the depths of the hearts of Watts, Butler, Taylor, and Barnes, came ever wel- ling up the irrepressible feeling of anguish, dismay, and almost madness, at the thought of that which they feel themselves compelled to believe. Grand old Luther looked at Augustine's and Dante's hell, rnd groaned out : " It is the highest act of faith to believe that God is merciful." We find that Whittier had the same questions to answer to those of his orthodox brethren with whom he met. He knew the Scripture did not teach any such doctrine ; he knew that they inter- preted literally the figurative language of the Bible. Jesus the Christ speaks in the Gospel of many stripes and few stripes, according to the offences. And is hell, according to Augustine's theory, a place of few stripes to those placed therein ? A life of endless misery ! Is this the Christian's explanation of the few or many stripes of Christ, the Master ? But this system of Augustine's is at direct issue .,.:«.u 4.u^ f^o^Viinrr r.f hhp Bibl^. God has Dromised 40 HALF HOURS WITH the restitution of all things. He has pledged His word and His power that evil shall be abolished and destroyed. A time shall come when all things shall be once mo-: very good, when iniquity shall have an end, and when everything that hath breath shall praise the Lord. Whittier was well acquainted with the facts relative to this doctrine ; so when his friends tried to baffle him with their questions, he replied in the following words : — The same old baffling questions ' O my friend, I cannot answer them. In vain I send My soul into the dark, where never burn The lamps of science, nor the natural light Of Reason's sun and stars. I cannot learn Their great and solemn meanings, nor discern The awful secrets of the eyes which turn Evermore on us, through the day and night, With silent challenge ai^d a dumb demand, Proffering the riddles of tha dread unknown, Like the calm Sphinxes, with their eyes of stone, Questioning the centuries, from their veils of sand ! I have no answer for myself or thee, Save that 1 learned beside my mother's knee : "All is of God that is, and is to be ; And God is good." Let this suffice us still, Resting in child-like trust upon His will, Who moves to His great ends unthwarted by the ill. There is a wonderful truth contained in the sentence, "All is of God that is, and is to be." It I THE POET WHITTIER. 41 I seems to me that if this sentence had been the motto in the ages past, and every problem solved by this truth, there never could have been such a theory formulated as the one that we have been glancing at. Jesus the Christ gave us a very dif- ferent idea of God ^he Father from that which we have drawn from most of the Old Testament Scrip- tures. Jesus came to reveal the Father, and the revelation was one of love. All through the New Testament we get the assurance that we are now the children of God, and that knowledge ought to inspire love, and perfect love casteth out fear. CHAPTER VI. HIS VIEWS STATED. \1 /ITH Whittier, religion was a matter of feel- W ing, rather than of dogma, and he seemed always reluctant to frame anything like a formula of behef. His sympathies were with those that taught that the universe is governed by love. His conception of religious duty was, service to man ; but it will be noted that he is careful to disown all sympathy with tae idea that somehow, and at some period, all will be ended, and salvation secured to all by an arbitrary act of Divinity. In his plan of universal salvation, if such a plan was embraced in his creed, salvation, or freedom from sin, could \^ - 42 HALF HOURS WITH only come by the voluntary effort or sacrifice of the individual. The Christian Leader makes a contribution of more than common interest to the current writings about Whittier, in the republication of a letter adaressed to one of its editors some years ago. In response to an invitation to attend one of the anniversary meetings of the Universalist Church, Mr. Whittier explained that the coincident meet- ing of the Friends at Amesbury would prevent him from accepting the invitation, but he accompanied his reply with this valuable statement of his religious views : — "I recognize the importance of the revolt of your religious society from the awful dogma of predestined happiness for the few and damnation for the many, though in the outset that revolt brought with it some of the old fatalistic beliefs in the arbitrary will and power of the Almighty. " Assuming that a favored few can be saved by a Divine decree, irrespective of any merit on their part, it was logical at least to suppose that all might be saved in the same way. " If I mistake not, this view has been greatly modified by the consideration that the natural circumstance of death cannot make any real change of character ; that no one can be com- pelled to be good or evil ; that freedom of choice belongs to both worlds, and that sin is by its very THE POET WHITTIER. 