Chapter XII: Book VIII (2)

In a wretched, narrow street of an old English town, A roving tinker lived; one who would often drown Of Virtue every trace, by drinking much strong beer; Oft mixing in a fight, a stranger to all fear.

Right before his door-step, mud did the gutter fill; And once to cleanse it out he never had the will. The windows of his house with patch-work were supplied, And all within the door by coal-smoke well was dyed.

In such a place as this, we would not hope to find One of the human race with pure and noble mind; Yet one indeed there was, whom we shall _Emma_ call-- Most beautiful her face, most lovely in her soul.

She was the only child of that sin-hardened man-- Her sainted mother died as her tenth year began; The father brutal seemed to all the World around, Yet never with his girl was he in anger found.'

And much his kindness told upon her gentle heart; It soothed her childish grief, and made her act her part. The lessons she had learned before her mother died, Were now of greatest use, for she was sorely tried.

And when her father went to stay a week away, She read her Bible oft, and cared not much for play; But, feeling ill at ease, with dirt within and out She whitewashed all the rooms; of this you need not doubt.

The gutter still remained, just in its former state; That she could not mend, so left it to its fate. But now she scrubbed the floors, and waited patiently, Till came her father home, who smiled the change to see.

His feelings were roused up when he viewed the comforts round, And wondered where the child could so much skill have found? Then clasped her in his arms--felt now inclined to be More worthy of his girl, and work right steadily.

About this time there came a Sabbath visitor, Who had got youths to school, but wanted many more. The tinker angry sat, nor asked the man within; Said, "Emma read her Book, and did not live in sin."

But she, quite conscience-struck, said, "Father, you're not right, We all great sinners are, in God's most holy sight; My Bible tells me this--I'm sure it speaks the truth; Please let me go to school, while I am yet a youth!"

This unexpected thrust went to his parent-heart; Yet still he did not like with his dear girl to part; But bid the man sit down, and tell him what was taught In these same Sabbath Schools, of which he had not thought.

This friend was nothing loath; he sought the good of souls-- Had tasted Jesus' love, which selfishness controls; So told how many folks, by best of motives led, Gave their own pleasure up, and taught the young instead.

'Mongst these were often found some great in rank and wealth, Who loved the cause so well, they did it not by stealth; But honor counted it to teach in Sunday School, And thus to square their lives by their dear Savior's Rule.

The tinker was surprised to hear such news as this; He thought that all fine folks were full of selfishness; But, if it all was true, the girl at once might go-- Whatever good she got, she soon that good would show.

Then Emma threw her arms around his neck, and said, "Dear father, for your love you shall be well repaid; When I come home from school, I'll tell you all I learn, Then the good of Sabbath Schools you may soon discern."

She asked the man to tell where she would have to go; Who said, "My little girl, 'tis there, in _Union Row_; In that large, lofty house; the time is half-past two." This heard, forth Emma went, and made no more ado.

The father, when alone, sat long time lost in thought, Then took the Bible up, and through its pages sought; He wished to see himself if all they said was true; But little progress made--such work to him was new.

Soon came his bright-eyed girl, with face like rose in June, Who told of hymns they sung, and of each pretty tune; What chapters there were read--the questions asked she told-- What prayers were offered up, both for the young and old.

She said her teacher was a lady very grand, Who, when she first went in, most kindly took her hand, And led her to a seat where she herself sat down, Nor seemed afraid to crush her beautiful silk gown.

The tinker heard it all, and wondered in his mind How gentlefolks could be so very good and kind; And promised her she should next Sabbath go again, But wished that she would now her former words explain.

His conscience told him oft that he was far from right, That he had wicked been, in sinning against light; Oh, was there then no hope that he should yet be saved? This thought was hard to bear, and could not well be braved.

Then Emma meekly spoke, and told him all she knew; And searched the Bible's page, to prove her words were true. This was an easy task, for there 'twas clearly seen How men, because of sin, by God condemned had been.

