V
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 FRAGMENTS 
 
 IN VERSE; 
 
 CHIEFLY ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS. 
 
 BY ANN BUTLER. 
 
 OXFORD : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY BARTLETT AND HINTON. 
 
 1826.
 
 OXFORD : 
 
 PRINTED BY BARTLETT AND HINTON.
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. T I L S N, 
 
 WHO FAVOURED WITH HER APPROBATION 
 
 THE 
 FOLLOWING LITTLE PIECES WHILE IN MANUSCRIPT, 
 
 THEY ARE NOW 
 MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY HER OBLIGED SERVANT, 
 
 A. BUTLER. 
 
 ! 
 
 i
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Conscious of her ignorance of the rules of poetry 
 and composition, the Author of the following- little 
 pieces thinks she can make no better preface or apo- 
 logy for obtruding them upon the public, than by giving 
 a simple statement of the circumstances which led to 
 the step. Till the year 1821 she had not the most 
 distant idea that the construction of a single verse fell 
 within her powers; but the remarks of a highly es- 
 teemed friend, who casually, but positively insisted 
 that it did, induced her to make the effort; and finding 
 the employment (under a long season of depression 
 and affliction) soothing to her mind, she occasionally 
 indulged it. Some of these simple effusions, after a con- 
 cealment of two or three years, fell into the hands of 
 persons who warmly recommended their publication ; 
 probably more from motives of kindness, than from
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 any intrinsic merit in the productions. But however 
 this may be, as the Author deprecates criticism, and 
 appeals from the judgment to the heart, she hopes to 
 be borne with. Should the sentiments expressed in 
 the volume prove in the least degree useful to any 
 of her readers, she will be amply rewarded. If they 
 derive neither benefit nor amusement, she begs to be 
 forgiven. 
 
 Benson, December, 1825.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Walk in Death's Domain ; and the Pauper's Funeral . 1 
 
 The Name of Jesus ; a Meditation among the Tombs . . 29 
 
 Sacred to Memory 32 
 
 Ibid. ... 35 
 
 Ibid 37 
 
 Ibid 40 
 
 The Christian's Death-smile 41 
 
 Calls to Glory 42 
 
 Disappointed Prospects ; or ' seeing through a Glass darkly' 45 
 
 The Whirlwind 49 
 
 Sacred to Memory 52 
 
 The Vessel in a Storm < 53 
 
 The unerring Pilot 55 
 
 Lines on the death of Lord B***n 60 
 
 The Red House ; a Tale, with Reflections .... 67 
 
 < Brighter Hours will come' 73 
 
 A Sacrifice .......... 75 
 
 Excitements 77 
 
 The Widow, and her Barrel and Cruse .... 80 
 
 The grand Inquiry 82 
 
 Search for Wisdom 87
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Difficulties removed .... 
 What is your Life ? 
 
 To Time 
 
 The Gum-cistus 
 
 To the Violet that appeared in my Garden in 
 
 The early Rose 
 
 The sister Roses. To a young Lady 
 To a Lady, on her intended Marriage 
 
 on her birth -day 
 
 The Face an Index to the Heart 
 The Face not always an Index to the Heart 
 Witnesses to the Dignity and Glory of the Sav 
 Views of the Hill .... 
 
 Death upon the Pale Horse ; a Dialogue . 
 
 December 
 
 lour 
 
 1821 
 
 PAGE 
 91 
 
 94 
 97 
 100 
 101 
 103 
 104 
 108 
 111 
 116 
 120 
 123 
 133 
 136
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Abrams, Mr. 
 
 Abranis, Mr. J. E. 
 
 Aiden, Mr. J., Oxford, 
 
 Alden, Mr Isaac, Jun. 
 
 Allnutt, Miss, Tollbridge Place, London. 
 
 Allnutt, Mr. Sheepliouse. 
 
 Armstrong, Mr., Benson. 
 
 Bailey, Mr. John, Benson. 
 
 Batley, Miss, Colchester. 
 
 Barbut, Mr. 
 
 Bigg, Miss Emma, Maidenhead. 
 
 Birkett, Miss A., Wallingford. 
 
 Birkett, Miss J., ditto. 
 
 Bonner, Miss, Benson. 
 
 Bridgwater, Mr., Rose Hill, Oxford. 
 
 Bridgwater, Mrs. 
 
 Browning, Miss, London. 1 
 
 Bubier, Rev. W., Reading. 
 
 Buckle, Rev. W., Banstead. 
 
 Burgis, Mr., Reading, 10 copies. 
 
 Burgis, Mr. Benson. 
 
 Burgis, Miss, Benson, 
 
 Burrough, Mrs., High Wycombe, 2 copies. 
 
 Butler, Mrs., High Wycombe. 
 
 Butler, Mr. J., Benson. 
 
 Butler, Mr. E., Oxford. 
 
 Caterer, Mr. Isaac, Tetsworth. 
 Clayden, Mr. Wallingford. 
 Cleminson, Rev. \V. Chalgrove. 
 Collier, Mr. Job, Abingdon. 
 Colvill, 3Irs., Chelsea, 2 copies. ' 
 Cooper, Miss, Berrick.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Cousins, Mr. William, Oxford. 
 
 Cox, Miss, Cholsey. 
 
 Cox, Mr., Henley. 
 
 Cox, Mrs. 
 
 Cozens, Miss, Overton. 
 
 Davenport, Mrs., Oxford. 
 Dodd, Mrs., Well Place. 
 
 Ebsworth, Mr., Shillingford. 
 Edwards, Miss E. 
 Eeles, Mrs., Thame. 
 Eeles, Miss, ditto. 
 English, Mr., Colchester. 
 
 Fletcher, Mr. W., Jun. 
 Freeborn, Mr., Benson. 
 Friend, a, 2 copies. 
 
 Garlick, Mr., Ewelme. 
 Glendining, Mrs., Berrick. 
 Goode, Miss, Watlington. 
 Goulding, Mr., Faringdon. 
 Graham, Mr., Speenhamland. 
 Grote, Mrs., Badgemore. 
 Gyde, Mrs., London. 
 Goulty, Rev. J. N. Brighton, 2 copies. 
 
 Hackett, Miss, Wycombe. 
 
 Hall, Mrs., Harpsden. 
 
 Hanson, Miss, Reading. 
 
 Harben, Miss, Watlington Park, 3 copies. 
 
 Harris, Rev. W., Wallingford, 3 copies. 
 
 Hetherington, Mr., Hanover Square. 
 
 Hinton, Mrs., Reading, 6 copies. 
 
 Hinton, Mr. Isaac, Oxford. 
 
 Hoar, Mrs., Benson. 
 
 Holmes, Rev. D., Faringdon. 
 
 Hume, Mrs., Colchester. 
 
 Hume, Miss, ditto, 2 copies.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Jones, Mr., Oxford. 
 
 Jones, Miss, Benson. 
 
 Jordan, Miss, High Wycombe. 
 
 Langton, Mrs. H., Maidenhead. 
 Latham, Mrs., Marlow, 4 copies. 
 Leaver, Miss, Eweline. 
 Lee, Mrs., Wallingford. 
 Lovegrove, Miss Jane, Cold Harbour. 
 
 Miles, Rev. W., Reading. 
 Minchim, Mrs., Benson. 
 
 Morris, Mrs., High Wycombe. 
 
 Newberry, Miss, Benson, 2 copies. 
 Newton, Miss, Crowmarsh Farm. 
 Newton, Miss M. ditto. 
 
 Oldham, Mr., Wallingford. 
 Oram, Rev. W., Benson. 
 
 Padbury, Miss, Benson. 
 Parks, Mrs., Roke. 
 Paske, Mrs., Colchester. 
 Pittman, Miss, Cholsey. 
 Polton, Mrs., Maidenhead. 
 
 Rainsford, Mr. 
 Reeves, Miss, Rofford. 
 Robinson, Mrs., High Wyeombe. 
 
 Saunders, Mrs., Ewelme Park. 
 Saunders, Mr. Richard, Warborough. 
 Shackleford, Mr. Jun., Oxford. 
 Sharp, Mr. Thomas, Coventry. 
 Shrubb, Miss, Benson. 
 Shrubb, Mrs. Edward, Benson. 
 Soundy, Mr. S., Henley. 
 Spier, Mr., Ewelme. 
 Steadman, Mrs., Walworth.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Stevens, Miss, Benson. 
 Strainge, Miss, Benson. 
 Strainge, Miss M. N., ditto. 
 Strainge, Miss C. E., ditto. 
 Stuckey, Mrs., London. 
 
 Talboys and Wheeler, Messrs., 12 copies. 
 
 Thatcher, Mrs., London. 
 
 Tilson, J. H. Esq., Watlington Park, 3 copies. 
 
 Tilson, Mrs., 3 copies. 
 
 Toovey, Mrs., Nuneham. 
 
 Toovey, Miss, ditto. 
 
 Trash and Skeys, Messrs., 4 copies. 
 
 Treacher, Mrs. High Wycombe. 
 
 Tripp, Mrs. 
 
 Tyso, Rev. Joseph, Wallingford. 
 
 Walker, Miss, Tonbridge Place, London. 
 
 Watson, Rev. J. S., Reading. 
 
 Webb, Mrs., Stadham. 
 
 Wells, Miss, Faringdon. 
 
 Wells, Mrs., Cold Harbour. 
 
 Weller, Miss, Roke Farm. 
 
 Weller, Miss M., ditto. 
 
 Weller, Miss S., ditto. 
 
 Weller, Mrs., Berrick. 
 
 Wiflin, Rev. W. Thame. 
 
 Wise, Mr. H. R. 
 
 Wood, Mr. Launcelot Edward, Jun. Chelsea. 
 
 Wood, Mrs. ditto. 
 
 Wyatt, Mrs. R., Oxford.
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 A WALK IN DEATH'S DOMAINS; AND THE PAUPER'S 
 
 FUNERAL. 
 
 WHERE rests the weary on the lap of earth, 
 
 And where the wicked, making final pause, 
 
 From all their ' troubling^ cease' — I musing strayed. . 
 
 The place belonged to Death ; and all around, 
 
 In many 'mouldering heaps,' his busy hand 
 
 Had heaved the grassy turf, and marked his sway ; 
 
 And there had fond Remembrance graven thick 
 
 Her records frail of name and character. 
 
 I read : — and as from grave to grave I traced 
 
 My lonely step, and each inscription marked, 
 
 How did the information thus conveyed 
 
 Fill, with emotions varied and strong, 
 
 My thoughtful heart ! Here I was told, 
 
 In language glowing as e'er memory yet 
 
 Imparted to a stone — of virtues rare, 
 
 B
 
 And actions brilliant, that had once adorned 
 
 Its sleeping subject ; how he had sustained 
 
 (And well sustained) each character and tie 
 
 That bind and bless humanity ; how on him 
 
 The warmest blessings of the needy fell ; 
 
 And that the tuneful widow's heart-raised song 
 
 Oft charmed his listening ear. That while he lived 
 
 The poor called him a father ; when he died 
 
 They wept upon his tomb, and mournful said, 
 
 They scarce dared hope to find such friend again. 
 
 'Twas also added, (what I would have missed,) 
 
 There was no doubt but such a useful life 
 
 Had made full ' peace with God,' and fitted him 
 
 For heaven's high bliss. But oh, I thought ' one thing' 
 
 Was wanting still : and, sighing deep, I turned, 
 
 And looked elsewhere. 
 
 Conspicuous to the view, 
 Of native white, there rose a lofty stone ; 
 ' The weeping images ' engraved thereon 
 Sadder than usual seemed. It marked the grave 
 Of one who not long since became a wife, 
 And recently a mother — now, alas ! 
 A corpse ! In giving life she yielded up 
 Her own — and quick the infant followed ! 
 'Tis true, when first the little stranger peeped
 
 Upon our world, he seemed inclined to stay ; 
 
 But having heard an angel sweetly call, 
 
 He slipped aside, and swiftly soared to heaven. 
 
 But there his mortal lies, mixed with the dust 
 
 That gave him birth ; they slumber close embraced. 
 
 While he, who lately triumphed in the names 
 
 Of husband, father — and whose eager heart, 
 
 Anticipating, laid its plans of bliss 
 
 And company he must not taste or see — 
 
 Now ' solitary sits' — and this his name — 
 
 ' Widowed, bereaved of children !' Much I felt, 
 
 But wandered on. 
 
 A simple tablet said, 
 The mortal part of him, whose memory 
 'Twas its strict charge to cherish, died abroad. 
 Entombed in foreign climes, perhaps ' no stone 
 Told where he lay.' Unwilling that his name 
 ' To dumb forgetfulness should fall a prey/ 
 His friends had therefore fixed this monument : 
 That if they could not weep upon his dust, 
 They yet might shed a tear before his name. 
 I was a stranger — but I lent a sigh. 
 
 I looked again. There was a soldier's grave j 
 He, who within its narrow confines lay,
 
 As helpless as the infant of an hour, 
 Had erst endured the hard campaign, and borne 
 Through long, long years, the battle's fiercest brunt, 
 And yet came off alive — glad victor frequent. 
 But the grand enemy, who oft had hurled, 
 Without success, the red-hot thunder-bolt, 
 And seen the lightning from the gleaming steel 
 Pass harmless by, now dealt by stratagem. 
 He called to Fever, and the murderous train 
 That wait his beck, and bid them wary place, 
 Close to some favourite haunt, (perchance the bowl,) 
 The artful ambush. They obeyed ; and soon 
 The unsuspecting victim was their prey. 
 Conquered, disarmed, beneath the chains of Death, 
 A captive in that ' narrow cell' he lies ; 
 And nought remains to show his former feats, 
 Or point his prison-house, but that small stone. 
 'Tis true, insignia of the trade of war 
 Make it more prominent — but what of that ? 
 Death calls the impression his — and, leering, smiles. 
 
 I sighed again. Beneath some aged trees, 
 That reared their heads in majesty sublime 
 Towards the heavens, but threw their ample arms 
 And awe-inspiring shade across the tomb, 
 As if protecting it from hauut profane,
 
 And sacrilegious storm; just there I ken'd 
 
 Another warrior's peaceful resting place.* 
 
 Under a Captain famed for strength and skill, 
 
 (And famed for pity too,) this veteran 
 
 Battles most hard had fought, and yet came off 
 
 ' Far more than concpieror.' The deeds he wrought 
 
 Of patient toil, of daring enterprise, 
 
 Were of such nature, and importance too, 
 
 That once compared, all the achievements proud 
 
 Of this world's loud-famed heroes fade away. 
 
 Nor did he only fight our common foes, 
 
 The world, and sin, and flesh ; but he maintained 
 
 A contest hard with principalities 
 
 And powers, rulers in Satan's kingdom ; 
 
 Himself their chief. Foes these, ' not flesh and blood,' 
 
 Therefore impervious to all attack 
 
 From ' weapons carnal ;' yet led on, sustained 
 
 By his most gracious Captain, still he fought : 
 
 And many a towering and strong-built hold, 
 
 By Satan vaunting reared, and daring kept, 
 
 Fell by his prowess, crumbled into dust. 
 
 Grown old in war, he yet asked no discharge, 
 
 No pains avoided, and no hardships shunned ; 
 
 But still ' resisted, striving against sin.' 
 
 * In St. Mary's church-yaril, Reading. 
 b3
 
 6 
 
 At length his Captain, pitying all his toii9, 
 Despatched an herald, and recalled him home. 
 Then, as he travelled from the seat of war, 
 To take possession of his promised rest, 
 Reviewing all his scars, and all the road 
 Whereby his Chief had led, — just 'fore he reached 
 This shady spot, where he would lay him down, 
 To treat his weary limbs with one sound sleep, 
 This was his shout,* his last victorious shout — 
 ' I'm satisfied !' I turned, but did not sigh. 
 Nay, had the well- tuned cymbals but been mine, 
 Those cheerful pilgrims f played in days of yore, 
 (In mystic song renowned,) although unused 
 To any music, save pale sorrow's harp, 
 Yet at that time (the shout so cheered my soul) 
 I should have struck the sounding instruments 
 With touch so powerful and skilful too, 
 That e'en the silent caverns of the dead 
 Had echoed with their notes. But these not mine, 
 (Although within my ken,) I held my peace, 
 And giving scope to thought thus silent mused : 
 
 * ' He died in the faith of Jesus, aged 77. His last words were, 
 " I'm satisfied ! I'm satisfied !" ' Inscription on the tomb in St. 
 Mary's church-yard, Reading. 
 
 t When Christiana went over the river, Mr. Greatheart and Mr. 
 Valiant played the well-tuned cymbals for joy. Pilgrim's Progress.
 
 This is the Christian's exit — here is none 
 Of that vain boast, in which the heart untaught 
 In wisdom's searching school, coils itself up 
 In its own ignorance, and awful dies, 
 Deceiving and deceived. Not so, indeed ; 
 The Christian soldier is well disciplined, 
 And well instructed too ; and armed complete 
 In panoply divine, he fights and wins 
 The arduous victory : but well he knows 
 From whence his triumph, and where due his thanks. 
 
 Nor let the boasting world monopolize 
 Morality — the Christian claims it too. 
 'Tis fact, as ground-work for his hope in God, 
 Or as a mode to make his ' peace' with Him, 
 Each ' work of righteousness that he has done ' 
 All through his life, he must and does renounce. 
 And oh, when stretched upon the bed of death, 
 He sees the shores of vast eternity 
 Unfolding on each hand their unknown scenes ; 
 When he surveys the mighty billows dark 
 That heave around him, the unfathomed depths 
 That yawn below — and knows that one small leak 
 Would founder his light bark, and sink his soul, 
 With all her dearest hopes, in the abyss 
 So deeply horrible that lurks beneath ;
 
 8 
 
 On ocean so tremendous and so wide, 
 
 To launch his soul and all her mighty hopes, 
 
 He must have footing thousand times more firm 
 
 Than that fallacious one the world approves, 
 
 Flimsy morality. To make his peace 
 
 With Deity displeased, his soul demands 
 
 An able ' daysman' equal to the work ; 
 
 And both are his — security and friend. 
 
 Into an ark by God's own love prepared 
 
 He enters, (for he may,) and the same hand 
 
 That with a skill divine contrived its parts, 
 
 Now ' shuts him in.' Then Death's dread hurricanes, 
 
 And Hell's more raging storms blow harmless by ; 
 
 He smiles in triumph, and out-rides them all. 
 
 Such the believer's exit. Is it asked, 
 Wherein the Christian differs from the world ? 
 Or why his ' works' may not ' make peace with God ?' 
 And whence derived his refuge and his hope P 
 This the reply. In God's most holy word, 
 As in a glass, he has beheld himself, 
 And seen that in his ' flesh dwells no good thing,' 
 But all of imperfection, sin, and guilt. 
 He too has had a glimpse (like one of old) 
 Of high perfection — holiness sublime — 
 Offended majesty ! And knowing hence,
 
 9 
 
 That ' mortal man can ne'er be just with God/ 
 
 He, like the patriarch, ' abhors himself/ 
 
 And, deep in dust and ashes, he repents. 
 
 But the same Word that pointed out his state, 
 
 And shewed a God offended, offered peace ; 
 
 It told him of a ' daysman' high in power, 
 
 Revealed a grand atonement made for sin, 
 
 And that bright robe which every blemish hides. 
 
 Into the hands of the great Advocate 
 
 He gives his cause ; and, placing both his hands 
 
 On the sin-offering's head, his guilt transfers ; 
 
 Then, in the garment rich, he clothes his soul. 
 
 Thus robe so bright, atonement so complete, 
 
 And intercession so prevailing his, 
 
 No other hope he wants — he's ' satisfied.' 
 