43 of nature inseparable from suffering. "^ am not accustomed to attach much importance to specula- tive opinions, and am not disposed to quarrel with any creed, which avoids the danger, on one hand, of attributing implacable vengeance and cruelty to the Heavenly Father, and, on the other hand, of under-rating the exceeding sinfulness of sin, and its baleful consequences. Slowly, but surely, the dreadful burden of the old belief in the predeter- mined eternity of evil is being lifted from the heart of humanity, and the goodness of God, which leadeth to repentence, is taking the r'ace of the infinite scorn, which made love well nigh impos- sible. The emphasis of your denial that the Divine economy is alike conservative of good and evil, misery and happiness, gives your organization a claim on the good feeling of other sects which, while fully realizing the solemn truth of the con- nection, here and hereafter, of sin and suffering, are looking upon the problem of human destiny with the hope inspired by a clearer view of the revelation, made by letter and spirit, of Him ' Whose mercy endureth forever.' " I am, truly thine, " John G. Whittier." This letter has given us a clearer view of his religious belief than any he has given in his verses. V/e can plainly see that he was intimately ac- 44 HALF HOURS WITH quainted with the tneories of the early Christian Fathers, but he subscribed to none of them. The eternal goodness of God was the rock on which he built h''s faith. How refreshing to turn from the hard, unrelenting faith of those, to the child- Uke trust and confidence that we find him expres- sing in the following poem :— THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. Friends '. with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer, Glad witness to your zeal for God And love of man I bear. 1 trace your lines of argument ; Your logic, linked and strong, I weigh as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. But still my human hands are weak To hold your iron creeds ; Against the words ye bid me speak My heart within me pleads. Who fathoms the Eternal Thought ? Who talks of scheme and plan ? The Lord is God ! He needeth not The poor device of man. I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground Ye tread with boldness shod ; I dare not fix with mete and bound The love and power of God. Ye praise His justice ; even such His pitying love I deem : THE POET WHITTIER. 45 in ne :h m id- 2S- Ye seek a king ; I fain would touch The robe that hath no seam. Ye see the curse which overbroods A world of pain and loss ; I hear our Lord's beatitudes And prayer upon the cross. More than your schoolmen teach, within Myself, alas ! I know. Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, Too small the merit show. I bow my forehead to tlie dust, I veil mine eyes for shame, And urge, in trembling self-distrust, A prayer without a claim, I see the wrong that round me lies, I feel the guilt within ; I hear with groan and travail-cries The world confess its sin. Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed trust my spirit clings : I know that God is good 1 Not mine to look where chorubim And seraphs may not see, — But nothing can be good in Him Which evil is in me. The wrong that pains my soul below I dare not throne above ; I know not of His hate,— I know His goodness and His love. till 46 HALF HOURS WITH I dimly gue-.s from blessings known Of greater out of sight, And, with the chastened Psalmist, own His judgments, too, are right. I long for household voices gone. For vanished smiles I long. But God hath led my dear ones on, And He can do no wrong. I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies. And, if my heart and fiesh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed He will not break, But strengthen and sustain. No offv^ring of my own I have. Nor works my faith to prove ; I can but give the gifts he gave, And plead His love for love. And so, beside the silent sea, I wait the muffled oar. No harm from Him can come to me On ocean or on shore. I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air ; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care. O Brothers ! If my faith is vain. If hopes like these betray, Pray for me, that my feet may gain The sure and safer way. THE POET WHITTIER. 47 And Thou, O Lord ! by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me, if too close I lean My human heart on Thee ! Shall we ever miss our way if we follow in our Poet's path, and trust ourselves to the '* Eternal Goodness," as he did. Will it avail us if we cling ever so tenaciously to any of the creeds of Christen- dom, or study the different doctrines taught in the various churches, if we fail to grasp that wonder- ful truth which thus sustained the Christians in all ages of the world ? CHAPTER VII. THE INWARD VOICE. FROM what I can glean from the writings of the Friends, I do not think they lay much stress upon the written Word, or Bible, as a rule of life. Whittier evidently depended strongly upon the leadings of the Spirit, inner light, or inward voice, as he sometimes expressed it in his poems. In the following verses, called ''Revelation," he says : — I pray for faith, I long to trust ; I listen with my heart, and hear A voice without a sound : " Be just, Bo true, be merciful, revere The Word within thee : God is near ! 48 HALF HOURS WITH " Believe and trust ! Through stars and suns, Through life and dea'th, through soul and sense, His wise, paternal purpose runs. The darkness of His providence Is star-lit with benign intents." O joy supreme ! I know the Voice, Like none beside on earth or sea ; Yea, more, O soul of mine, rejoice, By all that He requires of me, I know what God Himself must be. No picture to my aid I call, I shape no image in my prayer ; I only know in Him is all Of life, light, b- ", everywhere, Eternal Goodness, here and t lere. I know He is, and what He is. Whose one great purp^je is the good Of all. I rest my soul on His Immortal love and Fatherhood, And trust Him as His children should. In John vii., 37-38 (revised version), we get these words : " Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried, saying, If any man thirst, let him come unto Me and drink. He that believeth on Me, as the Scripture hath said, out of Hi^ belly shall flow rivers of living water." And in the first Epistle of John, chapter ii. and 20th verse, we get the same teaching : " And ye have an anointing from the Holy One, and ye know all things ;" and also in the 27th verse of th- same 4 II ) THE POET WHITTIER. 