He found this prove as gall, and felt so much distressed, By day he could not work, at night obtained no rest. Before the week was gone he, almost in despair, Went forth into the woods, and wandered here and there.

When Sunday came at last, he hailed it with more joy Than he had done before, and did its hours employ In poring o'er that Book which had so roused his fears-- When Emma went to school his eyes were full of tears.

So strongly on her mind was his sad state impressed, She to her teacher flew, and thus herself expressed: "O, Madam, please to tell what sinners great must do, When they, because of sin, feel quite pierced through and through?

"My father, all the week, not worked, nor ate, nor slept; But seemed much like a man who was of sense bereft. Oh, speak, dear lady, speak! for surely he will die Unless he soon can learn which way he is to fly!"

With pity in her eyes, the lady kindly took The humble, loving girl, whose frame with terror shook, And placed her in a seat, and whispered in her ear That Jesus came to save poor sinners filled with fear.

She told her how He was both God and Man in one-- The Lord of Heaven and Earth, yet God's beloved Son; That He for sinners died, just out of purest love, And on the third day rose, and went again above;

But sent His Spirit down to work upon our hearts, Through His blest Word of Truth, sent to our inward parts; And says in that same word--the Bible you have read-- That all who do believe are saved, because he bled!

She further kindly said, "Wait now till school is done, And I will go with you--so much my love you've won." Then Emma dried her tears, and with a pleasant face, Amongst the other girls she quickly took her place.

Again, from portions read, the teachers questions ask; They strove to work from love, and felt it was no task; Once more sweet hymns were sung which suited Emma's case, And prayer from all arose up to the Throne of Grace.

The truth that Emma heard went home into her soul, And joyful feelings rose which she could scarce control. The pleasant service o'er, the teacher with her went Into that filthy street, nor thought her time misspent.

They entered soon the house; the wretched man was found Nigh overwhelmed with grief, and waiting for the sound Of news, which, as he thought, his darling girl would bring; But at this proof of love his tears afresh did spring.

He truly felt ashamed that one like she should come, To try to do him good, in his most wretched home; The lady told him soon what she might do for such Was done for Jesus' sake, which did his feelings touch.

She then sat meekly down, and in a heavenly frame, Told him how Jesus Christ a Sacrifice became; How sinners of all ranks, by Faith, might be forgiven-- Be saved from sin and hell, and go, at last, to Heaven!

The Lord her labors blessed--they both believed the Word-- And thus it did appear the prayer of Faith was heard. For such a state of things had Emma's mother prayed, And she had her request, though for a time delayed.

The tinker, now reclaimed by God's almighty power, His business still pursued, nor lost a single hour; On Sabbath went to Church, with his neat, pretty maid, And in temptations strong received the Savior's aid.

Then, feeling that the place where they were living now, Was not the place at all for Faith and Love to grow, He took a small, neat house, just outside of the town, And, for a proper life, gained from the good, renown.

In time dear Emma came to be a teacher, too, And God did her employ much lasting good to do. Her father, in due time, was taken to his rest, And she, with loving man, as a wife was truly blest.

I might prolong my tale, but quite enough is told, To show that Christian Love is better far than gold; That those who wish to be most happy here below, Must strive with all their might the Savior well to know.

TO MY FATHER SUPPOSED TO BE DYING--SEPTEMBER, 1841.

My dear, afflicted parent! Ere thine eyes
Are closed in death, accept this tribute due
From one who is allied by Nature's ties,
And ties which firmer bind both me and you.

My strain is humble, and my muse is rude,
Yet you my lay will now be pleased to hear.
Deem it not vain in me thus to intrude
My unlearned warblings on your dying ear.

'Tis not a thirst for fame that bids me wake
My youthful harp, and strike its solemn chords;
But 'tis the strong desire, for your dear sake,
I feel to treasure up your dying words.

Then come, my Muse; O, condescend to aid
My feeble efforts, while I touch this theme;
Ev'n thou who hoverest now o'er COWPER'S, shade--
Thou Source of Truth! and, with enlightening beam,

Remove the film that does becloud the eye
Of my dark understanding while I sing;
O, guide my trembling fingers, for I'll try
To tune my harp, and touch its every string.