 Yet in his heart morality he loves, 
 
 And in his life exhibits it. He wears, 
 
 In common with the world, each home-wrought tie ; 
 
 And well it fits. But not round centred self, 
 
 Constant revolving like the eddy stream, 
 
 Does his wide flow of usefulness contract 
 
 To one small circle, till each foreign claim, 
 
 Within the vortex deep, is swallowed up. — 
 
 Oh no ! the tales of woe which chance to drop, 
 
 So gently agitate his peaceful breast,
 
 10 
 
 That like the smitten lake which fast expands 
 
 In circles broader, till the margin-bank 
 
 Becomes their only bound — so does his soul 
 
 In ceaseless circles of benevolence, 
 
 Wider and wider stretch ; nor the broad earth 
 
 Presents a boundary : the ample ring- extends, 
 
 And takes in distant worlds. Yes, rest assured, 
 
 All ye who gravely fear the Christian's faith 
 
 Destroys morality — rest well assured 
 
 The Christian is a moralist as pure, 
 
 Philanthropist as wide, as if he built 
 
 His hopes of heaven thereon. But mark the springs 
 
 That actuate the heart — His, is principle ; 
 
 The worldling's, interest. Opposites these, 
 
 Widely remote ; but yet the two that move 
 
 And govern all mankind. Oh be it mine 
 
 To feel the Christian's motive, live his life, 
 
 Die his calm death, and prove his glorious heaven ! 
 
 But I return : and my long walk with Death 
 Do yet pursue. Methinks in this neat spot, 
 Is hid a pious Mother. I can see 
 (Nor borrow Fancy's glass) the pallid cheek, 
 The quivering lip, the sacredness of grief, 
 Once stationed here ! And tell me whence derived
 
 11 
 
 This more than usual neatness of the tomb ? 
 Her children order it.* If Fancy now 
 Imparts a hint, and says it may remind 
 Of that kind care the mother exercised, 
 To root out folly from the infant heart, 
 Who will refuse to hear ? Not I, for one. 
 
 But there a father, brother, sister, lie ; 
 And here an only child. Ah ! who can tell 
 The bitterness that mourns a first-born dead ! 
 Say, is there sorrow that may be compared ? 
 Ask yon lorn widow — she perhaps may know. 
 
 I pause. And time would fail me to repeat 
 Even the names that crowd upon the sight : 
 But thousands more make this their last abode, 
 Whose names and memory are alike forgot. 
 They once were busy on the stage of life 
 As we are now — and each bright character, 
 And character depraved, were acted o'er ; 
 But soon the scenes were shifted — very soon 
 The pageant passed ! The crowded out-spread doors 
 Of life's gay theatre were closed, and all 
 Was still and dark ! 'Tis here the actors sleep ! 
 
 * Constantly kept clean.
 
 12 
 
 But hark ! the death-bell ! See the new-made grave ! 
 To join the rendezvous below the ground, 
 Another guest draws nigh — I'll wait the scene. 
 The portals of this sacred edifice, 
 Wide open, seem to court my vagrant feet 
 To stay, and give the thoughtless heart an hour 
 To con its hated lesson ! lesson hard, 
 And oft repeated, yet as oft forgot — 
 Mortality ! I said, and entered in. 
 
 Now, save the bell's deep tones, whose thrilling sound 
 Met its hoarse echoes in the ' long drawn aisle,' 
 And swelled the gloomy triumph, silence reigned — 
 But reigned in league with Death ! That monarch here 
 In grisly pomp had reared his bony throne, 
 And all around his sable banners waved. 
 The mansions of the more ' illustrious dead ' 
 My roving feet had reached and ventured on. 
 Yet no one saw I — and no voice I heard 
 To chide my rashness, or to lead my step ; 
 All, all was solitude and peace profound. 
 But had I been proficient in the depths 
 Of mystic heraldry ; had I been skilled 
 T' unveil the leam'd inscription, pompous clothed 
 In classic dress, how soon I should have known 
 With what degrees of title, birth, and power,
 
 13 
 
 I was surrounded ! For to blazon these, 
 The gilded scutcheon and the polished stone 
 Had each received commission. But, alas ! 
 In such profundities, untutored quite, 
 I could but guess the splendour, names, and rank, 
 Of company within. But when I asked, 
 ' In what apartment grand of all this house, 
 So widely spacious, are the guests convened ?' 
 The marble looked death-pale ! On its white face 
 I plainly read, ' Below thy feet I' I thought, 
 How true the poet's saying, ' Dust to dust 
 Forms the one chorus of earth's noblest song.' 
 
 Now I retreat, admonished by time : 
 Yet ere I leave these grand but gloomy courts, 
 Where the dread monarch sits enthroned in state, 
 Amid his trophies and his records, I 
 Will rear a banner of a different kind ; 
 Not sable, like his own, but crimson pure, 
 And in its shape a cross ! (Behold it, Death ! 
 'Twas found on Calvary's hill, and 'tis affirmed 
 Thou know'st how it came there ;) and I will fix 
 A bright memorial mid his annals dark ; 
 From an old book with care I copied it : 
 (A book most true, and full of glorious words,) 
 And thus it reads : ' Life, immortality, 
 
 c
 
 14 
 
 Are by the gospel brought to light/ and soon 
 ' Death the last enemy shall be destroyed — 
 Abolished all his power, and e'en his name !' 
 
 But where the corpse for which so long I've stayed ? 
 Within these sacred walls it is not brought, 
 Though hushed the tolling bell ; — O, there it is, 
 Beside the grave — a pauper's sordid clay ! 
 And dust so mean dares not to pass these doors ; 
 That is the privilege of nobler earth, 
 As favour, gold, or silver pave the way. 
 Well, mark the present scene — no mourner sheds 
 One silent tear ; the busy passenger* 
 Makes not one pause ; he casts a careless look, 
 And, hastening by, not e'en inquires the name ! 
 But now the hurried prayers are almost read, 
 And the rude four who unconcerned trudged 
 With hasty step beneath their clayey load, 
 And brought it to its long appointed home, 
 Prepare to drop it in its parent earth : 
 'Tis done ; and all retire. I sighing said, 
 ' A pauper's funeral !' In dishonour deep 
 The mortal part is sown ; yet who can say, 
 But the glad spirit, clothed in robes of light, 
 
 * The church-yard is a public foot-way.
 
 15 
 
 And crowned with glory, bows before the throne. 
 Then rest thee, dust ! The grassy sod may form 
 The hard cold pillow ; and the slimy worm 
 May sweetly feed and riot at thy side ; 
 Yet thou shalt sleep as unannoyed as he 
 Who on a silken cushion rests his head, 
 And whose cold limbs, in glossy velvet wrapped, 
 In lead encased, defraud the needy worm! 
 O, if indeed thou wert among those poor, 
 Who, ' rich in faith/ are chosen heirs of heaven, 
 Then how obscure soe'er thy name has been, 
 And perished from the earth ; yet does it stand 
 Engraved in records of eternity ; 
 And thence transcribed in crimson characters 
 Into the Lamb's own book. He notes it well ; 
 And when the active sun hath full performed 
 His daily task, and dies with age — then thou, 
 Within the kingdom of thy Father, God, 
 Shalt shine a brighter sun, nor e'er go down ! 
 
 I pause, and over-powered with the theme, 
 Almost incuiire its truth. Say, can it be 
 That dust and poverty may be allied 
 To grandeur so sublime ? Can the meagre child 
 Of squalid want and misery be heir 
 To riches so immense ? Consoling fact,
 
 16 
 
 The Word declares he may, and full reveals 
 The gracious glorious source ! f He, who was rich,' 
 Beyond all human and archangel thought, 
 Whom all the splendid ranks of heaven obey, 
 ' Do at his bidding,' winged with zeal and love ; 
 Who, when the mighty Architect weighed off, 
 In his own nice-poised scales, chaotic mass 
 Destined to build the mountains ; when his * span' 
 Meted and circumscribed the rising heavens ; 
 When in his measure* he comprehended 
 Those dusty atoms that should form the earth, 
 And, fixing firm his compassf on the depths, 
 Marked out the space the seas should occupy, 
 Bidding the haughty waves keep close within 
 The bounds prescribed ; — ere the first stone was laid 
 That bears creation's weight ; and ere were lit 
 Those glowing morning stars, that rapturous joined 
 The shout and song ; the sons of God high raised, 
 As they beheld the mighty six days' work 
 (So nobly modelled) most superbly end : — 
 He who had lived before all these were formed, 
 And in creation finished every work, 
 (' For without him not any thing was made,') 
 He, taking a survey of glories round, 
 
 * Isaiah xl. 12. f Prov. viii. 27, &c.
 
 17 
 
 * In habitable parts of this* fair e earth/ 
 Rejoiced far the most ; and fixed his love 
 Among the sons of men;* although he knew 
 The * vast expense that love would cost' his soul. 
 And hence, when man had left his first estate, 
 Was fallen, degraded, poor — then He forsook 
 His throne and riches ; and became as poor 
 As any he beheld. And why P That they, 
 Through his deep poverty, might yet be richf — 
 Rich with those treasures that can never fade. 
 
 O think of this, ye sons of poverty ! 
 When on your pillow hard ye lay your head, 
 Ye yet survey a spot ye call your home. 
 But when the * Son of Man' made this low earth 
 His sorrowful abode, although he reared 
 Its pillars huge, and spread the star-set 
 Canopy of heaven — yet, beneath its roof, 
 ' He had not where to lay his weary head \'% 
 And think of this, ye rich ! When on your beds 
 Of softest down voluptuously ye roll, 
 Your limbs not weary ; when around you shines 
 The pride of life in all its luxury ; 
 O think of Him, who in a stable born, 
 
 + 
 
 * Prov. viii. 26— 31. + 2 Cor. viii. 9. + Matt. viii. 20. 
 
 c3
 
 18 
 
 And manger laid, was yet creation's Lord ! 
 
 And while the mighty thought shall ' pour contempt 
 
 On all your pride/ yet still the chastened use 
 
 Of this world's good is yours ; in value deep 
 
 Enhanced, because his boon. But this 
 
 The lowest of his gifts ; the best, himself.* 
 
 But I return — yet one more tale of death, 
 And then my sombre subject shall be closed. 
 The bounteous sun, that pours his golden rays 
 Wide and impartially around, had scarce 
 Performed his stage diurnal, and illumed, 
 With morning beams, the pauper's new-closed grave, 
 Ere I was witness of funereal rites, 
 As different from hers as wealth could make 
 By fond affection urged. I shall not steal, 
 Or waste one single moment to describe 
 The gloomy trappings of the sullen king, 
 Or to expatiate upon their use. 
 The sable hearse, the lofty nodding plume, 
 Those breathing statues, that so well can mock 
 The dumb expression of deep grief for hire, 
 Are only trifles — to be used or not, 
 As custom or convenience admit : 
 
 * 2 Cor. ix. 15.
 
 19 
 
 I merely note the contrast of the scenes — 
 
 The contrast formed by poverty and wealth. 
 
 No tear, disguised or true, embalmed the tale 
 
 Of yesterday : but now the dewy gem, 
 
 Like April chops mid struggling suns and clouds, 
 
 Sparkles through shades of death. Spectators throng : 
 
 Nor needs the passenger to ask the name 
 
 Of him, the subject of this mournful stir — 
 
 It is already learned. Ah let me break 
 
 My thread of thought, to tell what I have heard 
 
 Of his short story — 'twill not hinder long. 
 
 But nineteen summer suns had warmed his breast, 
 And gilded with fallacious rays the path 
 That lay far-stretched before, ere he was called 
 To stay his ardent march ; his sun went down ; 
 And all his brilliant paths obscured in shade 
 Were closed in that dark tomb !* Yet say not closed, 
 The word will not apply — for 'tis affirmed, 
 The beams of hope so lit his latest steps, 
 And shed such light refulgent round the grave, 
 That plainly on its farther side were seen 
 A fairer path than any he had traced : 
 A path ('twas said) where gladsome spirits, freed 
 
 * Buried the day after the pauper's funeral.
 
 20 
 
 From heavy clogs of earth, soar an ascent, 
 And swift arrive in heaven. And keen-eyed Faith, 
 Among the throng, said she discovered his. 
 'Twas also added, that the very flesh 
 Rests in the tomb in hope. That He who bears 
 The ' keys of hell and death' will shortly come j 
 And, by a skill and force divine, drive back 
 Each bolt intricate ; snap each massy bar, 
 Wherewith the tyrant of the dark abodes 
 Possession now insures; and, placing firm 
 His foot upon the monster's neck, would quite 
 Destroy his power. That, slain the * enemy,' 
 And all the portals of the tomb wide-oped, 
 Forth should emerge the long-imprisoned flesh ; 
 Not feeble, earthly, as when first it fell 
 Beneath the tyrant's grasp, but bright, refined; 
 (Left in the grave each particle of dross,) 
 And, fully strengthened by its long sound sleep, 
 Up the same towering track it too should soar. 
 
 Thus much I heard affirmed ; and well it cheered 
 My doubtful heart ; for I had somewhere read, 
 That riches are such cumbrance, that as well 
 The ponderous camel might attempt to pass 
 The needle's fine-wrought eye, as a rich man, 
 With all his loads of shining dust, might hope
 
 21 
 
 To pass the narrow gate that leads to heaven. 
 
 I also recollected it was said, 
 
 By an authority which cannot lie, 
 
 That what with men is quite impossible, 
 
 With God is ease : He works and none can let ; 
 
 His power divests the rich man of his pride, 
 
 And makes him humble ; in his spirit, poor ; — 
 
 Treasures unsearchable, unfading, true, 
 
 His love sets full before ; and also shews 
 
 A glorious Cross, — where such attractions meet, 
 
 That rather than not pass the straitened gate 
 
 Which leads the way, the rich man drops his load, 
 
 And • counts it dung and dross/ Then goes he through 
 
 The narrow gate with ease, surveys the cross, 
 
 ' Holds on his way/ and safely reaches heaven. 
 
 Wealth ! What a flattery 'tis ! Arouud the heart 
 It twines its shining bands, and ties it down, 
 Cramped and confined to earth ! Nor feels that heart 
 One wish for freedom, or one wish to rise ! 
 But other ways there are in which it works : — 
 — Sometimes it so inflates, its objects burst. — 
 Nor instances are wanting, where 'tis found 
 To fill with vapour so ignitible, 
 That one small falling spark spreads wild-fire round,
 
 22 
 
 And all the horrors of a fiery storm, 
 Quenchable only by a crimson flood ! 
 
 Yet notwithstanding all the risk that waits 
 Infallibly on wealth, how do mankind 
 Pursue it eagerly, as their chief good, — 
 The summit of their hopes, their joys, their cares ! 
 Fill them with riches, and their narrow hearts, 
 (For some short time at least,) are satisfied ! 
 
 But is not wealth a good ? Undoubtedly. 
 ' The power to get'* it comes alone from Him 
 From whom all good proceeds ; itself his gift : 
 And only as it meets a soil corrupt 
 Within the human heart, does it become 
 ' The root of evil.' Ah ! in that recess, 
 ( Laboratory dark ! ) exists a power 
 That turns e'en food to poison, — good to ill, — 
 And mars the brightest gifts of God's own hand ! 
 
 There is a prayer, which onef of old declared 
 Was even then ' grown rusty' through disuse — 
 (Whether the rust accumulates or not 
 
 * Deut. viii. 8. f Bunyan.
 
 23 
 
 In these our modern clays, I cannot tell ; 
 But only add, the thing is not grown bright. ) 
 The deprecation of cold Poverty 
 Is prayer often heard ; but where's the man, 
 Who, laying hand upon his heart, can say 
 ' Give me not riches,* lest I proud become V 
 Except among those few, whom God hath taught, 
 (His grace works miracles,) the man lives not. 
 
 But having talked of Riches and its snares 
 Full long, — I turn my thoughts to Poverty : — 
 Its leading traits, and origin, inquire. 
 — What art thou Poverty ? Shunned and despised, 
 Hated and feared, declare thy birth and powers. — 
 Ah, I already know. Within thyself, 
 Thou art an evil most conspicuous ; 
 A stinking part of earth's primeval curse ! 
 And well thy f brow of sweat/ thy meagre looks, 
 Thy fits of turbulence, of discontent, 
 And daring wrong, betray thy parent, — Sin ! 
 — Yes, Sin engendered thee, and brought thee forth 
 ' In likeness of her own ;' and want, and toil, 
 And scorn, and deep privation, she entailed, 
 
 * Prov. xxx. 8.
 
 24 
 
 Thy patrimony dark ! Nor matters it 
 
 Where'er thy haunt, or whom thy company ; 
 
 Stay thee in cottage, or in gloomy jail, 
 
 Or mid those dreary holds, where parishes 
 
 (Republic in their rule) consign their sad 
 
 Exuberance of souls, all classed alike ; — 
 
 Thy Features too are dark. And did not Hope 
 
 Let in a cheering ray, and stealing sly 
 
 Flattery's soft pencil and her glowing hues, 
 
 Daub thy rude home with images most gay, — 
 
 (Though undefined their form ;) as those drear dens 
 
 Delved in the icy rock around the pole, 
 
 (The bear the tenant,) would thy dwellings be. 
 
 But often now ; — and well perchance it is, — 
 Beneath the nature of Hope's friendly beam, 
 A gentle glow is felt — the lines obscure, 
 By flattery's pencil traced, assume a shape, 
 Which (though delusive) makes thy dwellings gay. 
 — But is it gaiety that lasts ? Ah ! no ; 
 A cloud oft spoils it all. True, patient Hope, 
 Although she cannot dissipate the mists, 
 And dares not paint again with Flattery's dyes ; 
 Yet to prevent an overwhelming night, 
 Contrives e'en still to shed a glimmering beam :
 
 25 
 
 But 'tis not permanent — Alas ! alas ! 
 
 The thicker cloud of death extends its shade, 
 
 And all is hopeless night without a morn ! 
 
 Such is the aspect Poverty presents, 
 As unsubdued, undisciplined by grace. 
 And dark as are its features, home, and birth, 
 We turn most gladly to its brighter side ; 
 And tell of Poverty reclaimed and taught. 
 
 There is a school for every rank designed, 
 But chiefly so for Poverty's sad sons, 
 Where discipline and love dwell hand in hand. 
 A mighty Monarch, who once lived on earth, 
 And all his time employed in c doing good,' 
 Is named its glorious Founder — and 'tis said, 
 That taking to himself the tutor's seat, 
 ' None ever taught like him.' Twelve scholars first 
 His sole attention claimed ; but so rapidly 
 His plans succeeded, and his fame wide-spread, 
 That thousands sought admission in the school, 
 And also gained it; for ' he cast out none.' 
 — But broad and free as his foundation was, 
 (For he invited every rank and name,) 
 Yet it was cpnckly found that very few
 
 26 
 
 Among the ' rich and noble' would attend : — 
 Not so among the poor — they nocked around, 
 Sat at his feet, and humbly ' learnt of him,' 
 Till to ' salvation wise' they soon became. 
 And when this glorious Teacher left the earth, 
 He sent another equal to himself, 
 To occupy his place ; and also bid 
 The well-instructed twelve go through the world, 
 And teach his rules to every tribe and tongue. 
 Commissioned thus, his charge they well obeyed ; 
 And the great Master did their efforts bless. 
 — But while among the wise, the rich, the great, 
 ' Believed not a few,'* yet still the Poor 
 Had vast pre-eminence. So 'twas ordained. 
 Conduct the same is now pursued, and still 
 The same effect produced. Heralds go forth, 
 Endued with Wisdom's voice, and loud proclaim, 
 ' Whoso is simple, let him hither turn; — f 
 ' Whoso is weary, let him prove a rest, — J 
 ' And Avhosoever willeth, let him come !' — § 
 Ten thousand poor obey ; and wisdom's stores * 
 And heaven's wealth, for ever are their own. 
 
 * Acts xvii. 5. f Prov. ix. 4. 
 
 X Matt. xi. 28. § Rev. xxii. 17.
 
 27 
 
 Thus disciplined by power, by love subdued, 
 The roughened features of harsh Poverty 
 A different aspect wear; mild looks of peace, 
 Content, and resignation, clothe her brow, 
 And she herself acquires another name : — 
 They call her ' Sanctified.' O'er her calm cot, 
 Hope sheds not now a transitory beam, 
 But shines full-orbed — and bright and brighter grows. 
 Nor is there room for Flattery's images, 
 Or golden hues ; a landscape drawn by Truth, 
 And finished off with Hope's own genuine tints, 
 As fair and real as that from Pisgah viewed, 
 Extends around. And, passed one narrow stream, 
 The whole becomes unalterably her own. 
 Nor clouds can dim it, nor can night invade : 
 It boasts a splendid Sun that never sets. 
 