49" chapter, " And as for you, the anointing which ye received of Him abideth in you, and ye need not that any one teach you." Christ Himself, the brightness of the Father's- glory, "in us the hope of glory,' that special revelation of the light of Christ within us, I under- stand to be the innermost central revelation of the li-ht of Christ in the heart — the power that worketh in us, which flesh and blood can neither reveal or inherit. It is the " secret place " of His presence. Only when we leave this, our true rest,, to seek for help from that which is less than the Divine Light, Life, Truth and Love, can we be deprived of it. Let us count all things but loss if they quench or hide from us one ray of the light of Christ, that light which not only shines from the history of His life and death, or from the lives of His true disciples, but which in its own mys- terious glory irradiates every contrite heart, dispel- ling the darkness which is the power of sin, melting the coldness which is the barrier to life, and changing us from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. All the blessings promised in the 28th chapter of Deuteronomy are to those who listen diligently to '' the voice of the Lord, thy God," who seek the inner voice in their own souls, and learn to listen and obey what 11 says lu lucui ii? iiriv^a^.x,., ,--£,— -i less of what it says to any other person. This- 50 HALF HOURS WITH voice will not lead you exactly as it leads any other; but in the infinite variety tnere will be per- fect harmony, for there is but "one God and Father of us all, who is above all, and through all, .and in you all." There is a deep, still centre within every individual, which is the "most high'" of our being. Within this region of our soul is the union of love and wisdom. Having found and realized this, we must know that we are taught and governed by this Divine light. There is a nameless peace which comes to thoF- who fine this secret resting place of com- munion, away from all anxiety of worldly life. Being careful for nothing, the i)eace of God, which passeth all understanding, will keep our hearts -id minds, and this will carry us ove. the world's ways, •and not down through them. CHAPTER Vni. THE BROTHERHOOD OF M.\N. THERE has been a great deal of talk lately about the brotherhood of man. I think the following remarks, by S. J. Hanna, of Boston, on the World's Fair Congress of Religions, give a •very clear conception of what the highest sense of this brotherhood should be. :— " The calling of a Religious Parliament was a unique thought, from every point of view. That a THE POET WHITTIER. 51 all the religious sects and denominations in the world should assemble on a common footing, and from the same platform announce their peculiar views, doctrines and tenets, was a conception possible, as we believe, only to this age. *'We doubt .r there ever was a period of the world's history when such an achie /ement could have been accomplished. lis purpose was to unite all religion against irri'.i don, to make the golden rule the basis of this union. " Surely, no higher aim could actuate the pur- pose of men, than to establish the golden rule as a living fact in human affairs. "The immortal saying of the Great Master, ' Therefore, whatsoever things ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them : for this is the law an.-^ the prophets,' constitutes the basis of the golden rule. This saying of the Masters was one of those wonderful sayings which are infinite in their m.eaning. It is of uni- versal import. No matter how much men may diner touching the birth, life and death of Him who said it, they cannot dispute the mighty truth of what He said. They cannot deny but that, if the saying were the rule of conduct to-day, the Millenium would be here, the kingdom of heaven would have come, and the Lord's Prayer would 1 u^^„ o^Hioiitv rnthpr than formality and IIUVC UCUll ".^« theory. 52 HALF HOURS WITH ! !i • '"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven,' would long since have ceased to be a prayer, and that for which we daily pray would have been accomplished. " We cannot, with the finite senses, comprehend what would have been the condition of the world to-day had men done unto others as they would wish others to have done unto them. '* It is of national as well as individual applica- tion. Had it been observed, wars and rumors of wars would have been unknown; nation would not lift up sword against nation, neither would they learn war any more. With the cessation of war, all its dire consequences would ' ave ceased, human selfishness, the source of all numan woes, would have been put away, the incentive to war would no longer have existed. There would have been no cause for panics, riots, insurrections and uprisings. Inducements to crime would not exist under such conditions, equal and exact justice to all men would have been the measure, and government would have obtained on a Divine instead of a human basis. The reign of universal harmony (which is heaven) would have been inaugurated, and all men would have been free indeed, for they would have attained to the freedom of spiritual liberty. "Now, the only ideal brotherhood must be based on that state m which the individual loves 1 , THE POET WHITTIER. 