Say now, what was that sound which caught my ear,
While I sat mute upon my father's bed
A sound so sweet it did my spirit cheer,
And made me muse, by contemplation led.

It was the triumph of that holy man--
His deathbed song, in view of yonder heaven
And as he spoke--till then his face was wan--
A brightened countenance was to him given.

"I have a glorious prospect now in sight!" He said, then raised his voice--"'Tis through the blood Of Jesus Christ; it fills me with delight, And makes me long to cross dark Jordan's flood!"

But then, as if his words might be construed
To be impatient, he serenely said,
"Let not my language now be wrongly viewed;
I wait God's will--on Him my soul is stayed."

He still continued, "Though my suffering's great,
My strength has been quite equal to my day;
God's love to me indeed is very great,
Nor will I murmur though He still delay.

"I reckon all the sufferings of this time
As nothing, when compared with heavenly things!"
He ceased, and left me this to pen in rhyme,
And ponder o'er, when he in Glory sings.

I stood; my eyes were fixed upon that face
Which oft had worn a smile for me, his son;
In retrospect, I then began to trace
The many acts of kindness he had done.

Well I remember--though he was but poor--
How ardently he wished to have me taught
At least to read and write, if nothing more;
My interest to advance was what he sought.

And, aided by a frugal partner's care,
He furnished was with means to gain his end;
Most careful still, they always had to spare
To purchase books which might assistance lend.

Great pleasure then they took to hear me read
The Bible's sacred page; though I, averse
To what was good, would rather have been freed;
And they were grieved to have me to coerce.

I then knew not the value of that Book
Which, since that time, I have so precious found;
And my perverse young temper would not brook
Restraint, though it did much their feelings, wound.

They persevered in pointing out to me
The dangerous path that I was treading in;
At last, it pleased the Lord to let me see
How dreadful was the nature of my sin.

What joy then filled thy bosom, father dear
Thou, too, my mother, didst express delight,
That I was brought to lend a listening ear
To Jesus' voice, and with his soldiers fight.

But ere that time, what pleasure it did give
To hear the warbling of my youthful Muse;
It made you wish that you might only live
To see the day when I would not refuse

To sing of Love omnipotent, Divine!
Such love as Jesus bore to wretched man!
And, aided by the truth which clean doth shine
Shout forth aloud Redemption's finished plan.

For seven long years we have united been
Within a Church, in fellowship and love;
And in that time how often have we seen
Afflictions sent, dire evils to remove.

Let all now left, in gratitude to God--
In meek submission to His sacred will--
Both praise and bless His name! then kiss the rod:
This will our souls with consolation fill!

ODE TO PEACE

Come, dove-eyed peace-offspring of heaven, descend; Thy calm, sweet influence do thou me lend; Dispel the gloom that broods upon my mind; Bid melancholy flee; make me resigned To bear with patience and submission due The will of God; and still my mind imbue With reverential awe and just regard For all his ways, as taught in his blest word. Yes, thou sweet Peace, whom, when the Savior great Had nearly closed sojourn in earthly state, He gave as his last legacy to those His dearest friends, who from mankind he chose, In those dear words, "Peace now I leave with you, My peace I give; you soon shall prove it true. Not as the world its boasted treasure gives, 'Tis of my grace to each one who believes. Let not your hearts be troubled, then, nor fear, The Comforter--the Holy Ghost--is near. And, when I shall to yonder heaven ascend, Him, with His vast, rich blessings, I will send."