 Now I withdraw. As when my busy feet, 
 Weary with wandering in Death's wide field, 
 Repassed (for once) its gates, and met again, 
 In all its noise and vanity, the world ; — 
 So, for a season, I my musings leave, 
 To see and hear afresh Life's giddy whirl ; 
 To cope with sorrows, and contend with cares. 
 — Yet if but one short lesson be impressed, 
 Important, on my heart, by converse held
 
 28 
 
 With Death and things unseen ; I will not grudge 
 
 The moments it has cost to hear their tales : 
 
 And all my meditations I would close 
 
 With Moses' well-known prayer. May I be wise I 
 
 ' Consider deeply ! and remember well, 
 
 * My latter end !'
 
 THE NAME OF JESUS : 
 
 A MEDITATION AMONG THE TOMBS. 
 
 " He died in the faith of Jesus. His last words were, " Satisfied! Satisfied!'" 
 
 Beneath those ancient trees, whose thickening- shade 
 Throws darker mantle o'er the dreary tomb ; 
 
 Lonely, and musing deep, I wandering strayed, 
 My thoughtful heart indulging kindred gloom. 
 
 Thick on each hand the grassy hillocks rose, 
 And truths conveyed impressive to the heart ; 
 
 They taught that mortal cares and griefs will close, 
 That mortal hopes and joys alike depart. 
 
 But did not Faith a higher lesson read ? 
 
 Yes; — and could other joys and sorrows see : — 
 
 How, on the close of mortal hours, succeed 
 
 The woes or transports of eternity. 
 
 d3
 
 30 
 
 She also spied a name — a name most dear 
 To every mourning child of sin and grief; 
 
 It soothes his sorrows, dries his bitter tear, 
 And yields his wounded conscience full relief. 
 
 And while Faith mused upon the wonderous name, 
 Say did not Hope receive a lesson there ? 
 
 O yes ! and Love glowed with a warmer flame, 
 As Hope, exulting, triumphed o'er Despair ! 
 
 Secure their joys; — for in that glorious name 
 Pardon and holiness and life are given ; 
 
 And Faith, with outstretched hand, lays humble claim, 
 And grasps the peace of earth, — the bliss of heaven. 
 
 The name of Jesus ! At its cheering sound 
 Griefs flee away as mists before the sun ; 
 
 Light from thick darkness spreads itself around, 
 And opening views of glory are begun. 
 
 As to the mariner in distant seas, 
 
 The increasing fragrance of the spicy gales 
 
 Brings sure intelligence in every breeze, 
 
 And tells how near the port for which he sails ; —
 
 31 
 
 So to the voyager o'er life's rough waves, 
 
 (By storms and tempests all his passage driven,) 
 
 That blessed Name, e'er the last surf he braves, 
 Breathes all around the very air of heaven ! 
 
 i 
 
 The name of Jesus ! Of his power to save 
 From law and justice, and from sin and death, 
 
 The Christian, ' satisfied,' beholds the grave, 
 
 And peaceful, and well pleased yields up his breath. 
 
 • The Christian satisfied' — But only he ? 
 
 Speak Truth and Holiness ! — Are ye beside ? 
 Thrones, Principalities, and Powers! All ye 
 Who God's high attributes, adoring, see, 
 
 Speak your united feeling — * Satisfied !'
 
 SACRED TO MEMORY. 
 
 ' Why weepest thou V 
 
 I mourn not the ' escape' which he hath gained, 
 
 From all the sorrows that his life sustained ; — 
 
 (The final battle fought with Death and Sin, 
 
 And victory won, I dare not weep for him :) 
 
 I sorrow for myself — my loss deplore, 
 
 And weep that I shall see his face no more. 
 
 ' To be with Christ 'tis better to depart' 
 
 Himself declared, when Death had seized his heart. 
 
 — That awful night I never shall forget, 
 
 When overwhelmed with grief, I watching sat ; 
 
 The dreadful 'post of observation' mine, 
 
 I marked each period of revolving time ; 
 
 • Darker,' and darker, every hour it grew, 
 
 Till the last lingering hope for ever flew. 
 
 'Twas then, when Death was urging to a close, 
 
 With rapid agonies, his mortal woes ; —
 
 33 
 
 When his last blow the enemy had struck, 
 
 And every wheel and spring of nature broke ; — 
 
 When icy damps the vital stream assailed, 
 
 Fettered his limbs, and speech itself had failed ; — 
 
 'Twas then I said, ' If Christ to you be dear 
 
 In Death's dread vale, O make it yet appear; 
 
 By lifting up the hand impart a sign, 
 
 That still you realize the peace divine.' 
 
 —He heard, and tried, but vain the effort made ; 
 
 The nerveless arm no more the will obeyed : 
 
 He tried to speak — the tongue refused its part, 
 
 And failed for once the language of the heart. 
 
 Yet peaceful, calm, upborne by arms divine, 
 
 Th' exulting soul seemed through the eyes to shine :- 
 
 Revolved the question of the Saviour's worth, 
 
 A last grand effort made, and burst it forth. 
 
 — All human converse o'er, serene he lay, 
 
 His life expiring like the evening ray ; 
 
 Fixed his cold hands in attitude of prayer, — 
 
 For (though in death's dark valley) God was there. 
 
 Raptured, the spirit sprang to his embrace, 
 
 And left a smile upon the breathless face. 
 
 Now no more overwhelms the beating storm, — 
 Nor clouds of care his heaven-bright views deform. 
 He is — where sorrows are for ever o'er, 
 Where tempests, clouds, and death intrude no more.
 
 34 
 
 He is — where God's own presence is the light, 
 And day immortal banishes the night. 
 And there — to mingle with the blood-bought throng, 
 To feel their transports and to join their song, — 
 To hail the Lamb that washed him in his blood, 
 And shout the grace that led his soul to God : — 
 To scale salvation's heights in ' climes of bliss,' 
 Expanding, rising, shall be ever Ins ! 
 
 By clouds obscured thus have I seen the sun 
 Shining through tears, till nigh his course was run ; 
 The mists dispelled, he gloriously declines, 
 Rises in fairer realms, and brighter shines ; 
 And while himself seems lost beneath the ground, 
 His parting rays gild each dark object round.
 
 
 
 SACRED TO MEMORY. 
 
 ' She is not dead, but sleepeth.' Mark v. 35. 
 
 Yes, yes she sleeps — she is not dead — 
 
 Her mortal frame's at rest : 
 The grave its lowly peaceful bed, 
 
 And all its slumbers blest. 
 
 Where yon bright sun and glowing stars, 
 Form dust beneath the feet ; 
 
 A sparkling crown of life she wears, 
 A robe of light complete ! 
 
 The spirit died not — 'twas the clay 
 That sought the tomb-abode, — 
 
 The spirit, on the wings of day 
 Ascended, lives to God !
 
 36 
 
 A heaven-raised path of crimson hue, 
 
 Lay stretched before her sight ; 
 The track she marked, and on she flew, 
 
 Till glory stopped her flight ! 
 
 ' Give place,' then Sense ! ' Give place' ye tears ! 
 
 ' Why make ye this ado ?' 
 Give place, ye unbelieving Fears, 
 
 No room is left for you ! 
 
 And sweetly slumber, sacred dust ! 
 
 Till, issuing from the skies, 
 The light of Heaven shall o'er thee burst, 
 
 As Jesus bids thee ' Rise !'
 
 SACRED TO MEMORY. 
 
 ' Why flow these torrents of distress 1 ? 
 
 The gentle Saviour cries.'* Doddridge. 
 
 When low upon its dusty bed 
 
 Thy Father's head was laid, 
 And weeping friends their ' torrents' shed, 
 
 And love's last tribute paid ; 
 
 Unmindful of then deepest woes, 
 In grief thou wouldst not join ; 
 
 But when the sacred song arose, 
 No longer silence thine. 
 
 — Yet why not learn the bursting tear, 
 
 And imitate the sigh ? 
 Why should the song attract thine ear, 
 
 And all thy tears be dry ? 
 
 * Sung over her father's grave : she joined her little voice and 
 
 attempted to sing. 
 E
 
 38 
 
 For sorrows dimmed each short-lived scene 
 That formed thy mortal bound ; 
 
 Imbued in tears thy paths were seen 
 Marked out for ' Bochim's' ground. 
 
 Thine eyes were op'd on cares and woe, 
 When first they saw the light : — 
 
 Then wherefore sing, when cold and low 
 Thy sire was hid from sight ? 
 
 Say, did thine infant spirit feel 
 ' The gentle Saviour's cry ?' 
 
 Or whispering angels fond reveal 
 Thine own dismission* nigh ? 
 
 And sawest thou then the threatening cloud 
 
 That hovered over thy way, 
 Evaporating, cease to shroud 
 
 The sun of glory's ray ? 
 
 * Her father died August 28, 1816. She died November the 15th 
 following, aged twenty-two months.
 
 39 
 
 Didst thou rejoice that he whose love 
 
 Thine infant lispings knew, 
 From ' nature slipped/-}- and lodged above, 
 
 Had bidden tears adieu ? 
 
 ' Ah ! cease to ask,' thy spirit cries ; 
 
 ' Inquiry now is vain : 
 Aspire to meet me in the skies, 
 
 And heaven shall all explain. 
 
 ' Suffice to say — the notes of praise 
 
 That moved my infant tongue, 
 To glory's highest pitch I raise, 
 
 And perfect is my song V 
 
 f A common expresssion of her father's, when speaking of death
 
 SACRED TO MEMORY. 
 
 The two-faced cloud that on thy parting day 
 
 Rose, my loved Mother, o'er my lonely way, 
 
 Turned its illuminated side to thee. 
 
 Cast its long shadows only upon me. 
 
 And yet 'tis well — for Glory's sunshine thine, 
 
 Praises are due, although dark clouds be mine. 
 
 — Ala ! fixed on grief, how oft my busy mind 
 
 Pores o'er the scenes that thou hast left behind, 
 
 Surveys the chamber where from day to day 
 
 Thy languid hours passed unrepined away : 
 
 Through long, long tedious years, there close confined, 
 
 Patient thou sat'st, afflicted yet resigned. 
 
 To thee were lost earth's heart-enchanting views, 
 
 Spring's dawning charms, and Summer's golden hues. 
 
 — The songs of Zion which thine ear approved, 
 
 Its sacred message which thy heart still loved, 
 
 Thou could'st not hear. — Pale Languor at thy side, 
 
 And Pain (dread centinels !) the wish denied.
 
 41 
 
 But thou art gone ! From Pain and Languor free- 
 No more their weary prisoner to be. 
 Yes — thou art gone — I saw thee peaceful die, — * 
 Caught thy last tear, — heard thy last closing sigh. 
 Far back I saw the cloud its shadows roll, 
 Till Heaven's bright beams broke full upon thy soul. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH-SMILE 
 
 • Then, with a smile upon his face, 
 
 He " passed the important hour of death." ' 
 
 Tis the smile of the Cloud that dissolves in a ray ; 
 'Tis the Dawn's joyous smile, as it ushers the day. 
 'Tis the smile left impressed by the beams of the Sun 
 Upon Eve's placid brow, when her shadows are come. 
 'Tis the Conqueror's smile, the hard victory won ! 
 'Tis the smile of the Sick recovered to health; 
 'Tis pale Poverty's smile, in the prospect of wealth. 
 
 * February 19, 1821.
 
 42 
 
 'Tis the Mariner's smile, as he greets the calm shore, 
 Rocks and quicksands, and boisterous tempests no more ! 
 'Tis the Husbandman's smile, when the first sheaf appears, 
 And when harvest-home shouts bless his listening ears. 
 'Tis the Wrestler's marked smile, when the prize he obtains ;- 
 The Prisoner's it is, when he drops off" his chains. 
 'Tis the smile of the Wretched, the Weary, the Pained, 
 Their sad sorrows for ease and enjoyment exchanged. 
 'Tis the Infant's sweet smile, as it sinks into rest 
 On the pillowed repose of a Mother's soft breast : 
 'Tis the Traveller's smile when he quits a drear road. — 
 'Tis the smile of a Soul whose loved home is its God. 
 
 CALLS TO GLORY* 
 
 See, that cloud sublimely breaking, 
 
 Lets a glimpse of glory through. 
 Hark ! a heavenly voice is speaking, 
 
 Cherub-form appears to view! 
 
 * Mary Ann and Ann were schoolfellows particularly attached to 
 each other. Mary Ann departed this life September, 1815, aged 10 
 years. Ann followed, March 1817, aged 12 years and 10 months.
 
 43 
 
 • Sister Spirit, from that prison 
 
 Where I drew my mortal breath, 
 I to this high life am risen, 
 Wafted by the angel Death. 
 
 ' Sister, when in yonder bowers, 
 Pleased we spent our early prime, 
 
 Talked of Death and* his dread powers 
 Till he did in terrors shine ; 
 
 ' Little thought I, I should render 
 Up so soon my youthful life ; 
 
 tittle thought I, love so tender 
 
 Could have soothed the dying strife. 
 
 • In the world an artless stranger, 
 
 World with snares so thickly strown, 
 My loved Saviour saw my danger, 
 
 Gave command, and fetched me home. 
 
 ' Now, where sin can never enter, 
 
 Joys I know, I cannot tell ; 
 Now, where brightest glories centre. 
 
 With my Lord I ever dwell. 
 
 * They frequently retired from their companions ' to talk about 
 death.'
 
 44 
 
 ' Sister Spirit ! rise, — I call thee — 
 Leave dull night, and soar to day ; 
 
 Quit the earth, e'er chains enthrall thee : — 
 Sister Spirit, come away [' 
 
 Ceased the vision, and receded ; — 
 
 Beckoning as it disappeared : 
 Deep the clay-clad Spirit heeded, 
 
 Much she longed, — and much she feared. 
 
 Through the opening vista glorious, 
 Kindred calls* assailed her ear : 
 
 Hallelujahs loud, victorious; — 
 
 Yet she paused — and dropp'd the tear. 
 
 Paused, until her Saviour calling 
 
 Thrilled her powers, nor would she stay ; 
 
 Heaved no sigh, but one ftear falling, 
 Wing she spread, and soared away. 
 
 * From departed pious relatives. 
 
 f The tear that generally precedes the immediate approach of 
 death.
 
 DISAPPOINTED PROSPECTS ; 
 
 OR, ' SEEING THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY.' 
 
 1 Cor. xiii. 12. 
 
 ' Wc did not see so much as I expected.* The ladies (i. e. schoolfellows) said we should 
 see into seven counties with the glasses — but they were so dim we could not see 
 through them.' 
 
 And did it disappoint thy gaze, 
 
 Ardent expectant child ? 
 Sawest thou, so early, Hope's false rays 
 
 Decaying as they smiled ? 
 Thou didst ; — and thus thy early flight, 
 Proves that fades first, which shines most bright. 
 Thou smiledst like fair morning's sun ; — 
 A cloud arose, and thou wast gone ! 
 
 * On Wittenhain Hills.
 
 46 
 
 That cloud obscured thy youthful view ; 
 
 Yet could not all invade ; 
 Bright rays 'twixt every gap shone through, 
 
 And tipt with gold the shade. 
 Oh ! could I roll the shadows back 
 Pursue the Spirit's airy track, 
 And mark the ' pearly gates ' unfold, 
 Glimpse the high streets of pure-paved gold ; 
 
 Could I once see the sardine throne, 
 
 The sunless City shine — 
 Hear the loud ' song before unknown/ 
 
 Ecstatic notes divine ; — 
 And view thy spirit, clad in white, 
 Before the Eternal Source of light, ■* 
 Low casting its bright sparkling crown, 
 And all its palms of honour down ; — 
 
 O, I should long to quit this clay, 
 
 Nor linger more nor grieve ; 
 I'd stretch my wings and soar away, 
 
 And sin and sorrow leave. 
 But 'tis not thus — in fetters bound, 
 My soul is tied to earth's low ground ; 
 And when I look and strive to rise, 
 Chains hold me back,— clouds veil my skies.
 
 47 
 
 Sometimes, perchance, from friends I hear 
 
 Of Pisgah's glorious ken ; 
 How, from its top, distinctly clear, 
 
 The City shines on them : 
 That through their Glass, the wide-op'd gate, 
 And crowns, and harps, and thrones of state, 
 Have plainly glittered to their view : — 
 My raptured soul would see them too, — 
 
 And grasps the Glass ; — but, dull and dim, 
 
 No vision it supplies ; , 
 Mists still envelop every scene, 
 
 And disappoint mine eyes. 
 — But hark ! a voice ! ' Distance may make 
 The Glass of mistiness partake ; 
 But quite unskilled to its command, 
 Blame most thine own unsteady hand ; 
 
 • And blame thine eye ; — too long inured 
 
 To grov'lling earthly views, 
 Celestial light is not endured, — 
 
 The Glass it cannot use. 
 Turn off thine eyes from earth to heaven, 
 And strength to look shall soon be given ; 
 To use the Glass thou soon shalt learn 
 And Heaven's wide landscape full discern.
 
 48 
 
 ' Thick fogs from earth bedim the glass ; — 
 
 But Pisgah's summit still 
 Presents a bound they cannot pass : 
 
 Then rise, ascend the hill, 
 And look from thence ; close on time's verge, 
 Thou'lt see the City bright emerge, 
 More splendid than the noon-day sun, 
 And own thy warmest hopes outdone. 
 
 ' And as thou lookest thou shalt see 
 Those saints thy heart holds dear, 
 
 From disappointments ever free, 
 From dulness ever clear. 
 
 No more complains that blood-bought child 
 
 That Hope's false rays have her beguiled : 
 
 And, (vain the glass where all is " sight,") 
 
 She basks in rays of purest light, 
 
 For ever sure — for ever bright.'
 
 THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 " And it came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold there appeared a 
 chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both asunder ; and Elijah went 
 up by a whirlwind into heaven." — 2 Kings ii. 11.* 
 
 Speed ! speed ye, travellers, to your sheltering inn — 
 For see what awful clouds portentous rise ! 
 
 Vanished the splendours of the morning scene, 
 Tremendous glooms enwrap the noon-tide skies ! 
 
 Instinctive crowding to the friendly shed, 
 The frightened cattle scud across the plains ; 
 
 The feathered minstrels in the general dread 
 
 Forget their songs, and cease their warbling strains. 
 
 * Composed after hearing a sermon on the above text, by the Rev. 
 VV. Oram, Benson. 
 
 F
 
 50 
 
 No sound is heard save the low Zephyr's sigh, 
 And agitated Aspen's whispering moan : — 
 
 Roused from its torpor, now the sullen sky 
 
 Drops a few tears, and shews the tempest come. 
 
 ' Speed ! speed ye, travellers, to your sheltering inn,' 
 Hear the rude winds — how dreadfully they howl ! 
 
 The clattering hail-stones deafen with their din — 
 Red lightnings glare, hoarse-pealing thunders roll ! 
 
 ' Speed ! speed ye, travellers, to your sheltering inn,' 
 The whirlwind's rapid rage is just before ! 
 
 O ! flee its vortex — or involved within, 
 
 Death, death is yours, in one short moment more ! 
 
 Ah ! why so calmly walk 'mid terrors dire? 
 
 Spare, spare mine eyes — what wonders do they view ! 
 ' Horses of flame — a chariot of fire !' 
 
 And, lo ! their burning track leads on to you. 
 
 But now the scene o'erwhelms my thought and gaze — 
 Mine eyes grow dim my frame with terror reels; 
 
 The fiery equipage a moment stays; 
 
 And One, deliberate, mounts its flaming wheels!
 
 51 
 
 Sublime he rides ! And through the storm-rent air, 
 
 And all the windings of the spiral road, 
 The glowing steeds conduct the sparkling car, 
 
 Nor stay their steps till reached the Throne of God. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! what rapt'rous sounds ! The thrilling strains 
 
 Wake up to ecstasy my throbbing breast : 
 Oh ! these are welcomes that the traveller gains, 
 
 As stops his chariot at its place of rest. 
 
 5 Tis thus the weary woe-worn child of God, 
 
 Whom storms (through all his life) have tossed and driven, 
 ' Sundered' for ever from earth's drear abode, 
 
 Finds the rough whirlwind hurry him to heaven.
 
 SACRED TO MEMORY. 
 
 Reader ! hast thou e'er seen the flower 
 Cut clown and withered in an hour ? 
 Hast thou beheld, long ere 'twas noon, 
 The morning sun obscured in gloom ? 
 Then thou hast witnessed emblems just 
 Of Ann,* who sleeps below in dust. 
 