53 and serves God supremely, and loves all mankind with a perfect love. This is the only s;tate that can bring peace. To reach this state, each has to do an individual work. We should know the principal cause, or means, by which we are brothers, then we will understand how to establish and obtain the true brotherhood of man." Now, we find from Whittier's writings that he constantly labored to bring about that brother- hood. His life, labor and efforts were directed against slavery and war, and we can enter into the spirit of the following : — O brother man, fold to thy heart thy brother ; Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there. To worship rightly is to love each other, Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer. Follow with reverend steps the great example Of Him whose holy work was doing good, So shall the wide earth seem cur Father's temple, Each loving life a psalm of gratitude. Then shall all shackles fall. The stormy clangor Of wild war music o'er the earth shall cease ; Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, And in its ashes plant the tree of peace. 54 HALF HOURS WITH CHAPTER IX. WHITTIER AND TENNYSON — A COMPARISON. THE following article, clipped from the Young Friends' Review, may not be inappropriate here: — '^Whittier and Tennyson were both ripe in years ; Whittier eighty-five and Tennyson eighty- two. Both lived to see their names established in the world and their fame secured. Time will only serve to brighten their glory. Both names are familiar as household words wherever the English language is read. Not a few of their poems have found their way into many a foreign tongue. " A comparison between the two migiit better have waited till time, the truest critic, had per- formed the greater part of the judging, but were it not for the nearness together of the times of their deaths, no other cause would perhaps have asso- ciated them together. We therefore may be par- doned for embracing this opportunity of making a short and, of necessity, an inadequate comparison of the two great men and poets. '' If the two poets were measured by the square and plummet; if poetry dealt solely with the beautiful, and its object was solely to please, A v^^ m THE POET WHITTIER. 55' '^ ■ > Whittier would have to yield the palm to Tenny- son, for Tennyson's poems show faultless work- manship and rich poetic embellishments, but the foundation in places lies in the sand. Whittier dug down to the solid rock. His building rests everywhere upon the eternal truth. He was helped in this by the genius of his religion. He was reared in a religion that recognized the workings of God in the soul of man and in the heart of nations. He listened for and obeyed the voice of God within, while Tennyson was enticed to wander at times to delight courtiers and catch the flattery of the great. Whittier's poems are not gems of art, they are gems of nature. His poetry, if judged by poetic rules, is often faulty. He used poetry, not for the love of poetry, but as a means to an end. Poetry, to Whittier, was a secondary con- sideration. His soul was stirred with an intense, almost burning, desire to right the wrongs of his fellow-men. He saw millions of his brothers drag- ging out the base lives of slaves. He resorted to poetry to convince the nation that freedom was the God-given birthright of every being. He sang of peace and arbitration, not for the song's sake, but for the sake of peace, because he was not only a professed but a true follower of the Prince of Peace. Tennyson's 'Duke of WeUington' and ' Charge of the Light Brigade ' are gems of poetic beauty, but that is all. Their effect is to retard, 56 HALF HOURS WITH rather than accelerate, the happy day when ' swords shall be beaten into plough-shares, and spears into pruning hooks.' " Because Whittier was in advance of his times in all moral reforms, we do not wish to infer that Tennyson, in this matter, was behind his genera- tion. If we can praise and revere Whittier for the Christlikeness in his living, no one can seriously blame Tennyson for the worldlikeness in his. " In conclusion, if we were driven to bay by the the question, ' Which of the two were the greater?' we ',yould say that Tennyson was the greater poet .and artist; Whittier the greater writer and man." CHAPTER X. CONCLUSION. WE have followed the Poet through his early life, we have seen his hopes and anticipa- tions bhghted by the angel of death, we have followed him during his career as an editor and poet, also in later years as an experienced Christian. We have eagerly listened to him while he has solved his problems for our benefit ; now we will close with his own wish, which we will xn ke our own : — A THE POET WHITTIER. THE WISH OF TO-DAY. I ask not now for gold to gild With mocking shine a weary frame. The yearning of the mind is stilled, I ask not now for fame. But, bowed in lowliness of mind, 1 make my humble wishes known ; I only ask a will resigned, O Father, to Thine own. And now my spirit sighs for home, And longs for light whereby to see And, like a weary child, would come, O Father, unto Thee. Though oft, like letters traced in sand, My weak resolves have passed away, In mercy lend Thy helping hand Unto my prayers to-day. 57 "sT*