Not only these this gracious boon enjoyed, But Saints before that time, pure, unalloyed, And blissful peace within their breasts possessed, Both in dread dangers and when much oppressed. Adam, our great progenitor, received With Eve, his wife, this gift, which much relieved Their guilty minds. It was the promise great Made to them while in their most abject state, "That their illustrious Seed should bruise the head Of the Arch Tempter, in their room and stead," Which wrought the change produced in their sad minds, And soon bid flee that slavish fear which blinds The eyes of mortals; gave them soon to see, "Though the offense was great the gift was free," And would extend unto their progeny. O blissful change! from dark foreboding fear, A wounded conscience, and Hell's prospects drear, To joy unspeakable and purest peace, Which once received were never more to cease. A prophet said--the prophet was a man Who did enjoy that peace which only can Flow from one source--God's own redemption plan-- "Mark well the perfect man; behold the upright, Whose death so precious is in Jesus' sight; His end is peace." He goes down to the shade Of death's dark valley, and is not afraid To come within the precincts of the grave, Well knowing Christ is ever near to save.

Deluded Balaam also sweetly sung, In words of solemn grandeur, bold and strong, The happiness which Israel through his tribes Enjoyed beneath God's care. Not Balak's bribes Nor vain enchantments, with their altars reared, Nor bleeding victims sacrificed, appeared To move their God from blessing them to curse His chosen people, oft to God averse. Well Balaam knew that if he were to die "Their God was not a man that he should lie." He bated Truth, but was constrained to sing Of their blest state beneath God's fostering wing. And when he sang the latter end of such His harp gave tones as though from Seraph's touch He sang aloud their bliss, not did he cease Till all the hills re-echoed sweetly "Peace." Nor could refrain from envy when he viewed Jehovah's covenant of Peace renewed; But breaking forth in rapture loud did cry "O let me die the death the Righteous die! Let my last end be only like to his Whom God dost bless with thee, delightful Peace!" Even I, who write this simple Ode to thee, Have felt thy thrice bless'd influence on me; And feeling fresh the vigor thou dost give, Would gladly trace thy merits while I live; Would fain enumerate the mighty host Of those who've had pure peace of mind to boast; But ah, how great the sum! even time would fail Or if to gain its aid I could prevail, My powers of mind would fail to set them forth As they appear in Scripture; yet 'tis worth The little time which I can freely spare To choose a few from many that are there. The pleasure it affords would well repay The labor needed, if I spent the day.

Behold that holy man who, strong in faith, Lends an obedient ear to what God saith. See, when the Lord his strength of faith would test, How quickly he obeys the high behest. The task indeed was great, but he, possessed Of peace of mind, was always quite at rest. Yes, though his Isaac dear was doomed to die, No murmuring escaped his lips, and why? He knew that God had promised him to bless With numerous progeny, and nothing less. He felt assured that from this very seed-- His darling son--ere long was to proceed So vast a host that if the stars but could By man be numbered, then his offspring would. And forth from them was Christ the Lord to come, The Refuge of his Saints, to lead them home. And Abraham knowing this ne'er sought release From God's sweet service, and his end was peace.

Now mark his son. He in the shining track His father trode, sincerely walked; no lack Had he of the great blessings which from thee Flow in such rich profusion, but did see By eye of Inspiration what God said Was soon to be fulfilled. Then he was laid Beside his father, and his end was peace.

Jacob, his youngest son, Supplanter named, Parent of Patriarchs so greatly famed, Found too that peace of mind was always sweet When he sojourned with Laban in retreat. What was it, I would ask, which made him bear The heat by day and midnight's frosty air? The loss of cattle stolen from his hands? Such churlish conduct, and such harsh commands? With loss of sleep, and wages changed ten times, And twenty rigorous years in wasting climes? What was it then, I ask, but peace of mind Arising from the thought that God was kind And ever faithful, and would soon fulfill His promise made, to be his Guardian still! He had sore trials, yet with great avail He wrestled with his God and did prevail.

Joseph, his son, beloved above the rest, Felt soothing peace within his youthful breast. His is an history that as a child I loved to ponder, and to mark how mild And affable his conduct, yet how great. The bitterest envy joined, with fiercest hate, The brethren hare toward the godly youth Who trode the path of rectitude and truth, That they in spite of his prophetic dreams, Disposed of him, and, as they thought, the themes His soul dwelt much upon, by banishment. Straitway to distant Egypt he was sent, While they, with strange feigned tale, now homeward came, And vainly thought to clear themselves from blame By falsehood foul and black hypocricy Before their unsuspecting father. He Their lies believed and mourned his much-loved son In tears of anguish, whom he though undone.