 But hast thou viewed the golden beam 
 Illume pale evening's shaded scene ? 
 Beheld the genial Spring restore 
 (From the same root) the blooming flower? 
 Then think of Ann. Calm hope and faith 
 So shed their rays about her death, — 
 We said, ' The flower shall yet shine bright j* 
 We saw that ' Eventide was light.'f 
 
 * She died the 3rd of December, 1823. 
 f Zech. xiv. 7.
 
 THE VESSEL IN A STORM. 
 
 Mark :v. 35. 
 
 With terrors armed of chilling form, 
 Destruction threatening all around, 
 
 The dark appalling midnight storm, 
 Bellowed its hoarse portentous sound. 
 
 The treacherous sea soon took a part, 
 
 Foamed white with rage, and swelled the roar 
 
 O Pity ! save that hapless bark, 
 
 Which left so late the evening shore. 
 
 See ! by the momentary glare 
 
 That red illumes the angry sky ; 
 Urged by the elemental war 
 
 She sinks in depths — she mounts on high ! 
 
 f3
 
 54 
 
 O see ! The hull is nearly full ; 
 
 O'er strength and skill the waves prevail ! 
 She founders ! Nor one trembling soul 
 
 Escapes to tell the mournful tale ! 
 
 Hark ! Heard you not a piercing cry, 
 Borne by the winds across the wave ? 
 
 Sure 'twas the shriek of those that die, 
 When low they met their gulphy grave ! 
 
 No, no ; the bark emerges yet, 
 
 Death's closing jaws resign their prey ! 
 
 The roaring winds their noise forget, 
 And, awed, the billows slink away ! 
 
 Say whence the change ? As soft and sweet 
 
 As infants slumber on the breast, 
 One Passenger had fallen asleep, 
 Nor waves nor tempests broke his rest. 
 
 Worn by the labours of his love, 
 
 Surrounded by a chosen few, 
 He slept, their faith and hope to prove — 
 
 He slept, but still their dangers knew.
 
 55 
 
 He spake — ' Ye winds your clamour cease — 
 
 Sink into silence ! 'Tis my will ! 
 Ye vaunting waves, retire in peace — 
 
 Hide your proud front, and hence " be still." ' 
 
 The winds abashed heard the rebuke ; 
 
 Sighed with remorse, and died away ! 
 The humbled sea its rage forsook, 
 
 And smiling calms led on the day. 
 
 THE UNERRING PILOT. 
 
 ' With Christ in the vessel I smile at the storm I' Newton. 
 
 This life's a sea — a broad expanse, 
 
 And heaven the distant bound : 
 Adventurers in hosts advance 
 From every quarter round. 
 Their objects varied, so their aim — 
 As pleasures, riches, honours claim ; 
 By gentler methods, or by force, 
 They shape their different wayward course.
 
 56 
 
 Through all these roads, the crowding sails 
 
 Glisten, and wide expand ; 
 While few are seen to court the gales 
 
 That blow from Glory's land. 
 But in each course the wanderers ply, 
 Surrounding dangers still are nigh ; 
 Dreaded or slighted, as the mind 
 By adverse passions is inclined. 
 
 Embarked without the power to flee, 
 
 Their life, their all, at stake j 
 The gay, the busy voyagers see, 
 
 And mark their different fate. 
 Some smoothly glide upon the wave, 
 Nor storm nor rock have they to brave ; 
 Yet when the shore is just in sight, 
 For ever founder, sink in night ! 
 
 Others appear whose daring minds 
 
 Ne'er yet sustained a shock; 
 They scud along 'fore pleasure's winds, 
 
 And scorn both wave and rock. 
 Alert they spread their eager sail, 
 And court with glee each treacherous gale ; 
 Till timbers split, and canvass torn, 
 They drive— a wreck before the storm !
 
 57 
 
 But there are some more grave than these, 
 
 Who anxious creep along ; 
 Their sail scarce flutters in the breeze, 
 
 Nor whispers pleasure's song. 
 Sole object gain — on, on they creep 
 Upon the surface of the deep : 
 Alas ! the eddying pool is nigh — 
 They reach its vortex — and they die ! 
 
 Now see in latitude of heaven 
 
 That little trembling sail ; 
 Mark how distressed and tossed 'tis driven- 
 
 O sure the winds prevail ! 
 No ; still she keeps upon her tack, 
 Nor winds nor seas can drive her back ; 
 Amid their rage, amid their roar, 
 Onward she plunges to the shore ! 
 
 The shore ! who gains its peaceful bowers, 
 
 ('Tis noted in the chart,) 
 Must first endure the storm that lowers, 
 
 Feel tribulation's smart. 
 The raging blast, the clattering hail, 
 The thunders, the tremendous gale, 
 The frightful rock that sunken lies, 
 The dashing waves that dare the skies, —
 
 58 
 
 The whirling gulf, the lurking sands, 
 
 Decoying, yet so drear ; 
 All in the track to Glory's lands, 
 
 Marked in the chart appear. 
 O surely then no single hark 
 Can reach this much-desired port, 
 Unless some able Pilot, skilled 
 'Bove mortal stretch, assistance yield. 
 
 'Tis true; and it is also true 
 
 That Pilot 's ever near ; 
 Ready to guide each wanderer through, 
 
 'Mid wreck and death to steer. 
 And if perchance he seem to sleep,* 
 A studied, chilling distance keep, 
 'Tis but in shew — and let them cry, 
 Soon they will find his presence nigh. 
 
 Each soul that in his care he takes, 
 
 No storms can overwhelm; 
 For he the vessel ne'er forsakes, 
 
 Nor yet forsakes the helm. 
 And all the rocks that threatening scowl, 
 And all the winds that death-toned howl ; 
 
 * Matt. viii. 2-4.
 
 59 
 
 (' What manner of a man is he !'*) 
 Smile at his word, or cease to be ! 
 
 O if this Pilot were my guide, 
 
 How would my heart rejoice ; 
 My bark would then in safety ride, 
 
 And songs employ my voice ! 
 Tempestuous billows then might roll, 
 Hoarse thunders shake the earth's firm pole, 
 Nor yet dismay my feeble soul ! 
 For, Christ within the vessel found, 
 I'd smile at all the storms around. 
 
 * Matt. viii. 27.
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OF LORD B***N. 
 
 And art thou fallen, B***n ! From thy noon 
 
 Of popularity sunk down in night ; 
 
 Quenched thy bright beams in shadows of the tomb ; 
 
 Faded thy Bays beneath a hopeless blight P 
 
 'Tis even so ! Thou scaledst as thou pleas'dst 
 
 Each lofty eminence of earth's huge ball ; 
 
 Till Death, grown envious, thy possessions seized, 
 
 And left that ' little grave'* thy narrow all. 
 
 There low thou liest ! All thy boast, 
 Thy joys, and cares, for ever lost: 
 And, 'neath the same oblivious shade, 
 Thy Lyre, unstrung, in dust is laid ! 
 
 So described in a newspaper.
 
 61 
 
 That Lyre oft charmed each listening dale and hill ; 
 
 But now, degraded and dissolved its spell, 
 
 No new-raised impious song again shall thrill 
 
 Through artless nature, harmony of hell. 
 
 No more retunahle shall it pour forth, 
 
 In magic tones the soul-polluting strains ; 
 
 No more retunable shall it give birth, 
 
 To groans of holy anguish, tears, and pains. 
 
 The Muse, repentant that in evil hour 
 
 So exquisite a gift with thee she placed, 
 
 Exults to see it wrested from thy power; 
 
 Well pleased, beholds it scattered, broken, waste. 
 
 But gentle Echo mourns, for she still fears 
 
 Her hills and vallies may renew the sound : 
 
 Nor can Religion dry his holy tears, 
 
 For he still feels the ranklings of his wound. 
 
 Consonant with thy base desire, 
 The music of the treacherous lyre 
 Amused and chained him, while thy dart 
 Was pointed at his very heart.
 
 62 
 
 Yes, thou art fallen ! But there are who say, 
 Thy sun, though set, reflects a splendid beam ; 
 That still thy circling wreath of glossy bay, 
 Though worn by thee no more, retains its green. 
 
 Aloud they sound the trump of Fame, 
 Tell of thy titles, birth, and name ; 
 And how, of angel-size, thy soul 
 Shed giant-lustre o'er the whole. 
 
 Well, be it so : — A lurid gleam may shine, 
 
 A leaf or two amid the wreath be fair ; 
 
 Posthumous honours may be largely thine, 
 
 And angel-talent thine acknowledged share. 
 
 So the forked meteors, that with scorching powers, 
 
 Scathe nature's sweetest forms, and lay them low ; — 
 
 So night-shade's deadly plants, that plague the bowers, 
 
 Emit a dazzling glare, and rankly grow. 
 
 So Lucifer, though wrapt in tenfold night, 
 
 (Dread serpent-wreaths his gloomy brow deform,) 
 
 Transforms himself to ' minister of light,' 
 
 Resembles yet in strength the ' son of morn.'
 
 63 
 
 As ignis fatuus, earth-bread beam, 
 Conducts to fatal bog or stream ; 
 So wit defiled, howe'er it glow, 
 But lights to deeper shades below. 
 
 But hark ! methinks some chiding accents fell ; 
 Again I hear, and thus they seem to say : — 
 ■ Stranger obscure, unlearned, what canst thou tell 
 Of fallen B***n's powers, or name, or way ? 
 Low as thy dwelling in life's humblest vale, 
 Mean as thy lot, unheeded, lost thy name, 
 Why meddlest thou with B***n's venturous tale, 
 Make him the subject of thy daring strain V 
 Ah ! low, unlearned is my acknowledged lot, 
 Alike unknown to Fortune and to Fame ; 
 Yet tidings still do reach my humble cot 
 Of distant deeds of glorj , and of shame. 
 The restless Hero, in his rapid stride, 
 At once his ravages and name proclaims : 
 And every different class, afar and wide, 
 Shares the effect in pleasures or in pains. 
 
 The poorest cottager that dwells 
 Amid the deep sequestered dells, 
 Hears of the feats, nor once conceals 
 The anxious thoughts his bosom feels.
 
 64 
 
 And I, while peeping from my nook obscure, 
 
 Listening to tidings of the distant scene, 
 
 Some shreds of knowledge add to my small store, 
 
 Some scattered facts, important, often glean. 
 
 I hear of Tyrants, who, with maddened speed, 
 
 Whirl wide with flame and sword destruction's sweep ; 
 
 A thousand wretches left in dust to bleed, 
 
 A thousand widows, orphans, left to weep. 
 
 I hear of Angels, who, to haunts of woe, 
 
 On Mercy's errands eager footsteps bend ; 
 
 The streams of wretchedness forbear to flow, 
 
 ' The widow sings/ the orphan has a friend. 
 
 And what from rumour grieves my anxious ear, 
 
 Or what from observation cheers my breast, 
 
 In simplest language, soothing or severe, 
 
 Truth well allows me freely to express. 
 
 Ah ! I have heard how, 'mid Italian bowers, 
 B***n gay-wove each amaranthine wreath ; 
 Culled Poesy's most rare, most brilliant flowers, 
 But mixed the seeds of pestilence and deatb, 
 And gave it to the winds. Each sultry gale, 
 Conspired to waft it o'er the heaving main ; 
 The British air, empoisoned, spreads the tale, 
 And thousand victims drop, nor rise again.
 
 65 
 
 Contagion impure has seized their veins, 
 
 Infused its feverish heats, its fatal chills ; 
 
 Induced that torment which for ever pains, 
 
 That death which, ever-dying, never kills. 
 
 And yet the flowers lure — so brightly bloom, 
 
 That thousands (though forewarned) with daring breath 
 
 (Intoxicate) inhale the dread perfume, 
 
 And sink in rottenness, and dust, and death. 
 
 The sword that drinks the reeking blood, 
 The flames that waste the loved abode, 
 The plague, that taints the vital breath, 
 Is life, compared with such a death. 
 
 B***N ! couldst thou address us from the shades, 
 What warning voices we might hope to hear ! 
 ' O, fly the poison that my works pervades, 
 Fly !' thou wouldst say, ' or horrors wait thee here. 
 O, could I live again, till floods of tears 
 Had washed away a something of the stain ; 
 Till penitence, coeval with my years, 
 Had witnessed my compunction and my shame : 
 Till, at Religion's trampled hallowed shrine, 
 My soul, in grief enrobed, had penance made; 
 Till in the dust I'd owned that Name divine — 
 That sacred Name I've injured and betrayed.' 
 
 g3
 
 66 
 
 May it appear, that ere for ever closed 
 
 Thy languid eye on earth's last dizzy scene ; 
 
 Ere in deep slumbers thy vast thought reposed, 
 
 That thus thou mournedst thy folly and thy sin : 
 
 That, when all language faltered on thy tongue, 
 
 Thy heart aloud did breathe contrition's prayer ; 
 
 That then ' turned off thine eye ' from life's vain throng, 
 
 It fixed intent on Christ, nor met despair ! 
 
 Jesus ! almighty and all-gracious Name, 
 That wiliest not the death of those that die ; 
 Yesterday, now, for ever, still the same, 
 Thine ear is always op'd to sorrow's cry. 
 
 Lorn son of misery ! Who, on yon red tree, 
 Didst writhe 'neath loads of mortal guilt and woe ; 
 Thy soul as black as demon-night could be : 
 The Saviour's power to save 'twas thine to know. 
 In trampling on his laws thy life was spent, 
 And thou didst mock him with thy dying breath ; 
 But Jesus saw thy hardened heart relent, 
 Heard thine expiring cry, and saved in death. 
 ' Insulted Lord !' thou saidst, ' I turn to thee ; 
 A hair suspends me o'er the burning wave :
 
 67 
 
 For thine own sake, O Lord, remember me, 
 
 No other plea, no other hope, I have.' 
 
 O grace exceeding thought, vast, boundless, free ! 
 
 He snatched thee from the gulf so near, so dire. 
 
 Did B***N, helpless, penitent, like thee, 
 
 Urge the availing, heaven-gaining plea ? 
 
 Then he, like thee, was saved — but saved like thee ' by fire.' 
 
 THE RED HOUSE * 
 
 A TALE, WITH REFLECTIONS, f 
 
 1 A stranger perplexed with this devious way,j 
 My friend, can you tell me which path to pursue ?' 
 
 ' Note yonder Red House, and no longer you stray, 
 Conspicuous mark, it shall guide you safe through : 
 
 * This piece appeared, with little variation, in the Imperial Maga- 
 zine, for March, 1825. 
 
 f Suggested by a recent ride over Maidenhead Thicket. 
 X Referring to a journey in the year 1800.
 
 68 
 
 ' With eye fixed intent on the glowing abode, 
 
 Rejecting each winding, still keep the strait track ; 
 
 And quickly brought on to the wished-for high road, 
 Information no more you'll ask for, or lack.' 
 
 Delighted, I thankfully took the advice, 
 Direct to the mark I pursued my long ride ; 
 
 My horse too seemed pleased — he was there in a trice, 
 Nor once was I lost, the Red House for a guide. 
 
 I passed, and repassed it full many a time, 
 
 While Spring's genial sunshine illumed my glad breast ; 
 The landscape around did most splendidly shine, 
 
 The landscape within was as splendidly dress'd. 
 
 ' The landscape within !' Stolen its outlines from Truth, 
 Hope mixed up bright tints, by soft Flattery's aid ; 
 
 Then handing the pencils, and sketchings, to Youth, 
 The picture was finished — in all parts but shade. 
 
 Much more I could add, but I hasten along, 
 (Lest tedious my story, its interest decay,) 
 
 The quick-circling years had rolled silently on, 
 Unseen the Red House, and forsaken its way.
 
 69 
 
 Dark clouds had arisen and burst o'er my head, 
 The spring-tide of youth had subsided in noon ; 
 
 And, deep my meridian sky overspread, 
 
 Each prospect was covered with mist and with gloom ;- 
 
 When yet 'twas my hap, to be travelling again, 
 
 The long-estranged paths on the fern-wildered waste ; 
 
 I said, ' The Red House without doubt does remain, 
 Although my bright prospects and sunshine are past ! 
 
 ' Its walls I will seek — and, beside them, beguile 
 In views retrospective, the griefs I endure ; 
 
 The landscape shall meet me, the sunshine, the smile — 
 I'll riot in bliss, though I claim it no more. 
 
 • And 'neath the Red walls I will pour out a tear, 
 Will weep over 'joys that must never return;' 
 
 Fond memory assisted ' shall muster up ' there, 
 Endearments long lost — and again I will mourn.' 
 
 I said : and surveying the mansions around, 
 (The prospect was wide, and enchantingly fair,) 
 
 Amid the gay circle, no Red one was found, 
 
 Though numbers most goodly and dazzling were there.
 
 70 
 
 Disappointed and vexed, yet loath to retire, 
 
 I wandered, and wondered, and puzzled my head, 
 
 At length I espied what so raised my desire, 
 
 The very same House — but no longer 'twas Red! 
 
 Its shape was exactly the same to the eye, 
 But youthful no longer, no longer 'twas gay ; 
 
 Alas ! I'd forgotten, how Time marching by, 
 
 Had stolen the bright Red, and infixed his deep grey ! 
 
 But soon as recovered from stupid surmise, 
 
 Dismissed each wild whim that had tortured my brains, 
 I said to myself, with a pleasant surprize, 
 
 ' What funds for reflection the subject contains '.' 
 
 The views that so charm us in childhood and youth, 
 When a few silent years have insidiously fled, 
 
 Though sought by the eye of affection and truth, 
 Recede from the sight — they no longer are Red ! 
 
 The glowings of love — all the heart-thrilling joys, 
 That ' grow with its growth,' and by which it is fed ; 
 
 Succeeded by cares, or bewildered with noise, 
 Though yet they exist — they no longer are Red !
 
 71 
 
 The hurry of business, its bustle and glare, 
 The showers of gold 'tis expected to shed ; 
 
 Or dropped in the coffers, or melted in air, 
 
 Reviewed from a death-scene — no longer are Red ! 
 
 So honours, and riches, and pleasures, and fame, 
 ( The phantoms so gay by which thousands are led,) 
 
 Though sparkling with lustre, and burning with flame, 
 A few years escaped — they no longer are Red ! 
 
 The sinner profane, to all goodness averse, 
 To vile dazzling pleasures most heartily wed ; 
 
 When ' sin finds him out,' at the end of his course, 
 Proves (glitter all over !) no more are they Red! 
 
 The miser that bathes in a gold-bedded stream, 
 Till nigh turned to metal — his sympathies dead, 
 
 When ' drowned in perdition' will certainly deem 
 The snare that decoyed him — no longer is Red ! 
 
 And whatever object mere earth can present, 
 Howe'er with vermillion or gold overspread, 
 
 A thief, whose encroachments no care can prevent, 
 Leaves clay for the ore, and deep shade for the Red
 
 72 
 
 But yet there's a world, in a larger concealed, 
 
 (As the mystical wheel o'er the seer's* sacred head,) 
 
 Where Time, like the angelf in mortal dress veiled, 
 In love kills our comforts — and sullies our Red ! 
 
 There, sorrowing Christians, whose bright sterling faith 
 Was tried by fierce fires wherever they sped, 
 
 Assuredly find, at the end of the path, 
 
 The flame, lost in mercy, no longer is Red ! 
 
 The drawn sword of Justice, bright-gleaming and sharp, 
 That formerly filled them with soul-whelming dread, 
 
 That yet must be sheathed in the enemy's;}; heart,) 
 (In vital streams quench'd,) now no longer is Red ! 
 
 And yet there's a World, (nor afar off it lies,) 
 
 Where all that is lovely, and glorious, and bright, 
 
 That e'er warmed the bosom, or cheered the glad eyes, 
 Still breaks o'er the soul with new beams of delight. 
 
 » Ezekiel. f See Parnel's Hermit. X Luke xix. 27 -
 
 73 
 
 There, Time quite excluded, his frosts cannot shed, — 
 No grace can he steal, or e'en turn up his glass ; 
 
 There, Death, the grim tyrant, dares not shew his head — 
 There, Joys (unlike this world's which speedily pass,) 
 
 Continue for ever, — for ever are Red ! 
 
 1 BRIGHTER HOURS WILL COME.'* 
 
 Dull, dull is the day ! and to sadness inclined, 
 My heart is as misty, — as shrouded with gloom ; 
 
 Yet Kate by apt symbols, would gently remind, 
 That obscure as it may be, — Bright hours will come. 
 
 But say, will they ever chase darkness like mine ? 
 
 Are not the cold shade and dense vapour my doom ? 
 On paths dull as mine, can the lucid ray shine ? 
 
 And indeed and indeed, will the bright hours come ? — 
 
 * Composed impromptu on receiving a letter, the seal of which bore 
 the above motto. 
 
 H
 
 74 
 
 To chase the thick clouds that envelop my way, 
 Demands a most luminous powerful sun ; 
 
 A far stronger beam than e'er kindled the day 
 
 Must illumine my path, e'er my bright hours come, 
 
 Ah ! long have I known a most wearisome road, — 
 And burdened, have travelled from morning till noon ! 
 
 My way hid with willows, — with shade, my abode, 
 I have said, ' Brighter hours to me cannot come !' 
 
 I am told, that at ' Eventide often 'tis light, — * 
 That rays of the morning will gild the dark tomb ; 
 
 That e'en in Death's vale, — in the season of night, 
 Most splendidly brilliant, bright hours have come.' 
 
 Well, let but their lustre illume my ' long home,' 
 (Though dark my way thither,) I will not repine; 
 
 For if the bright beamings of that moment come, 
 I know that for ever, for ever, they'll shine ; — 
 For ever, for ever, for ever, — be mine ! 
 
 * Text preached from by the Rev. J. Cooke, October 3, 1824.
 
 A SACRIFICE.* 
 
 Yes — a Sacrifice vast! — But our lips shall not blame thee — 
 'Twas Conscience' own offering, presented by Love; 
 
 Nor the sneer of the proud, or cold-hearted shall shame thee — 
 'Twas greeted by Angels, — accepted above. 
 
 'Twas a Sacrifice vast! — But, unfolded around thee 
 The cold and wild regions of dark heathen night ; 
 
 Thou saidst, ' Shall the blaze of Salvation surround me, 
 And I dare refuse to impart of its light V 
 
 'Twas a Sacrifice vast ! — But the Widow's shriek chilled thee, 
 As writhing she lay on her red couch of fire ! — 
 
 Thou turnedst with horror — yet terror still filled thee, 
 Thou sawest in waves lovely infants expire ! 
 
 * At a late Bible Meeting, allusion was made to the noble conduct 
 of David to Araunah, (2 Sam. xxiv. 24.) and the following anecdote 
 was related : — ' At a meeting like the present, a gentleman was insist- 
 ing on the propriety and lawfulness of not only giving of our abund- 
 ance, but of making Sacrifices for God, &c. After the collection was 
 made an old leathern purse, containing 24s. 6d. was found in the 
 plate, with a very small scrap of paper, on which was written, — 
 " A Sacrifice." '
 
 76 
 
 'Twas a Sacrifice v cist ! — But wide open beside thee, 
 That Temple revealed the foul demons within ; 
 
 Thy Saviour disowned, his worship denied thee, 
 Thou weptst o'er their misery, their folly, their sin ! 
 
 'Twas a Sacrifice vast! — Freezing Poverty o'er thee 
 
 Her death-chills had shed, — would have palsied thy hands ; 
 
 But thou saidst, ' With Excitements so rousing before me, 
 I glow with new life, and defy all her bands !' 
 
 'Twas a Sacrifice vast ! — But thou knewest who told thee, 
 ' The gold and the silver already were His !' 
 
 The claim thou allowedst, nor daredst withhold thee ; 
 What Conscience made duty — the Heart owned a bliss. 
 
 'Twas a Sacrifice vast ! — But thou knewest who bought thee — 
 Had given—' not gold — but His blood' for thy soul ! 
 
 Who in Death's dreadful mazes had pitied and sought thee— \ 
 And thou saidst, — ' Of my little possess thou the whole.'
 
 EXCITEMENTS. 
 
 " In their affliction they will seek me early." Hos. v. 15. 
 
 ' He will not come ; — he has forgot 
 His word, his promise, and his friend : 
 
 What shall I do ? He heeds me not, — 
 I dare not go — 'tis vain to send. 
 
 ' There — take a fire-brand in your hand, 
 And set yon barley field in flame : 
 
 Nay, pause not once ; 'tis my command — 
 Do at my bidding ; mine the blame.' 
 
 Thus Absalom to his servants said, — 
 
 And curling smoke in volumes rose ; 
 
 The field soon glowed, a fiery bed, 
 
 And red-hot flames the tale disclose. 
 h 3
 
 78 
 
 — ' Wherefore hast thou thus dealt with me ?* 
 
 Said angry Joab, red with ire; 
 What have I done to injure thee, 
 
 That thou hast set my field on fire ?' 
 
 ' Thou hast not injured/ he replies, 
 
 ' But (sent my messengers in vain,) 
 'Twas the last scheme I could devise 
 
 An interview with thee to gain.' 
 
 Conduct like this, we may discern 
 
 In the economy of grace ; 
 God says, ' Ye wanderers return, — 
 
 Ye straying children, seek my face :' 
 
 The World says, • Stay,' — false Friends say ' Stay,' 
 The Flesh—' A little longer wait,'— 
 
 Satan and Sin, enforce delay, 
 And drive the soul from Mercy's gate. 
 
 The World says, ' J thy friend will be, — 
 
 My riches, and my honours share ;' 
 The Flesh says, ' Much is due to me, — 
 
 I claim indulgence, — beg thy care.' 

 
 79 
 
 Satan and Sin, sly leagued with these. 
 
 Watch each their moment, — chain him tight j- 
 
 Then even dust and bubbles please, 
 And Flesh high revels in delight. 
 
 God sees the charm — ' Go, Death,' he cries, 
 ' And seize that wife — that husband dear : — 
 
 Go, Poverty, cut off supplies, 
 
 Scatter his dust, and bring him here. 
 
 ' Dissension — go, — I give command — 
 
 Break off the intercourse I hate : 
 Pain — Sickness — go, and hand in hand 
 
 Bring down the Flesh to Death's dark gate. 
 
 ' Spirit Divine ! those fetters break ; 
 
 And set my child from bondage free : 
 By Death, by Want, by Sickness speak — 
 
 Soon he'll repent, and run to me !' 
 
 Hail Love divine ! Whatever mode 
 Thou tak'st to lead the soul on high ; — 
 
 O bring me back, whatever the road 
 O let me not at distance die !
 
 THE WIDOW, AND HER BARREL AND CRUSE. 
 
 1 Kings xvii. a — 16. 
 
 Why that cast of bitter anguish, 
 
 Gleaming from yon mother's eye ? 
 — See her wasted infant languish — 
 
 That at once is full reply. 
 
 Famine stern its fang has fixed 
 
 On the widow and her child ; 
 Wretchedness is her's unmixed, 
 
 Sorrows helpless, lonely, wild. 
 
 See she rises — changed the wildness 
 
 Of the frantic eye-ball's glare, 
 Into all the morbid mildness, 
 
 Sullen calm of deep despair. 

 
 81 
 
 ' Ah ! one scanty handful only, 
 
 One small cruse, my stores supply — 
 
 Eat, my babe ! thy mother lonely 
 Joins the meal — and then we die !' 
 
 Thus despairingly she thought her, 
 When, behold Elijah stands ! 
 
 Does he bring her bread and water? 
 No. — And hear his strange demands- 
 
 ' Widow ! of thy morsel scanty, 
 Till the earth is blessed with rain, 
 
 Thou must still yield me a plenty : — 
 Widow ! thou must me sustain. 
 
 ' Sent by God, hoarse ravens fed me, 
 Streamlet clear my thirst supplied ; 
 
 Dried the brook, my Master bid me 
 Seek out thee — and he'll provide. 
 
 « — Nay, — let unbelief prevail not ; — 
 
 Till the fruitful showers descend, 
 Rest assured thy stores shall fail not ;- 
 Take a guest — and find a friend !'
 
 82 
 
 — Faith prevails — the meal she dresses ; 
 
 Feeds the Seer, o'erlooks the Son ; 
 Faith in action ever blesses; — 
 
 Still the board with plenty shone. 
 
 Nor the mealy barrel wasted, 
 Nor the oily cruse could fail, 
 
 Till their lips the vintage tasted, 
 And the Harvest crown'd the vale. 
 
 THE GRAND INQUIRY.* 
 
 ' Sage ! what is God ?' (was asked of old,) 
 ' 'Tis thine to tell, for thou art wise V 
 
 — ' E'er I my sentiments unfold, 
 Allow me time,' — the Sage replies. 
 
 * Composed after having heard the Rev. W. Marsh preach from 
 1 John iv. 8.
 
 83 
 
 ' Sage ! What is God ?' ' I ask more time ; 
 
 Much, much more space to think I crave : 
 To solve a query so sublime, 
 
 Demands all stretch of thought I have.' 
 
 ' Sage ! What is God ?' * I cannot tell ;— 
 Henceforth the question quite forego ; 
 
 Fain would the grand idea swell — 
 Yet, more I think the less I know.' 
 
 — Oh, what is God ? Ye laughing Vales, 
 And blushing Flowery Beauties, — say ! 
 
 Tell ye, what character prevails, — 
 ' Bounty and wisdom mark his way.' 
 
 Say what is God, ye Waves that roll 
 And toss your foaming front on high ; 
 
 Ye Thunders, that appal the soul, 
 
 Ye Flames that melt the trembling sky ! 
 
 Thou Sun, that sheddest life and light, 
 Ye Planets, sparkling in his train, 
 
 That deck with gems the brow of Night, — 
 Say, what is God ? the whole explain.
 
 84 
 
 — ' God is Power : — and broad as earth, 
 And deep as hell, his terrors shine ; 
 
 No tongue can set his glories forth, 
 
 No thought conceive his state sublime !' 
 
 — Ah ! add no more. The words ye speak 
 Overwhelm my guilty soul with fear : — 
 
 O whither, whither shall I seek, 
 And gain replies I dare to hear ? 
 
 — Say what is God, Immortal Word ! 
 
 Thou word of Truth ; inscribed above. — 
 ' Inquirer list ! and rest assured, 
 
 God, the Eternal God — is Love !' 
 
 — Oh let then ' dust and ashes' plead, — 
 It is but once, — and thou explain — 
 
 If God be Love, O why proceed 
 
 Such forms of wretchedness and pain > 
 
 Here Famine, armed with mildew, creeps, 
 And turns to waste the joyous plain ; 
 
 There, Death with whirlwind tempest sweeps, 
 And shipwrecked corses glut the main !
 
 85 
 
 Convulsion now, with horrid throe, 
 
 Bursts earth in thousand gaping graves ! 
 
 Then Pest'lence rears his Wasting brow, 
 
 And kills whom Famine, Earthquake, saves ! 
 
 There War, (cold murderer !) stops the breath- 
 Here, stolen, scourged, with fetters bound, 
 
 Afric's sad sons, urged on to Death, 
 
 Soak with their blood the thirsty ground ! 
 
 If God be Love, (forgive the doubt !) 
 ' Wherefore are men thus made in vain ?' 
 
 How comes such mass of woe about ? 
 — ' There stands the Foe — let Sin explain !' 
 
 ' 'Tis Sin that heaves the troubled deep, 
 'Tis Sin that arms the forked flame ; 
 
 'Tis Sin makes orphans, widows, weep, — 
 That tears the earth, that binds the chain. 
 
 • There's not a woe that man endures, 
 His heart can fear, his tongue can tell, 
 
 But Sin in all its length procures ; 
 Its dreadful aim, and sequel — Hell !'
 
 86 
 
 — Oh let yet ' dust and ashes ' speak — 
 Say why should Sin, if God be Love, 
 
 Be suffered to create such wreck, 
 And man such misery to prove P 
 
 ' Forbear ! Inquiry ceases here ; — 
 
 What thou canst not explain, — believe; — 
 
 Wait heaven's light to render clear 
 What earth forbids thee to perceive. 
 
 ' Then, thou shalt see that those dread claims. 
 
 Truth, Justice, Holiness, all meet; 
 Are not distinct, but only names 
 
 That merge in Love supremely great. 
 
 ' And even now, look round again, 
 Nor view the scene on darkest side ; 
 
 Thou'lt see that Mercy clothes the plain, 
 Plenty and beauty yet preside. 
 
 ' And though the angry torrents pour, 
 And though the lurid lightnings blaze ; 
 
 Mercy yet gives the genial shower, 
 Mercy yet sheds soft sunny rays.
 
 87 
 
 * — But canst thou of his love ask proof, 
 When thou art told he ' gave his Son ?' 
 
 For ever cease. — Here's proof enough — 
 Here, every proof unites in one !' 
 
 SEARCH FOR WISDOM. 
 
 ** Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that gelteth understanding." 
 
 Prov. iii. 13. 
 "But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding?" 
 
 Job xxviii. 12. 
 
 Ah, whence conieth Wisdom ? that treasure divine, 
 Tell, tell me the place where it lies ; 
 
 They say if I gain it, for ever are mine, 
 The glory and wealth of the skies. 
 
 To possess the vast prize my Soul all intent, 
 Shall range ample Nature's wide bound; 
 
 Nor deem a whole life in the search vainly spent, 
 If haply the blessing be found.
 
 88 
 
 — I first go to Riches, — ' Oh tell me dear gold, 
 Do you my grand object comprize ? 
 
 Or can you the portals of wisdom unfold, 
 And point where the happiness lies?' 
 
 ' No, indeed !' saith the gold — ' it is not in me, 
 Although I am solid and bright ; 
 
 And Topaz my neighbour will quickly agree, 
 We cannot e'en shine in its light.* 
 
 Nor could our strong powers united, attain 
 To open its wide-spreading doors ; 
 
 The very first effort, preposterously vain, 
 Would show 'tis no province of ours.' 
 
 — I glance at the circles of Sciencef and Art, 
 (The earth is too small for their ring,) 
 
 But find not an atom to solace my heart ; 
 Nor one certain tiding they bring. 
 
 * Job xxviii. 19. 
 
 f Rom. i. 21,22. 1 Cor. i. 21.
 
 89 
 
 ' Ye Caverns terrific ! *Thou wild-roaring Sea ! 
 
 Are your deep recesses its choice ?' 
 — ' I know not the object — it is not in me,' 
 
 Re-echoes at once your hoarse voice. 
 
 ' Ye enemies frightful, Destruction and Death ! 
 
 Hide ye the sought bliss in your arras ?' 
 ' Oh no !' ye reply, ' for our dart and our breath, 
 
 Would fail 'neath its glorious charms.' 
 
 I ask not the question of Pleasure and Fame, 
 (They know not the least of its springs :) 
 
 The one is a bubble, — a mere empty name, 
 The other a serpent with stings. 
 
 Adieu then to these — I will enter the cot, 
 Where ease crowns connubial bliss ; 
 
 ' Ye privileged pair, — earth's best boon is your lot- 
 True Wisdom's bright dwelling is this ?' 
 
 * Job xxviii. 14. 
 13
 
 90 
 
 ' It rests not by nature e'en h^-.' they reply, 
 ' But found and high-cherished with care, 
 
 No spot can exist beneath the blue sky 
 That proves it more heavenly fair. 
 
 ' Yet conjugal bliss, (though most freely confest) 
 
 The dearest of all earthly good, 
 Alone, is but empty ; — and fleeting at best, 
 
 It fails like the swift summer flood.' 
 
 — Where else shall I wander ? I've traversed the round 
 
 Of earth's acquisitions and hope ; 
 Nor yet the grand source of true Wisdom have found, 
 
 Its nature scarce known, or its scope. 
 
 — Hark ! hark ! there's a voice — it descends from above ! 
 My questions are all overheard ! 
 
 list ! 'tis the breathing of pity and love, — 
 The Saviour himself speaks the word ! 
 
 ' Poor sinner bewildered, and far gone astray, 
 Understanding and wisdom are mine ; 
 
 1 alone am their source, and I am the way, 
 
 In me all perfections combine.
 
 91 
 
 — 'And art thou in earnest, though ignorant thou, 
 
 Is Wisdom the choice of thy soul ? 
 Then give me thine heart, at my feet humbly bow, 
 
 And thine is the boon to the full. 
 
 1 And when I have brought thee through life's devious way, 
 
 No longer dark earth thine abode, 
 Thy soul shall expand in the region of day, 
 
 And taste the fruition of God.' 
 
 DIFFICULTIES REMOVED. 
 
 " And tlicy said among themselves, Who shall roll us away the stone from the door 
 of the sepulchre? And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: 
 for it was very great." Mark xvi. 3, 4.* 
 
 ' O 'tis a Stone immensely large, 
 
 How shall we get it rolled away ?' 
 Thus as they sought their mournful charge 
 
 The sorrowing Marys doubtful say. 
 
 * Composed after hearing a sermon from the above text by the 
 Rev. J. N. Goulty.
 
 92 
 
 They looked: behold no stone was nigh : — 
 'Twas rolled before the Almighty's hand; 
 
 Nor wonder this, — for mountains fly, 
 Or *melt to air at his command. 
 
 — Thus in this world of grief and sin, 
 
 (As anxious, mournfully I stray,) 
 How oft my aching eyes have seen 
 
 Some vast obstruction bar my way. 
 
 ' O this I never can break through — 
 This is the greatest, worst I've known : 
 
 It hides my last faint hope from view ; 
 O, who shall roll this mighty stone ?' 
 
 Thus have my unbelieving fears 
 
 Against all better thoughts prevailed ; 
 
 Thus have I wet my couch with tears, 
 
 And faith, and hope, and peace have failed. 
 
 I quite forgot who 'twas that died,f 
 
 The dreadful weight of sin to move : 
 I quite forgot whose love supplied 
 
 The care-free tenants of the grove,* 
 
 * Micah i. 4. + 1 Pet. ii. 24. % Matt. vi. 26.
 
 93 
 
 But though so doubting, wicked, vain, 
 My Saviour had not me forgot; 
 
 He kindly bade me ' look again ;' — 
 I did — behold, my griefs were not. 
 
 Touched by his hand, they shrunk to nought, 
 Or turned to blessings 'fore my eyes ; 
 
 Gone was the fear that 'whelm'd my thought, 
 Before me new and full supplies. 
 
 'Tis thus the weary Traveller sees 
 
 Huge hills in prospect check his way ; 
 
 And, worn with toil, and courting ease, 
 He dreads ascent, — yet fears delay. 
 
 But what in prospect seems so vast, 
 
 Recedes, as farther on he goes ; 
 He mounts the hill, and troubles past 
 
 Are lost in charms its views disclose.
 
 WHAT IS YOUR LIFE? 
 
 James iv. 14. 
 
 Like the ' Ships' which skim the ocean, 
 Like the ' Floods' that sweep along, 
 
 Like the « Posts' in constant motion, 
 Like a ' Dream,' a < Tale,' a ' Sons- •'- 
 
 Like the luring subtle 7 Vapour,' 
 
 Shining, vanishing away ; 
 Like the self-consuming ' Taper,' 
 
 Like a clouded winter's day : 
 
 Like the ' Shuttle,' swiftly flying, 
 Scarcely seen e'er lost and gone ; 
 
 Like the ' Flower,' blooming, dying, 
 Fresh in morn, cut down at noon :—
 
 95 
 
 Like. the ' Leaf of autumn, fading, 
 Like the scythe-devoted ' Grass/ 
 
 Like the ' Shade/ your touch evading-, 
 Like when hurrying 'Strangers' pass : — 
 
 Like the ' Breadth' your hand may cover, 
 Stretch it wide, 'tis yet a ' Span ;' — 
 
 Rapid, vain, and quickly over, 
 Are the joys and life of Man. 
 
 Man is gone ! But say O whither ? 
 
 Is his home the dreary tomb ? 
 Has he sailed life's sea for ever ? 
 
 No more may the flowers bloom ? 
 
 Must the flood be ever sweeping ? 
 
 Nor the stranger stay awhile ? 
 Must the shade and vapour fleeting, 
 
 Lure, for ever, and beguile ? 
 
 Must the tale so quickly ended, 
 
 Never, never be resumed ? 
 Must the span be ne'er extended ? 
 
 Nor the clouded day illumed ?
 
 96 
 
 Yes, — the glowing sun-beam strengthened, 
 Shall create a shadeless plain ; 
 
 And the span immensely lengthened, 
 Grasp Eternity's domain. 
 