Meanwhile the youth, directed by his God, In journey with the Ishmaelites did plod His weary way to Egypt. He arrived Possessed of peace of mind, nor could be bribed To part with this, his only treasure left Save sweet reflection, when he was bereft By his hard brethren of the sweets of home, And banished forth a wanderer to roam. Say now, O Muse, what was the cause why he Enjoyed a state of mind completely free From all the sad effects which freely flow In tasting long accumulated woe? 'Twas having peace, that best of all reward To those--and none beside--who Truth regard. And long as Joseph did in Egypt live, The record of his life this truth did give. Behold him when in his first master's house, Who placed beneath his care all but his spouse, How nobly he withstood temptation great, How suitable his conduct to his state. Behold him when his mistress tried so hard To tempt him into sin. Did he regard Her strong entreaties or her flowing tears? _Those_ fell like emptiness upon his ears, And _these_ but more impressed his tender mind With wish to better serve his master kind. He gave this answer: "Oh, how can I do This wickedness so great and sin with you Against that God who hath my feet preserved In holy paths from which I never swerved?" But oh, what poor return did he receive! A dungeon followed next, nor did he grieve, But cheerfully endured the heavy cross, And found his gain where others saw but loss. And he who was his trust did not forsake His much loved child when Truth seemed all at stake, But brought him through these trials manifold, And, still preserved that peace of mind which gold Could ne'er have purchased, and much less secured; But having which, he patiently endured.

Now mark the steps by which he did ascend To that high pitch of honor, when did bend The knees of Egypt's sons at King's command As he went forth in state to view the land. It was not flatt'ry, nor vain compromise With Egypt's many gods no, he was wise With wisdom from above, and well he knew That the predictions he had given were true, And that ere long both heaven and earth would see His youthful dreams fulfilled were sure to be. Even so they were. His brethren did bow down Their faces to the earth 'fore him unknown, When they were sent by Jacob to obtain For him and his the necessary grain. It was a time of famine, and the dearth Had then extended over all the earth But Joseph was raised up by gracious heaven, And unto him for this was wisdom given. Now when his feelings he could not restrain, He formed a scheme by which he might detain The brethren, who a second time had come To purchase food, for those they left at home. The scheme was tried and it succeeded well; But O, how Joseph burned to break the spell Which hitherto had bound them! He made known That he was Joseph to whom they had shown Such cruel usage, but their deed forgave, And told how God had raised him up to save Them with their offspring and great Pharoah's land. The news now reached the King, who gave command, "Joseph, let all thy relatives appear Before my face; they nothing have to fear. Lade all their beasts and bid them haste away; Take wagons from my hand, make no delay. Inform your father and let him come down; The best of my dominions is his own. Bring all your progeny, not once regard Your household goods, if they your speed retard."

I'll now take leave of all that passed between, And come at once to that affecting scene-- The meeting of the father with the son. Poor Jacob saw what glory he had won By perseverance in the "narrow path," And having seen it, wished to meet his death.

Mark now the truth of what I wish to sing, This interview to Jacob peace did bring. He said: "In bitterness I will descend Into my grave and meet my latter end." But God in mercy and rich love decreed That he should see both Joseph and his seed.

Ere long the time arrived when Jacob's age Gave proof he too must soon leave this world's stage. Therefore he gathered round him, near his bed, His twelve dear children, unto whom he said, "List now, ye sons of Jacob, hearken well To Israel your father. I foretell What shall befall you in your latter days. O then, my sons, take heed unto your ways." He ended not till all received the share Which God allotted them, when with due care The Prophet drew his feet into the bed, And in sweet Peace his spirit softly fled.