 Yes, the billows soon expended, 
 
 Wreck and death no more shall roll, 
 
 Yes, true light and substance blended, 
 Ever shall engross the soul. 
 
 Yes, the leaf, the grass, the flowers, 
 Yet shall flourish, yet shall bloom ; 
 
 Yes, celestial living bowers, 
 Supersede the gloomy tomb. 
 
 Yes, there is an ocean soundless, 
 Where the wanderer sails again ; 
 
 Yes, there is a country boundless, 
 Where the stranger shall remain : — 
 
 — Where the long impassioned story 
 Never ends, whatever the theme ; 
 
 And a day of shame or glory 
 Ever banishes the Dream.
 
 TO TIME 
 
 January 1st. 1824. 
 
 Impatient Time ! thou marchest on, 
 
 With an extended stride ; 
 And Death, the monster, glides along, 
 
 Instinctive at thy side. 
 
 Thou sweep'st away the circling years, 
 
 The joys, the life, of man ; 
 Unmoved by flatteries, prayers, or tears, 
 
 To lengthen out his span. 
 
 The chains that Friendship's heart involve, 
 
 The silken bonds of Love, 
 Touched as thou passest, clean dissolve, 
 
 Like empty visions prove ! 
 
 K
 
 98 
 
 The Messenger of holy truth ; 
 
 And Learning, Strength, and Mind ; 
 Soft-smiling Infancy, and Youth, 
 
 To Death hast thou consigned ! 
 
 Yes, since the last revolving year, 
 Urged on by thee, they've fled ; 
 
 Pushed from their living earthly sphere, 
 To regions of the dead ! 
 
 O ! stay thy steps, impatient Time ! 
 Thy darts, thou Monster, sheathe : — 
 
 Permit the vision yet to shine- 
 Permit frail man to live. 
 
 — Ye will not hear — the scythe, the dart, 
 
 E'en now are lifted high : — 
 Ye cruel foes ! then pierce the heart, — 
 
 Behold your victims die ! 
 
 — ' Complainer cease — rash words forbear,' 
 
 (Methinks I hear you say,) 
 ' Destroy we joys P Man's woe and care, 
 
 We also sweep away.
 
 99 
 
 ' Hath not on thee the hand of Time 
 
 Its soothing blessings shed ? 
 Hast thou not seen, with rays sublime, 
 
 Death gild the dying bed ? 
 
 * What though we pierce warm Friendship's breast, 
 
 Break Love's soft bands so kind ; 
 Dismiss the Labourer to his rest, 
 
 And veil in shades the Mind ? — 
 
 ' The best of ties we closer knit, — 
 
 We bring the Master's joy; 
 Where all is Mind, at once admit, 
 
 Nor can one shade annoy. 
 
 ' And though the blushing Flower we blast, 
 
 And nip the half-formed bud ; — 
 They are not laid for ever waste — 
 
 They yet may bloom with God. 
 
 •' Then cease thy murmurs, — seize the hope 
 
 Set plain before thine eyes ; 
 So Time's swift step, and Death's sharp stroke, 
 
 Shall haste thee to the skies.'
 
 THE GUM-CISTUS* 
 
 I saw the sweet flower — it shone bright like a star, 
 And I grasped it, and said I would carry it home ; 
 
 But the words scarce escaped nie, nor had I gone far, 
 Ere its fragile leaves dropp'd — 'twas no longer my own '. 
 
 Then I thought of the joys that so many embrace ; — 
 They most eagerly grasp, — but while grasping they fly ; 
 
 Then I glanced at the cares which beset life's vain race, — 
 And I said, ' Like the flowers these also shall die.' 
 
 And I thought how I'd seen infant-innocence smile, 
 
 And the beauteous Youth in young spring's gayest bloom ; 
 
 How I'd said, ' These shall grace the fan garden awhile' — 
 And had looked — but the winds softly sighed o'er their 
 Tomb ! 
 
 * A peculiarly transient though very beautiful flower.
 
 101 
 
 Then I thought of a garden, ' in land afar off,' 
 Beyond the cold tomb, where, in glories array'd, 
 
 Blooms in verdure immortal, resplendent and soft, 
 Each fair ' tree of righteousness,' never to fade. 
 \ 
 
 There the sweet ' Rose of Sharon,' that ' plant of renown,' 
 In its own native splendour and graces is found ; 
 
 'Tis of Paradise flowers the beauty and crown, 
 And it sheds life and fragrance eternally round. 
 
 TO THE VIOLET 
 
 THAT APPEARED IN MY GARDEN IN DECEMBER, 1821. 
 
 Little, blushing, modest flower, 
 
 Thou art come in evil hour ; 
 
 Treacherous suns their beamings shed, 
 
 Lured thee from thy humble bed : 
 
 But, alas ! the wintry storm, 
 
 Waits thy beauties to deform. 
 k3
 
 102 
 
 Come then, my companion be, 
 Spend thy little life with me : 
 Warmth and shelter in my room, 
 Thou shalt pay for with perfume ; 
 And thy presence shall impart, 
 Useful lessons to my heart. 
 
 Ah ! On man the morning beams 
 Often shed their faithless gleams. 
 Then, mid sunny paths, does he 
 Unsuspecting change, like thee 
 Dance along with heartfelt glee. 
 But, alas ! though rays illume 
 Every step, and sweets perfume ; 
 Mists and storms, (a sad reverse,) 
 Those will dim, and these disperse. 
 
 True, the cloud may sometimes shed 
 Genial showers on his head ; 
 Yet more oft, with deluge force, 
 Drowning torrents 'whelm his course. 
 Then for shelter in a home, 
 Where the tempest cannot come. 
 
 Shelter ! echoes Mercy's voice, 
 Come, partake it, and rejoice.
 
 103 
 
 See that Cross, and, 'neath its shade, 
 Let thy peaceful home be made : 
 There no raging torrents come, 
 There no tempest can be known. 
 
 But, should darkness mar thy way, 
 Wait thee there, 'twill soon be day : 
 Still, should distant thunders roar, 
 Stay thee there, the danger's o'er : 
 And the storms that round thee beat, 
 Shall only make the rest more sweet. 
 
 THE EARLY ROSE. 
 
 'Mid those rude wintry winds, and cold chilling showers 
 That often encroach on young Spring's early reign, 
 
 Bloom'd an elegant Rose — the fairest of flowers 
 That ever had blushed on the well-cultured plain.
 
 104 
 
 Some warm sunny beamings had poured on its bed 
 Their life-giving power, and allured it to day ; 
 
 And when the harsh winds and cold rains bowed its head, 
 They seemed but to perfect the work of the ray. 
 
 I said to myself, ' Learn a lesson from hence : — 
 As passing life's vale, when bleak tempests deform, 
 
 Remember — rough winds may soft beauties dispense, — 
 E'en Sharon's own rose was matured by the storm.* 
 
 THE SISTER ROSES. 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 As neat a parterre as by eye was e'er seen, 
 Two Roses adorned with their bloom ; 
 
 Their damask and pink were rich shaded with green, 
 And each breathed the sweetest perfume. 
 
 * Heb. ii. 10.
 
 105 
 
 They both were quite young. If I recollect right, 
 They were born in the late part of May ; 
 
 But their opening beauties attracted the sight, 
 And admirers gained every day. 
 
 The Damask, most shewy, the most of these had, 
 Nor wonder — to gain them she strove ; 
 
 Deep ruby her lips, and most splendidly clad, 
 Each coxcomb professed his warm love. 
 
 No butterfly skimmed the gay meadows around, 
 (The coxcomb of field and parterre,) 
 
 But boasted that he her soft friendship had found- 
 Accepted his services were. 
 
 But tliis was a fib — a mere flourish of his — 
 
 In truth, she a coxcomb despised ; 
 'Twas vanity swayed her ; and, trifling like this, 
 
 Was sure to be keenly reprised. 
 
 And to tell you her fate, I now hasten on — 
 
 She trifled, and fluted, and sighed, 
 Till age stole her beauty — then, lovers all gone, 
 
 Neglected, unpitied, she died !
 
 106 
 
 Her deep-blushing honours were spread on the ground, 
 
 Beneath e'en the foot of the clown ; 
 No single perfume was exhaled around, 
 
 Ah, no ! she was quite trodden down. 
 
 O piteous sight! that a Rose sweet as she 
 
 Should meet so dishonoured an end ; 
 Sure glaringly numerous her failings must be, 
 
 To forfeit her every friend. 
 
 ' Friend !' Use not the term j the low butterfly tribe, 
 That swarm round the wealthy and gay, 
 
 Appellation so high must never describe ; 
 They're insects, the brood of a day. 
 
 And woe, woe to the Rose, whatever her name, 
 
 Encouraging suitors like these ; 
 They mar her best prospects, they sully her fame, 
 
 And leave her the sport of the breeze. 
 
 But my tale is not o'er, though near to its close, 
 
 (Remember our life's like a tale ;) 
 The course I must tell of our pink-blushing friend, 
 
 The sister of Damask the frail.
 
 107 
 
 Well, she too had beaux ; even coxcombs would come, 
 
 And tell their impertinent strain ; 
 But petals contracting, contemptuously dumb, 
 
 She soon let them see 'twas in vain. 
 
 But a smiling young Zeph, who once roved that way, 
 
 Admired, and stole a sly kiss ; 
 She yielded her heart — and to life's latest day 
 
 It was true — and she also had his. 
 
 Soon clustering groups of young rose-buds appeared, 
 
 Expanding beneath her warm shade : 
 She lived till the most, to maturity reared, 
 
 Her fostering care well repaid. 
 
 But she also faded, (for worth too must die,) 
 
 Yet gathered her petals with care, 
 Entombed in fine muslins preserved they lie, 
 
 And still yield perfume for the fair. 
 
 Whene'er the op'd drawers their treasures disclose, 
 
 Reflecting Maria, hard by, 
 Surveys the remains of her beautiful rose, 
 
 And offers her tribute — a sigh.
 
 108 
 
 And when o'er the garden kind Zephyrus roams, 
 
 (Aerial being is he,) 
 His rose he regrets, and his whispering moans 
 
 Are responded by every tree. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 ON HER INTENDED MARRIAGE. 
 
 I write as a friend — and, if utterance were mine, 
 Sufficient my bosom's wide thought to unfold, 
 
 What a glow of affection would warm every line, 
 What struggling ideas would freely be told. 
 
 I should tell you of visions tall, lovely, and bright, 
 By Hope gaily painted, which once flit to view ; 
 
 Then, alas ! I should add, how like dreams of the night, 
 Dissolved by the morning the phantoms all flew.
 
 109 
 
 I should hint at endearments exalted, refined, 
 And at softened but multiplied cares that await 
 
 The union blessed, where religion and mind 
 
 Beam effulgence their own on the conjugal state. 
 
 Yet still, to experience and fact to be true, 
 
 I should talk of deep shadows that sometimes attend : 
 
 If the garden yield roses, the thorns are there too, 
 And a sepulchre* always is found at the end. 
 
 But there I'd restrain me, (although 'twere a theme 
 Congenial, abiding, deep fixed in my breast ;) 
 
 And tell how, (from Glory shot down,) I have seen 
 A most luminous ray on the sepulchre rest. 
 
 I should speak too of parting ; — and fully explain 
 Those hidden emotions which oft heave my heart, 
 
 As I say to a friend, ' We shall ne'er meet again — 
 
 Till the last trumpet sounds on this earth we must part.' 
 
 - 
 
 But as most of these feelings I cannot express, 
 I turn them to wishes, and vent them in prayer : 
 
 May the sanction of Heaven your union bless, 
 
 Earth yield her best gifts, but your treasure be there. 
 
 ♦John xix. 41. 
 
 L
 
 110 
 
 May the journey of life prove long and serene, 
 
 Your soul ne'er discouraged by storms in the way ; 
 
 May Hope's beauteous visions at all times be seen, 
 Nor fade till absorbed in Reality's day. 
 
 And, referring my thought to a famed marriage feast, 
 Where cold heartless water blushed into bright wine 
 
 At the presence of One who sat down as a guest, 
 I most cordially wish that kind Gue9t may be thine. 
 
 And when widely between us dark sea-billows roll, 
 Nor again on this earth may we meet eye to eye, 
 
 Let us each seek that Throne, ('tis the centre of soul,) 
 Where we still may commune, if our spirits draw nigh. 
 
 Then, adieu! — May your path, like the mild-dawning light, 
 
 Shine with lustre increased till you reach perfect day ; 
 May the garden's fresh roses nor wither nor blight, 
 May the thorns, in rich foliage, sink from the sight, 
 And the cave be illumined with Glory's best ray.
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 ON HER BIRTH DAY. 
 
 You ask a song, my much-loved Friend, 
 
 To celebrate your natal day ; 
 O, would the flighty Muse attend, 
 Her all-inspiring powers lend, 
 
 How loud, how sweet, should be the lay. 
 The tuneful notes should pour along, 
 In melodies as wild and strong-, 
 As ever flowed from mortal tongue. 
 
 But O ! a being, frail, unkind, 
 
 The Muse recedes when courted most ; 
 And, like her sister Fortune, blind, 
 Bestows her favours where the mind 
 Already does her numbers boast. 
 Well, I will leave the haughty dame, 
 And in my turn her help disdain, — 
 My only Muse shall be my Theme.
 
 112 
 
 Not like the Patriarch of old, 
 
 ('Tis tenclerest pity names his sin,) 
 
 Who, as he saw life's path unfold, 
 
 Cursed the first hour that did behold 
 Its hated beams break forth on him ; — 
 
 Will I in groaning notes complain, 
 
 And sing of misery and pain, 
 
 O no ! — such tones would spoil my strain. 
 
 Nor yet shall the insidious air 
 
 That artful flattery employs, 
 Take place of sounds of woe and care, 
 And fill the eager heart and ear 
 
 With fulsome empty treacherous joys : 
 Ah no ! To sing my Friend's own day, 
 No studied forms I can display, 
 The heart alone must prompt the way. 
 
 Hail lovely clay ! When thou didst pour 
 On thronging new-born souls thy ray ; 
 Among the group that owned thy hour, 
 For me thou didst preserve in store 
 
 A Friend to cheer my future way : 
 And while on many an infant head 
 The dews of death thy evening shed, 
 On Her's the light of Heaven was spread.
 
 113 
 
 'Twas when dense shadows from the tomb* 
 
 Did all my lengthening path pervade, 
 And filled each avenue with gloom, — 
 With glowing light I saw her come, 
 
 And pour its beams across the shade. 
 The torch she lit at Heaven's shrine, 
 And, as it burnt with flames divine, 
 Waved it in each dark path of mine. 
 
 Mercy had said, ' Go, shed the light 
 
 That turned thine own dark night to day, 
 
 Before that mourner's failing sight, — 
 
 Shew It in all its lustre bright, 
 
 And be her Friend throughout the way.' 
 
 I saw the ray, I felt the claim, 
 
 Rejoiced to own the tender name, 
 
 And hailed its heaven-wrought golden chain. 
 
 Hail, lovely day ! For though a cloud 
 Quickly arose, and dimmed thy brow ; 
 
 Yet to those climes where, sparkling crowd 
 
 Effulgencies beyond a shroud, 
 The happy, happy prelude, thou. 
 
 * The friendship commenced in a season of affliction. 
 
 l3
 
 114 
 
 Yes, bliss to know of purest form, 
 Goodness decreed she should be born. 
 And fixed thee the genial morn. 
 
 6 Blest be the day that brought me forth, 
 Kind entrance gate to life 'twas given ; 
 
 Blest be the day I quit the earth, 
 
 Death is a nobler higher birth, 
 
 The grand admittance-door to heaven/ 
 
 Expiring in seraphic flame, 
 
 Thus did the youthful saint* exclaim, 
 
 And gave to dust his mortal frame. 
 
 And when my Friend's revolving years 
 
 Have rolled along each natal day, 
 Till her concluding hour appears, 
 Then ripe for Heaven, devoid of fears, 
 
 O, thus may she exulting say ! 
 Mount the bright car that waiting stands. 
 And guarded, led, by angel-bands, 
 Soar up to Glory's highest lands ! 
 
 t 
 
 * Janeway.
 
 115 
 
 Thus earnest does my spirit sing- — 
 But ere the simple strain she close, 
 
 O, she must strike a louder string-, 
 
 A far superior tribute bring, 
 
 For she the noblest Advent knows. 
 
 The King of Heaven, of high renown, 
 
 From Glory's circles hastened down ; 
 
 He, to be born, forsook his Crown. 
 
 But for this overflowing grace, 
 (So abject man, and sunk in sin,) 
 
 The Patriarch's moans would well have place, 
 
 And weeping so become our race, 
 That hope and joy could ne'er begin. 
 
 Hail, Mighty Prince ! Thy birth alone 
 
 Presents us cause to hail our own, 
 
 From Thee its happiest prospects come. 
 
 O, when these changing scenes are o'er, 
 When seasons, times, return no more ; 
 
 Before His Face may we, my Friend, 
 With those dear kindred gone before, 
 Unite His Mercy to adore, 
 
 And sing that song which ne'er shall end !
 
 116 
 
 The birth of our High ' Prince of Peace,' 
 Our own, — of nature and of grace, — 
 Shall then our well-tuned voices raise 
 To loudest hymns of boundless praise. 
 
 THE FACE AN INDEX TO THE HEART. 
 
 Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick? this is nothing else but 
 sorrow of heart." Is'eh. ii. 2.* 
 
 Ah ! why so dejected, so gloomy to day ? 
 
 No symptoms of sickness thy features impart ; 
 This cloud on thy countenance can but betray 
 
 Some deep hidden sorrow, that broods in thy heart. 
 
 Like the hand of the Timepiece, that points out the hour, 
 The Index that shews the contents of the Book, 
 
 So plainly, so quickly, so certainly sure, 
 
 The state of thy mind is betrayed by thy look. 
 
 * Composed after hearing a sermon from the above text by the 
 Rev. J. S. Watson, Reading.
 
 117 
 
 But why art thou sad ? As the writing that stole 
 With sentence of death to the monarch's gay breast, 
 
 Has God's piercing- Word, on thy terrified soul, 
 The deep lines of Judgment in silence imprest ? 
 
 Or, viewing the high and bright regions of day, 
 Transported thy soul with the prospect so fair, 
 
 Dost sigh o'er the roughness and length of the way, 
 And, discouraged, fear thou shalt never get there ? 
 
 Ah ! why art thou sad ? Does the enemy pour 
 A flood of temptations to deluge thy road, 
 
 And poison-dipt arrows so lavishly shower, 
 As deeply to hide all the shillings of God ? 
 
 Or, is it thy grief that loved Zion does mourn, 
 Departed her beauty, her soul drenched with gall, 
 
 Her walls broken down, and her face filled with scorn, — 
 Does this overwhelm thee, thy spirits enthral ? 
 
 Ah ! why art thou sad ? Has grim Death, ruthless, torn 
 Thine eye's dear delights from its much doting view ? 
 
 A Widow, or Childless, or Orphan forlorn, 
 
 Sobbest thou o'er their clay a convulsive adieu ?
 
 118 
 
 Ah ! why art thou sad ? Does thy Friend faithless prove ? 
 
 Is thine a vast pressure of heart-writhing care, 
 And, thinking no power the weight can remove, 
 
 Yields up thy poor soul a lorn prey to despair ? 
 
 Whichever of these sorrows corrodes thy torn breast, 
 (Nay should all their anguish together combine,) 
 
 There's balm for each wound, from each burden a rest, 
 And thy heart aches may cease, thy countenance shine. 
 
 If writ in thy bosom conviction's hard lines, 
 
 Though painful to read, 'tis the way to be wise ; 
 
 If Zion-ward still thy sad face but inclines, 
 
 Forget the rough path, thou shalt rest in the skies. 
 
 And though the dread Enemy blasphemies roll, 
 His fiery darts fly broad-gleaming around ; 
 
 A standard is raised for thy terrified soul, 
 
 Nor there can one dart or one billow gain ground. 
 
 If Zion's paths languish, deserted her gates, 
 
 Her lovers and friends shall most surely return ; 
 
 Shall wide stretch her curtains, and lengthen her stakes, 
 Rebuild her fall'n walls, and forbid her to mourn.
 