Now, when the last sad rites had been performed O'er Israel's corse, the brethren, now reformed By God's just dealings, soon began to fear That Joseph would their enemy appear; So sent a message, fell before his face, Confessed their sin, and wished he would erase Out from his mind remembrance of their deed. He gave soft answers, hence they all were freed From ills expected, and were now agreed. A few short years saw each of them removed By peaceful death, and so my point is proved.

STANZAS.

SUGGESTED BY A FUNERAL, ON SEEING ONE PASS WITH MANY ATTENDANTS, WHEN JUST RECOVERING FROM A LONG SICKNESS, 1841.

For me there'll be no great display,
No turning out of people,
When I do quit my house of clay,
Nor tolling from the steeple

Of yon tower with its tin capped dome,
Whose bell the time is telling,
When some lone wanderer reaches home--
His narrow churchyard dwelling.

Nor yet will pompous equipage,
Or such like things sublun'ral,
Nor music sweet with charms engage
Those who attend my funeral.

Nor will I care if but my death
Take place while friends are tending;
And I can see with eye of faith
My blessed Saviour bending

Down upon me a gracious eye,
And bid my spirit enter
Into her rest. O, then I'd fly
And cleave to Him---the Center

Of those sweet joys which do abound
In yon bright world of Glory,
Where I shall hear the blissful sound
Of that delightful Story,

How Jesus did our cause engage,
When he left Heaven's portal,
And stooped to conquer hellish rage,
In weakness like a mortal.

How he fulfilled in its demands
The Law that we had broken;
How God exacted at his hands
The strongest, clearest token

Of matchless Love, so that He gave
His life's blood for transgression,
And left the confines of the grave
In glorious Resurrection.

ACROSTICS.

I.----TO MR. J. P----N, IN THE STATE OF MISSOURI, 1841.

The dolorous cry, from far was heard How groaned poor Afric's sable sons. Our hearts with pity moved, we feared Much evil by the monster done. Ask ye his name? 'Tis slavery dire, So big with crime, so red with gore.

Could Christians feel his dreadful ire Oh how they'd wish he was no more. Would they not send to Heaven this prayer? Hear thou on high, O God of love; Ere time be long thine arm make bare. Rend him with judgment from above; Down from his seat hurl him to dwell.

Built round with walls of fire in hell. Raise thy strong arm and fix him deep. Add this: in anguish make him weep. Now hell, make room in thy domains, This dreadful foe will soon no more Firm bind poor slaves in galling chains, Or lash their backs till flows their gore. Remorseless still, he cares not for their fate, Doom speedy, therefore, should on him await.

II.--TO MY ELDEST SON, IN SEVERE SICKNESS.

Thou sweetest, loveliest babe--my first born son; I low great has been thy sufferings from disease! Oh, my poor soul doth, ever and anon, Make prayer to God, that he would give thee ease.

Ah, dearest babe! from this thy case, I read Sad, yet true lessons of imputed sin. Can we conceive that thou indeed art freed-- O, thought most strange--from guilt by man brought in?

Would we but read, mark, learn, and still digest His word, who gave at first to man his being, Error would vanish, and His will expressed, Respecting this, we could not fail from seeing.

Doubt would remove, and so would murmur, too; Justice would still be seen most clearly such; Unquestionable, this fact would stand to view, No one is free from Sin's defiling touch!

I see thy pale, emaciated face, Once decked with bloom of health's most ruddy glow! Regard for man would lead me still to trace-- Bent on the truth--whence all these evils flow.

Rich in possession of the Book Divine, All I desire is that the Lord would give Needful instruction, while I scan the line-- The line of truth, on which my soul must live.

For there I read--though Death hath ever reigned O'er every one of Adam's sinful race-- Righteousness of Christ, by Faith unfeigned, Delivers from its sting: all of free Grace!

Cease then, my soul, to murmur or complain, And place thy trust upon the God of Love. Now look to him who lose from th' grave again, And reascended to the realms above.

Dread not the stroke, though great may be the pain, And hard to bear, for it will work thy gain!

III.--A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN DENT. [Who lost his life by an accident in raising a barn.]