 119 
 
 And weepest thou ? — weep thee in hope for thy dead, 
 Soft slumb'ring in Jesus they sweetly recline ; 
 
 And, raised at his word from their dark dusty bed, 
 Shall soon glow with life, and with splendours divine. 
 
 But faithless thy Friend ? A most True One is near, 
 (Than brother's affection more close is the tie;) 
 
 Whatever thy burden, on Him cast thy care, 
 He careth for thee, and thy wants will supply. 
 
 Thy way he foreknew, and, impelled by his love, 
 From regions of glory fast hastened him down ; 
 
 Determined thy anguish and guilt to remove, 
 Thy sicknesses bore, made thy sorrows his own. 
 
 Then cheer up thy heart and chase care from thy brow 
 Dismissing thy sadness, arise thee and shine : 
 
 Thou lov'st his salvation, then now, even now, 
 His Promise, Himself, and His Glory, are thine.
 
 THE FACE NOT ALAVAYS AN INDEX TO THE HEART. 
 
 " Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful." Trov. siv. 13. 
 
 Not always does the human face 
 
 Unerring tidings bring ; 
 Nor tell at once what scenes take place 
 
 Amid the world within. 
 Although 'tis true the look that lours, 
 That freezes, petrifies, and sours, 
 Shews characters that plain impart 
 Acidity and frost of heart. 
 
 But features offer where each trace 
 
 Bespeaks a blank of mind ; 
 While yet alas ! the heart gives place 
 
 To vice of vilest kind. 
 There sits Revenge in horrid mood, 
 And courts cold Murder wrapped in blood ; 
 Pale Envy, Pride, and Hate are there, 
 And sullen, lowering, black Despair.
 
 121 
 
 And often when the artful smile 
 
 Shines like a summer sky, 
 It plays on purpose to beguile 
 
 The keen observer's eye. 
 It gilds pale Sorrow's ebon throne, 
 And ' stifles' with a laugh her groan. 
 A heart, the torturing vulture's prey, 
 Is hid beneath the ' visage gay.' 
 
 Old Ocean ripples on the shore, 
 
 The tempest just at hand ; 
 The breezes, ere the thunders roar, 
 
 Blow softly through the land. 
 The sullen calms o'er Nature creep, 
 Till soft as eve she seems to sleep ; 
 But 'tis the treacherous earthquake's breath 
 That lulls her — and she wakes in death. 
 
 E'en thus the visage often shines 
 
 Beneath 's a viper's smart : 
 And oft are read its fairest lines 
 
 While sorrow stamps the heart. 
 The smiles that, false, the face adorn 
 Precede the burst of mental storm ; 
 The apathy that clothes the brow 
 Hides the convulsive throbs below. 
 
 M
 
 122 
 
 Then trust not to the looks that shine. 
 
 Nor trust the lively mood; 
 The woes which in that heart combine. 
 
 Forbid you to intrude. 
 Yet as you watch the beaming eye, 
 Should you a vagrant tear espy, 
 Its wanderings stay with gentlest love, 
 Or, quite unnoticed, let it rove. 
 
 Oh, rudely not its course detect, 
 
 But screen it from the view ; 
 ' Sorrow is sacred/ — marked respect 
 
 And tenderness its due. 
 If these no confidence can gain, 
 Nor dare the quivering lips explain, 
 Then, hid within its covert-breast, 
 Let the sad cause for ever rest. 
 
 But having sung of cares and woes 
 That mortal breasts endure ; 
 
 My simple strain I dare not close, 
 Till I have shewn the cure. 
 
 I point to Jesus. His the part 
 
 To heal the sorrows of the heart ;
 
 123 
 
 To find for every wound a balm, 
 For every storm a heaven-made calm; 
 And, with his own resplendent ray, 
 To make the saddest bosom gay. 
 
 WITNESSES TO THE DIGNITY AND GLORY OF 
 THE SAVIOUR. 
 
 Behold the eastern skies ! They wear a glow 
 That lights with splendour evening's clouded brow, 
 And spreads morn's rosy blush on her pale cheek. 
 What tokens it ? Ye Sages famed, that know 
 Each strange phenomenon the heavens show, 
 If ye ihis cause can fathom, quickly speak. 
 
 ' A Star emerges — a mysterious star, 
 Such as our dazzled eye ne'er saw before ; 
 It moves — and gliding radiant through the air, 
 We watch its course and follow. Ask no more.'
 
 124 
 
 Ye sweeping winds ! whose fierce tremendous blast 
 Has rudely torn to splinters yon tall mast, 
 And filled the mariners with wild dismay : 
 Ye maddened billows ! who, without remorse, 
 Engulph with greediness each fated corse 
 The roaring hurricane has made your prey ; 
 I see at once your boisterous tumults cease, 
 And soft as zephyrs breathe I hear you sigh; 
 I see the raging billows sleep in peace, 
 And challenge your strange reasons and reply. 
 
 Earth ! 'twas but now I felt thy centre shake, 
 
 ' Exceedingly 5 I saw thee ' fear and quake ;' 
 
 Thy consternation's fearful cause explain. 
 
 Sun ! thou wast clad in black. Thy beamy light 
 
 In shadows premature gave place to night, 
 
 And twinkling stars came out to view thy shame ! 
 
 Finny inhabitants of yon vast tide ! 
 Ye saw the snare so fatal to your tribe, 
 And kept aloof — not one small straggler caught. 
 But now, as anxious the first place to get, 
 Headlong in shoals ye rush into the net. 
 And One, who mid the ample watery waste, 
 Within ' his mouth' a silver piece had took, 
 Gliding through trackless paths with rapid haste,
 
 125 
 
 Has given himself and it to Peter's hook. 
 
 O ! wonders these that 'whelm my labouring thought. 
 
 Disease ! (I know thee by thy livid face, 
 Where horrors blend of every ghastly hue ;) 
 Stationed for years in yonder public place, 
 How cam' st thou now to vanish from the view ? 
 
 Insatiate Monster ! whose wide-gaping jaws 
 
 Devoured huge myriads without a pause, 
 
 Nor left a particle but sordid dust ; 
 
 For once thy troubled bowels heaved with pain, 
 
 And many saints, by death consigned to thee, 
 
 Thou didst disgorge in fits of agony. 
 
 * Delivered from thy hand,'* to life they burst, 
 
 Nor could thine open throat its prey regain. 
 
 Spirits of darkness ! Cruel, foul, and fell ! 
 Why spread your dragon wings in so much haste ? 
 Ye hear a stranger speak — and down to hell 
 Abashed, its gloomy paths ye quick retrace. 
 
 * Psalm lxxxix. 49. 
 M 3
 
 126 
 
 Angels of day ! What means your eager flight 
 From yon bright realms of holiness and light, 
 To such a dreary mean abode as ours ? 
 Laden with fruits of heaven I saw you come, 
 And enter that wild desert's awful gloom : 
 Around that grave I saw you vigils keep ; 
 Say, in that garden did I see you weep ? 
 
 no ! you could not weep were you inclined ; 
 But in yon fields, among those rustic swains, 
 
 1 surely heard you sing. The heavenly strains 
 That echoed there surpassed all mortal powers. 
 O ! tell the subject of your rapturous song, 
 And still, if possible, its notes prolong. 
 
 Yes, tell the mystery that enwraps the whole, 
 No longer in suspense involve my soul ; 
 Your strange, unhallowed silence no more keep. 
 Stars, and grave sages, winds, and stormy seas, 
 Earth, sun, devouring grave, deformed disease, 
 Ye mute, but numerous tenants of the deep, 
 Infernal dwellers of the caves of night, 
 And ye bright inmates of the world of light ! 
 With anxious hope I call on each by name ; 
 My wondering soul conjures you to explain. 
 — 'And do you my demands and hopes obey ? 
 Speak 1 for I listen to each word you say.
 
 127 
 
 STAR. 
 
 ' Sawest thou my glory in my native east? 
 Joyful I travelled ; for, in yon abode, 
 A lovely infant on a virgin's breast 
 Called me to witness he was Son of God.' 
 
 SAGES. 
 
 ' To Judah's favoured climes, though strange and far, 
 
 We followed close the splendid mystic star, 
 
 Till o'er a humble stable fixed it stood; 
 
 Within these walls a birth had taken place ; 
 
 And O ! the beams of glory and of grace 
 
 That circling wreathed around the ' young child's ' face, 
 
 So charmed our eye, and warmed our wondering breast, 
 
 We fell upon our knees, and loud confessed 
 
 The ' Holy Thing' there ' born' — the Son of God. 
 
 And ' gold, and myrrh, and frankincense' most sweet, 
 
 We humbly offered at the infant's feet.' 
 
 WINDS AND SEAS. 
 
 * Did our united rage with terrors chill, 
 Except one Passenger, each soul on board ?_ 
 That Passenger arose and said, " Be still !" 
 And struck with awe we owned the Son of God !'
 
 12S 
 
 EARTH. 
 
 ' Thou sawest me to my centre shake with fear ; 
 Markedst thou not what dreadful sights were near- 
 Daring- exhibited on yon high road ? 
 A bleeding Sufferer in his dying hour 
 Astounded with his cry my every power ; 
 And lo ! I recognized the Son of God !' 
 
 SCN. 
 
 ' True, I was clothed in mourning — not with shame, 
 That falls alone on man's presumptuous name ; — 
 The views that so dismayed the trembling earth 
 Filled me with horror, and I hid my face ; 
 Nor dared I for some hours behold the place, 
 Or murderous hands that gave such scenes a birth. 
 The host of twinkling stars that missed my beam 
 Peeped in mute wonder at the awful scene. 
 Had the first Seraph tumbled from his throne 
 (Lofty and bright) ten thousand fathoms down, 
 His fall unheeded, I had kept my way ; 
 But He, whose mighty cry so spread abroad, 
 I bear full witness, was the Son of God ! 
 He made the Seraph — kindled every ray 
 With which at His command I bless the day.
 
 129 
 
 FISHES. 
 
 ' Among such clouds of witnesses sublime, 
 
 Will ye permit our humble name to shine ? 
 
 When on the bosom of our native flood, 
 
 Throughout the weary day and live-long night 
 
 We saw the fishers toil with all their might, 
 
 Their artful meshy snare we well withstood ; 
 
 But when a voice commanded us to go, 
 
 And fill the net before so cautious shunned, 
 
 Most quickly we obeyed the call — for lo ! 
 
 It was the Son of God ! And we his power owned. 
 
 While in Capernaum's busy crowded street 
 
 His eye surveyed the abysses of the deep ; 
 
 The swallowed piece he saw, and gave command 
 
 To have it borne to waiting Peter's hand.' 
 
 DISEASE. 
 
 ' I saw a traveller pass — he bid me hie 
 
 That moment yield to Health and Ease my place ! 
 
 O ! 'twas the Son of God that passed by, 
 
 And I bear record of his power and grace.' 
 
 GRAVE. 
 
 Through long, long series of revolving years, 
 Stranger alike to pain, restraint, or fears.
 
 130 
 
 Richly I fed, nor ever said " enough." 
 
 But O ! one morning on rny dreary verge 
 
 A voice loud echoed, " Lazarus emerge !" 
 
 And my torn bosom with convulsion heaved, 
 
 No longer able Lazarus to retain, 
 
 Quickly I yielded him to life again ; 
 
 And of His power who the loud mandate breathed, 
 
 Gave the most ample, though extorted proof. 
 
 But ere a few months gone, my destined prey, 
 
 Behold! in my dark cell a captive lay; 
 
 He whose dread voice had so disturbed my peace : 
 
 Within the precincts of my drear abode 
 
 I tried to fasten him beyond release, 
 
 But found " it was not possible that He" 
 
 Should for a length of time be held by me ; 
 
 My bars and bonds He burst — self-raised and free ! 
 
 " And many bodies of the saints arose" 
 
 To grace his triumph, nor dared I oppose ; 
 
 But silently confessed Him " Son of God !" ' 
 
 EVIL SPIRITS. 
 
 ' We saw a Personage whom we knew well, 
 He cast a frowning look, and said, " Begone \" 
 To 'scape his presence we rushed down to hell • 
 He was the Son of God— the " Holy One !"'
 
 131 
 
 HOLY AXGELS. 
 
 * What meant our eager flight? Why did we go 
 
 From Glory's realms to regions drear below ? 
 
 Recal the question ! Surely you must know ! 
 
 We followed our loved King — he left his throne, 
 
 Made for a time your wretched world his home. 
 
 We viewed him tempted, hungry and forlorn, 
 
 And ministered to him in yon dread shade ; 
 
 We saw him scourged, forsaken and betrayed, 
 
 Beheld his bands and feet with irons torn, 
 
 Heard his last cry that turned all nature pale, 
 
 And saw him in the dreary cavern laid ; 
 
 We watched his slumbers while entombed he lay, 
 
 And, pleased with the employment, " rolled away" 
 
 The ponderous stone that closed the cavern's mouth ; 
 
 Then saw him, clad in majesty, " come forth," 
 
 Illuming as he passed, Death's gloomy vale. 
 
 We brought his chariot-cloud, resplendent, bright, 
 
 And formed his escort to the world of light. 
 
 But ask you what high theme inspired our strains, 
 
 When notes celestial charmed old Bethlehem's plains ? 
 
 We sung a hymn in honour of his birth — 
 
 " Glory to God ;" the chorus, " peace to earth ;"
 
 132 
 
 And hark ! resounding from ten thousand tongues, 
 The echoing dome of Heaven the strain prolongs !' 
 
 Earth, heaven, and hell, sun, seas, and tempests bear 
 
 Exalted witness to the Saviour's name ; 
 
 Then shall not MAN the illustrious honour share, 
 
 And yet more loud His love and power proclaim ? 
 
 For man he left his glory and his throne, 
 
 " Nor did abhor the favoured virgin's womb ;" 
 
 Was in a stable, not a palace, born, 
 
 And groaned, and wept, and suffered want and scorn, 
 
 Despised, neglected, as an outcast driven ; 
 
 For man ' sweat drops of blood,' in pains unknown 
 
 ' Gave up the ghost,' and sought the-dreary tomb ; 
 
 And in his silver car triumphant borne, 
 
 ' Entered for man'* the pearly gates of heaven. 
 
 Then louder, sweeter, than Archangel lays, 
 
 Let the best powers of man resound his praise. 
 
 * Heb. vi. 20.
 
 VIEWS FROM THE HILL. 
 
 I ascended the Hill — 'Twas a fine autumn day, 
 And superb was the Landscape that stretched round me lay 
 The sweet Fields that so late wore a rich golden vest, 
 In long robes of grave brown (softly shaded) were drest. 
 
 And preparing for winter, the Woodlands were seen 
 Clad in well-suited garbs of the soberest green ; 
 Though a few of their party (coquets I suppose,) 
 Sported all shades of yellow, and dyes of the Rose. 
 
 The grand mansions of wealth proudly glittered to view, 
 Wretched poverty's huts thickly strewed were there too ; 
 Happy cots of mild peace, sacred temples of prayer, 
 And (frequented no less,) shrines of Bacchus stood there. 
 
 And old Thames rolled his silvery wealth-giving stream, 
 And the trafficking highway enlivened the scene ; 
 Slowly crept the sly brook (scarce discerned its still course,) 
 And the cataract wild, dashed with boisterous force. 
 
 N
 
 134 
 
 But myself placed on high, every object below 
 Seemed diminished in size, and diminished in glow : 
 Haughty Thames flowed a streamlet, near meeting each shore, 
 And died off from mine ear the mad cataract's roar. 
 
 All the pomp of proud riches,— the hurry and din 
 Close attendant on business, on pleasure, and sin, 
 Lured no longer mine eye, or distressed my tired ear, 
 For my soul seemed advanced to a happier sphere. 
 
 The bright concave of Heaven stretched over my head, 
 The vain world at my feet with its noise and parade ; 
 A sabbatical feeling pervaded my breast, 
 As I silently mused on the heavenly rest. 
 
 And thus happily met, in my wand'rings terrene, 
 In certain small tracks, I have travellers. seen, 
 Who esteem the gay world with its bustle and glare, 
 As a mere passing pageant, a glittering snare. 
 
 They reside on the Hill, but when « needs be' they go, 
 At stern duty's command, to the valley below ; 
 Its appearance (as viewed from their eminence blest,) 
 Has deterred them for ever from seeking its rest.
 
 1&5 
 
 Dwindled into a point, the low earth and its joys 
 Can no longer enchant, or disturb with their noise ; 
 E'en the broad flood of Jordan, so rough and so chill, 
 From their eminence viewed, seems no more than a rill. 
 
 Yes they dwell on the Hill— and mild sunshine of heaven 
 Illumines their morn, and their noon, and their even; 
 If a cloud for one moment surcharged should arise, 
 It is only designed to shed dews from the skies. 
 
 Yes they dwell on the Hill — they have now ' entered rest,' 
 And anticipate joys that were never exprest ; 
 And the breezes, the sunshine, the clouds, and the shou 
 Are preparing their souls for empyreal bowers. 
 
 It is said (and 'tis true,) they must yet seek the vale, 
 And encounter rough Jordan, and Death's stormy gale ; 
 But a Hand that is strong, the huge billows shall stay, 
 And a Love ever near, the wild tempest allay. 
 
 Then escorted by guards. more resplendent than gold. 
 
 In a car as sublime as Elijah's of old; 
 
 They shall trace the aerial starry-paved road, 
 
 And alight at their mansion, the ' Mountain of God.'
 
 DEATH UPON THE PALE HORSE :* 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Revelations vi. l — H. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Stranger! thou well art met ! Quick turn thy steps, 
 
 For lo ! a fierce Destroyer hastens on, 
 
 Than whom mine eyes a sight ne'er yet beheld, 
 
 So horrible ! I caught a single glance, 
 
 And straight the thousand springs that copious pour 
 
 Their purple current through my bounding veins, 
 
 Seemed almost choked at once! And had I not 
 
 Espied a friendly cleft in yon ' High Rock/ 
 
 And there concealed myself in shade sublime, 
 
 For me, the maddened Tyrant might have spared 
 
 His forked burning darts, — his very looks, 
 
 One moment more endured, had closely penned 
 
 * Composed after having seen West's Picture.
 
 137 
 
 The vital stream for ever, and had turned 
 (Like Gorgon-look of her whom Fable sings,) 
 My throbbing heart to cold unfeeling stone ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 My soul you harrow up ! but tell me, Friend, 
 Is the dread monster near, — is this is path J 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 I scarce can stay to tell : I must regain 
 My place of rest : and thither hasten thee : — 
 ' For life escape, nor cast one look behind ;' 
 Lest the effluvia from the horrid throng 
 Should curdle thy blue veins, and stop thy breath ! 
 See! see! that baleful cloud of 'whelming dust, 
 More fell than Egypt's deserts ever knew, 
 Betrays the Monster's route ! Farewell — I fly ! 
 
 STRANGER, 
 
 And I fly with thee; for thou sayest ' there's room,' 
 And yon bright beam directs the happy way ! 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Oh Refuge" blest ! How perfect and secure ! 
 Here we may sit, and even at our ease, 
 Survey the tyrant and his dreadful train ! 
 
 s3
 
 138 
 
 — He cannot kill us here— true, he may hurl 
 His flaming darts, but striking on the Rock, 
 Their points shall, broken oft", or blunted, fall ; 
 While all the hell-hounds that compose his rear 
 Roaring, shall harmless pass ; and though imbibed, 
 While yet we lingered in the infected plain, 
 Such sick'ning vapour from the atmosphere, 
 As must in time destroy our mortal frame, 
 And lay it low in dust ; yet shall the Hand, 
 That fixed this strong Resort, so gently raise 
 Our sinking head — so softly shall it wipe 
 The last big tear — and make so velvet-smooth 
 The hard rough bed of sickness,— that to die, 
 Shall e'en be gain and bliss ! — But see the train ! 
 
 STEANGER. 
 
 I do — and quake ! and although safely lodged 
 In this Eternal Rock, yet terror balks 
 Eager and prompt inquiry. In silence I 
 Survey tremendous scenes ! but 'tis to thee 
 I look for explanation ; yes, my friend, 
 Proceed with thy remarks- mine eyes and ears 
 Shall anxious follow ; and most surely gain 
 That awful knowledge, which my trembling heart 
 Just now forbids my willing tongue to ask.
 
 189 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Note, then, the haughty form, that vaunting rides 
 
 Yon pale and curbless Horse : — his name is Death ! 
 
 An ample robe of sable shades his frame, 
 
 And on his lurid brow a sparkling crown 
 
 Bespeaks him monarch ! the red lightning's fork 
 
 Becomes his gleaming sceptre ! but unlike 
 
 That proudly swayed by Persian despot's hand, 
 
 Which whoso touched, received a grant to live; — 
 
 Whoever touches this, that moment dies ! 
 
 And mark his gloomy phiz reddened with rage, 
 
 While in his ruthless hands is firmly clenched 
 
 The dire artillery that bears his name ! 
 
 See, too, the serpent twisted round his arm, — 
 
 The horrid charm that gives it all its nerve, — 
 
 And braced, and strengthened by its hellish folds, 
 
 The Monster hurls his darts ! nor ought can more 
 
 His Moloch-heart, or gain one moment's truce ! 
 
 — Ah ! see, — this instant, — pierced in bloom of life, 
 
 Endearing, and endeared, a mother falls ! 
 
 And ! the shaft rebounds — her cherub-boy 
 
 Tumbles from oft' her breast! And Death's Pale Horse, 
 
 Beneath his iron-hoofs treads both to dust ! 
 
 — O what a steed is he ! trained to the will 
 
 Of his fierce rider, — carnage scenes he loves.
 
 140 
 
 He ' smells* the war from far,' and eager snuffs 
 
 Its streams of steamy blood ! ' at fear he mocks/ 
 
 ' And tears the ground with rage ! his eye-lids glow 
 
 Like those of morn ensanguined, and portend 
 
 A day of storms ! the livid pestilence 
 
 From his expanded nostrils rushes forth, 
 
 And thousand 'roaring thunders clotha his neck !' 
 
 Thus dreadful clad, impatient of delay, 
 
 Where'er his master points, unreined and wild, 
 
 He plunges on with such resistless strength, 
 
 And paws, and rears, in such a wide-spread sweep, 
 
 That crushed, and stunned, and torn with mortal wound-. 
 
 A million die by his dread force alone ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 I see beneath his hoofs fresh victims bleed — 
 And shapes terrific yet distress my sight. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Yes, and these frightful forms enleagued with Death, 
 Help on his horrid work. — First in the rear, 
 You note the fiend called Discord : — his dark crew, 
 Of hellish spawn and monstrous, follow close. 
 
 * See Job xxix. 21, &c.
 
 141 
 
 Discord, Death's grand purveyor ! ' Unto him,' 
 
 With hunger, sword, and ravenous beasts of earth, 
 
 ' Power to kill is given/ — And well does he 
 
 Each one employ to execute his task. 
 
 — Mark the 'confusion dire' they instigate. — 
 
 A hungry Lion, wrought to tenfold rage, 
 
 Has torn two Travellers and seized a third : 
 
 — Behold the trembling wretch beneath his paw! 
 
 Horror hath freezed his heart, and bathed his brow 
 
 In clammy dews of death ! his arm unstrung 
 
 By pale despair, he drops his useless sword, 
 
 And with th' unequal contest yields his life ! 
 
 Dies too his faithful horse ! his sinewy strength, 
 
 Beneath the monster's gripe, avails him not j 
 
 He shares his master's agonies and end. 
 
 But see amid the group a friendly hand, 
 
 With intrepidity as brave as cool, 
 
 Gives the sharp javelin its certain aim, 
 
 And dies the shaggy king, — his heart the sheathe ! 
 
 — That Bull has tossed a youth, who, groaning drops 
 
 Beneath the scornful hoof — but Discord laughs 
 
 And still pursues his calling. Now he backs 
 
 (Just to promote his own, and Death's designs,) 
 
 Those surly mastiffs, — and they tear the bull ! 
 
 — There, a fierce Lioness takes dreadful spring, 
 
 But meets the hunter's spear — yet not before
 
 142 
 
 She gave that gallant youth his mortal wound, — 
 
 O, on his forehead see the gory gap ! — 
 
 Life flows therefrom apace ! He faints — lie dies ! 
 
 But endless were the task to specify 
 
 The varied modes of death by Discord planned ; 
 
 Thou notest them thyself — On Death's right hand, 
 
 As far as eye can reach, 'twixt man and beast, 
 
 Extends the dreadful strife ; and, mournful truth, — 
 
 The frightful warfare, in ten thousand shapes, 
 
 Exists 'tween man and man ! The cunning fiend 
 
 Surveys each crowded chamber of the heart, 
 
 And, marking what combustibles are lodged 
 
 In every corner of the dark recess, 
 
 He calls his waiting imps, — pride, jealousy, 
 
 Anger and malice, envy and revenge, 
 
 And bids them strike a spark, and fan it well. — 
 
 They do : — but latent if the mischief seem, 
 
 Himself, with his own torch, sets all in blaze ! 
 
 — Then brother hunts for brother— and the son 
 
 Dishonoureth his sire* — the daughter, too, 
 
 Is armed against her mother — nor the friend 
 
 One moment more proves faithful ! Even she, 
 
 Who used to slumber peaceful on the breast 
 
 Herself selected for her loved repose, — 
 
 *Micali \ii. 5, f>.
 
 143 
 
 E'en she no more is worthy ! Discord's flame, 
 iEach soul-ennobling tie has quite consumed ! 
 
 IShrowded with midnight's veil, detesting light, 
 
 There glides the dark Assassin! his wet hands 
 
 Reck with defenceless blood! The Duelist, 
 
 •Scarce less atrocious, hurried on by pride, 
 
 And scared and haunted by a flippant shade, 
 
 IFalsely called honour, coolly meets his friend ; 
 
 And 'neath the beams that sicken at the sight, 
 
 'With one rude shock across the verge of time, 
 
 IPushes him headlong into other worlds ! 
 
 — The vulgar murderer who for paltry coin, 
 
 IKills the lone traveller, and barely finds 
 
 The sordid wages of his horrid work 
 
 Suffice to buy him one short day's carouse ; — 
 
 'Or he, who swoln with rage, and raving mad 
 
 Beneath its burning torches, belches fire 
 
 Till nought but streaming blood arrests the flame ; — 
 
 Th' impurpled plains, once decked with gayest flowers, 
 
 And vocal with the feathered songsters' loves, 
 
 Now drenched with gore ; — the soldier's dying bed, 
 
 Resounding only with his parting groans ; — 
 
 Are. Discord's work ! From him alone proceed 
 
 As their first cause — and are by him devote
 
 144 
 
 To Death, the monstrous leader of the band ! 
 
 — But now one moment turn thine aching eye 
 
 From all the clan, and note yon withered Hag — 
 
 Preceded by a form whose very brow 
 
 Wears a broad curse* that marks him to the world, 
 
 And followed by a -f fiend whose poisonous breath 
 
 Taints all it reaches ; — see the shrivelled wretch ! 
 
 Slily she creeps along — yet the foul air 
 
 Laden with noxious vapours ; and the earth, 
 
 Sterile beneath her feet, too plain unfold 
 
 Her hideous path — her name is Famine ! 
 
 And though so deatldy faint, her reeling steps 
 
 Can scarce support her weight, yet cruelties 
 
 Beyond all bounds are hers — the lion's rage 
 
 Compared, is love and tender mercy. He, 
 
 At once opes life's red sluice, and quick lets out 
 
 The gushing torrent on the thirsty waste — 
 
 — But She, by drops, drains off the vital flood, — 
 
 And fixing her keen fangs upon her prey, 
 
 Gnaws it alive to death ! Stretched on that turf 
 
 Behold a wretched victim ! Clean torn off, 
 
 By her remorseless teeth, his once fair flesh, 
 
 A ghastly heap of bones alone remains. 
 
 * Prov. xi. 26, f Pestilence.
 
 145 
 
 We turn from Famine, and again resume 
 Our view of Discord, and his frightful gang — 
 Still busily intent on schemes of strife, 
 Their 'violence fills the earth.' Nor rests the air ; 
 Conflicting elements wage mighty war, 
 Storms rend its troubled regions ; yon black cloud, 
 Pregnant with fluid fire, threatening lours; 
 It will not threaten long ; — Now, now, it bursts, 
 And bellows thunders that e'en shake us here ! 
 — But see the red-hot bolt ! — unpent the hold, 
 Where, 'mid sulphureous steams, it grumbling lay 
 While Discord artful finished all his wild 
 And het'rogeneous mixtures, — (dire composed 
 Of elements adverse, and vapours foul) — 
 It tears its way to earth ! The horrid chasm 
 That yawns in that dense cloud betrays its track ; 
 And all opposed, that meets its flaming course, 
 Falls into atoms shivered ! Now, alas ! 
 It turns oblique — and, O ! remorseless strikes 
 A youthful Lover dead ! 'Neath the scathed tree 
 Blackened and scorched, behold his lifeless corse ! 
 — And mark what agonising passions rend 
 The soul of Her that gazes — horrors chill, 
 Distract and petrify ! Fear urges flight ; — 
 Affection chains her steps! She cannot bear 
 The dreadful conflict longer, down she sinks; 
 
 o
 
 146 
 
 And, swooning deep, death-like is borne away ! 
 
 — Once more attend, but take a different view ; — 
 
 Victims to Discord see the feathered tribes. 
 
 Yes, in the skies the fiend exerts his art ; 
 
 And as on earth, so even in the air, 
 
 The weaker perish first ! The vulture foul 
 
 Pursues the tuneful lark — the eagle proud, 
 
 Has pounced the helpless dove ! Her plumage torn 
 
 And stained with reeking blood, she gasps her last ! 
 
 Her mate bemoans and dies ! — But I forbear — 
 
 ' In Moloch's kingdom pity never comes,' — 
 
 Nor can I point thee out more miseries ! 
 
 No — I retire — and, hid in this recess, 
 
 I'll weep o'er woes I cannot hope to cure. 
 
 My spirit faints beneath the oppressive load. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 ' My Friend, I thank thee : — but for thine alarm, 
 I madly had rushed on my daring way, 
 Until the Tyrant's dart, in all its flames, 
 Had pierced my thoughtless breast ! But warned by thee 
 To gain this ' strong Resort,' and lured and cheered 
 By yon bright beam, which ever sheds its light 
 Refulgent o'er its paths, — I entered in — 
 And, even as thyself, now call it ' Mine.'
 
 147 
 
 Yet 'twas thy privilege to prove its rest 
 
 Long before me — and thine the honour too, 
 
 ' To save my soul from Death/ Therefore on thee 
 
 I look as mine instructor, and confess 
 
 The obligations I already owe. 
 
 — Thy narrative of Death and his colleagues, 
 
 Has fall'n upon mine ears with interest deep. 
 
 But sick with the recital and the view, 
 
 Thou sittest down desponding. — I had hoped, 
 
 Conclusion different by far from this. — 
 
 For say, my friend beloved, dost thou not see. 
 
 Another King (the Crown bespeaks him such — ) 
 
 Pursue that rising road ? He turns his back 
 
 On death and all his feats ! and, deep intent 
 
 On some grand purpose, disregards them all. 
 
 And O, the beams of majesty and love, 
 
 That, darting from his brow, illume my soul ; 
 
 Create within my bosom such bright hopes, 
 
 I almost smile at Death, and feel assured, 
 
 If once the glorious Prince would turn his face 
 
 And cast a frown, e'en Death himself should die. 
 
 But I refrain — for though the subject grand 
 
 Inspires with energy my untaught heart, 
 
 And sets at liberty my fettered tongue ; 
 
 Yet from thy lips much rather would I hear, 
 
 The glorious tale at large, for well I know,
 
 148 
 
 In mysteries profound thy skill is versed. 
 I also feel persuaded that the theme 
 Will quite dispel thy fainting*— and pursued, 
 (So far from tiring,) renovate thy strength. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 Brother, I hail thee ;— and I hail the hour 
 Wherein we haply met. It well reminds 
 Of those true Pilgrims* who, in ancient days, 
 So ' helped each others way,'— They proved it good 
 To walk in company. 'Tis surely true, 
 Astounded with the horrors of yon field, 
 And somewhat dimm'd mine eyes with its foul dust, 
 I for a moment fainted, and o'er-looked 
 That blessed view which so much ravish'd thee ; 
 And, overlooked the only antidote 
 To Death and Hell,— what could I do but faint? 
 — But thou hast proved how well the Record says, 
 ' Better are two than one.' — And roused and cheered, 
 To thy request most gladly I attend. 
 —But, ere absorb'd in glorious distant views, 
 Turn thy attention to this calm retreat ; 
 Thy contemplation it will full repay, 
 
 * Christian and Hopeful.
 
 149 
 
 With satisfying- joy. Mark the ' High Rock,' 
 That yields our blest repose. Ere Time was horn, 
 Deep in unfathomed depths was fixed its base. 
 A corner Stone of workmanship divine, 
 Holds fast the soaring Pile ; while far unfolds, 
 Ward after ward, beyond what eye can reach. 
 The whole assembled world if hither met, 
 (O that they were,) would still find ample ' Room.' 
 — But look thee upward. — Seest thou the roof? 
 
 no ! 'tis hid in Heaven ! Eternal rays 
 Forbid thine earthly gaze ! Well, my dear friend, 
 The Majesty august that yonder rides 
 
 In state sublime — He, who so well engross'd 
 Thine admiration and thy love — Himself 
 Reared all these pillars ; and, (stupendous grace,) 
 Reared them for sinful man ! From his High Throne, 
 He saw yon ghastly tyrant and his crew 
 Hard at their horrid work ; and loud He said, 
 ' Death, I will be thy plagues ! Devouring Hell, 
 
 1 will be thy destruction !' Then He left 
 
 His throne of light in haste, and forced his way 
 Down to the realms of Death. The monster, struck 
 With pangs portentous, in convulsive grasp 
 Seized fast the blest intruder; and would fain 
 Have ever held him prisoner. Three days, 
 Deeply immured within the dark abode, 
 
 o3
 
 150 
 
 Messiah lay, (for such the captive's name,) 
 But then he burst the manacles of Death ; 
 And, breaking all its adamantine bolts, 
 Repassed the portals of the wondering tomb ; 
 And, as a refuge from the shafts of Death, 
 He built this structure with his own right hand. 
 
 But see him mounted on the milk-white Steed 
 That waited his return. From ' conquering 
 To conquer' on he rides. He holds a sword, 
 And truth and righteousness precede his steps. 
 ' Ride on, high Majesty !' Where'er thy march, 
 Prosperity attend, and Victory's songs. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 But now, my friend, thy first request, 
 To note the wonders of the passing scenes, 
 (As far as skill is mine,) shall be fulfilled. 
 Behold the King ! His solemn countenance 
 Expresses love and dignity combined. 
 Filled his vast thought with enterprizes grand, 
 He holds his way serene as summer skies. 
 The flaming darts of Death that whirl around,
 
 151 
 
 The clatterings dire of his pale prancing Horse, 
 The shock of angry warring elements, 
 And all the hideous yells that Discord makes, 
 Disturb him not. Vapour and storm, fierce fire 
 And blasting hail — Discord and Death themselves 
 Do but ' fulfil his word.' jS'er since he crushed, 
 In his own territories, Death's huge powers, 
 The frightful tyrant and his ghastly train 
 Are tributary made : and all their roar 
 No more affects him than the feeble howl 
 Of yonder pent-up winds; and all their glare 
 No more appals him than the metr'ous flash, 
 Which now appears, then vanishes away. 
 
 And now see plumy War that stalks along 
 On his ensanguined Horse, Messiah's way, 
 (His steed, observe, is curbed and strongly reined,) 
 Inebriate his sword with tears and blood. 
 E'en cruel War (believe it and adore) 
 Is made subservient to the grand design. 
 Messiah's agent, he but forms a part 
 Of bis mysterious scheme to scatter peace ! 
 Again extend thy view. Afar behind, 
 See cold Philosophy ; he cautious rides 
 The sable Steed. Puffed up with knowledge vain, 
 He tries to weigh in his deficient scales
 
 152 
 
 The purposes of God ; and seeing War 
 Diffuse his woes along Messiah's track, 
 And other ills, that there promiscuous rise, 
 He palms the passions of a head-strong crowd 
 (From whence those ills proceed) on God's own word. 
 Then goes he forth, and tells the credulous world. 
 That half its woes come through religion's door. 
 Though eagle-eyed in science, this one fact, 
 However plain, he does not, will not, see — 
 That God bends all things to his sovereign will, 
 And uses instruments of every kind 
 To bring about his purposes profound. 
 O, did the sceptic know that he himself, 
 With all his croaking host of reptile doubts, 
 Subserves the general plan, how would he blush, 
 And, unrepentant, ever hide his head ! 
 
 But unconcerned at all the obloquy 
 And daring taunts that men or devils urge, 
 Messiah still proceeds, his eye intent 
 On yonder dazzling heights where stands his throne; 
 His heart firm-fixed on bringing many sons 
 To share its boundless glories; every foe 
 That, in the pride of an obdurate heart, 
 Resists his rightful claims, shall feel his sword. 
 Who strives it matters not. ' All things in heaven,
 
 153 
 
 And earth, and hell ; angels elect, who kept 
 
 Their first estate ; and fallen Lucifer, 
 
 With all his bands of hellish potentates ; 
 
 The kings of earth, each with his ' gorgeous train' 
 
 Of ' mighty men and captains ;' Wealth's proud sons, 
 
 And Penury's sad offspring; bond and free; 
 
 The child of science, and the fool untaught; 
 
 The sceptic grave, with all his swarm obscene; 
 
 The scoffer impious with all his sneers, 
 
 Shall bow before his feet. And all the clash 
 
 Of jarring elements; each awful wreck 
 
 Of groaning, dying empires; ' commotions, 
 
 Wars, plague, pestilence, and famine;' — earthquake's 
 
 Tremendous crash, and Time's insidious gripe ; 
 
 Each form of death that stalks before our view, 
 
 Howe'er deformed with terrors and with blood, 
 
 And all the beauties that yet charm the eye; 
 
 Soft smiling harvest, and the vintage rich, 
 
 That each pay annual visits, decked in gold ; 
 
 The splendid sun, that journies on untired, 
 
 And pours down blessings from his shining path ; 
 
 The silver moon, that 'mid her sparkling throng, 
 
 ' Walks out in brightness,' throwing lucid robes 
 
 Around each darkling spray that courts her gaze; 
 
 All these conjointly in the varied work 
 
 Messiah in his love and power appoints,
 
 154 
 
 Like active wheels of some immense machine 
 (Exposed or hidden) that exact perform 
 Their wise-appointed task, move swiftly on : 
 And howe'er opposite then- natures be, 
 Or intricate and dark their circles seem, 
 Contribute their full share of given power, 
 To bring about the eternal grand design — 
 Glory to God — salvation to the world. 
 
 O all ye angels, ministers of flame j 
 Thou sun and moon, ye twinkling stars of li^ht; 
 Ye placid silver waters that reflect 
 On your calm face the very looks of heaven ; 
 Ye beasts of earth that prowl your nightly round, 
 ' And seek your food from God;' ye cattle tame, 
 • Insects and feathered fowl,' who daily glean 
 His bounteous table's crumbs — praise ye Him ! 
 Ye princes, mighty judges of the earth, 
 On whose bright brow himself hath bound a crown, 
 Praise him with all your glory and your strength. 
 Young men and maidens, on whose smiling cheek 
 His hand hath shed the rosy bloom of health ; 
 Ye fathers venerable, whose hoary hairs, 
 In ways of righteousness are graceful turned 
 To silver wreaths of glory — praise ye Him ! 
 Ye new-born babes, that ope your teary eyes
 
 155 
 
 Ou scenes of care, and misery, and guilt, 
 
 The kindest welcomes, sent express to you 
 
 From Heaven's high courts, allure your infant souls 
 
 In Jesu's soft embrace to find your rest ; — 
 
 Then let your first-formed accents speak his praise. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 ' Let all things that have breath exalt the Lord.' 
 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 More to unfold my subject, or express 
 The struggling wishful thought, all language fails. 
 The theme, too mighty for a mortal's mind, 
 O'erwhelms the labouring effort with its weight. 
 The praises, too sublime for earthly strains, 
 Die off the untaught tongue. The glorious views, 
 Extended far beyond angelic ken, 
 Defy all human vision e'en to glimpse — 
 Then let us kneel, and silently adore. 
 
 Durllt.it and Hinton, Printers, Oxford.
 
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