1843.

A task so painful, yet so justly due To thee, my dear, my much respected Brother, Rightly devolves on me whose heart beats true In Zion's cause; yet, would it were another!

But as it is, my Muse, though rude, shall sing-- Used as she is to such a mournful strain-- That I may cause true sympathy to spring Ere long, for those who feel for thee most pain.

'Tis scarce a week since thou, in manhood's prime, Of things quite dear to both hadst spoke with me! 'Tis now my lot to tell, in mournful rhyme, How short a space there was 'twixt Death and thee.

Ere thou wert well aware the fatal dart Met thee amongst thy fellows, shot by Death; Ev'n now I feel that dread from friends to part Methinks thou felt, though thou wast strong in faith.

O, that I could but paint in language strong, Regarding truth, thy sufferings so severe; Yes, then I'd sing, in pure and holy song, Of Him whose presence cheered thee much while here.

"Fear not," saith God, to all his people dear; Just then thy heart responded, "Fear ye not!" O, what a precious truth our hearts to cheer! How sure to reconcile us to our lot.

Now is the time to glorify our God, Depending on His gracious arm to keep Each footstep treading in the narrow road. Nor let us murmur, though constrained to weep The while o'er those who now in Jesus sleep.

IMPROMPTU.

TO MY FRIEND, J. W----T.

When troubles arise, my friend, lift thine eyes
To that Being who died on the cross!--
Rest assured of this: the Mansions of Bliss
Ne'er were reached without _some seeming_ loss!

AN ADDRESS TO BRANTFORD.

1853.

Hail, truly pleasant, fast increasing Town! Thee I address, in rude but earnest strains. My own adopted place! Some sixteen years Have rolled fast o'er my head since first my eyes Got sight of thee, from off yon Eastern hill. How welcome was the sight! O, how cheering, Grand and beautiful, to a mind like mine! I oft had heard of thee before I came-- Had heard the name thy beauteous river bears; As oft had wondered if I e'er should live To cross the broad Atlantic's deep blue waves, And reach the shores of that vast Continent, Whose many wonders, in my boyish days, I tried to sing, and still longed much to see. As often tried to picture, in my mind, The appearance thou presented to the view; I fancied thee much less than what thou wert-- Consisting of a few small, straggling huts, Both rude in shape, and ruder far in things Which make home, what it always ought to be, _The dearest place that men possess on earth!_ I next would paint thy river deep and broad As great "Saint Lawrence," or the giant streams That everywhere abound throughout this land! In this I was deceived; its name misled My loving fancy; for I surely thought It must be great, indeed, beyond compare, In such a country to receive such name. [Footnote: The "Grand River."]

This great mistake corrected; I have found Some wonders rare, though of a different kind; And often have I wandered on the banks Of thee, sweet River! where maple, elm or oak Have spread their boughs and verdant foliage, And have felt the cool, refreshing breezes Which blew from off thy stream in Summer's heat. There I would indulge, awhile, my fancy; Give her the reins, and let her soar aloft Into the vast infinitude of space, Or try to tie her down to earthly things;

Make her portray what now the prospects were, That this fair Town had placed before her view. Would she soon rise to eminent estate? Or would she struggle vainly, for a while, To reach to greatness, and so just remain-- A monument of ruin and decay? As I have stood upon the pleasant hills By which thou art encircled, I have cast My eye from East to West, from North to South, And often marked the vast extent of ground Which thou may'st fill; laid out by God's own hand To be a glorious city--and that soon!

Then "put thy shoulder to the wheel!" Arise, In all thy might, and let thy hardy sons Put forth united efforts in the work. Deepen thy Canal; let thy Railroads make Both quick and certain progress; and neglect No proper means to push the town ahead!

But, while thou strivest thus in temporal things, Oh, forget not things of greater moment! Strive to purge away all that's offensive To true Virtue. Let the _groggeries_ cease To deal out liquid fire to kill thy sons! Strengthen the hands of those who would maintain Good wholesome laws. Give adequate support To those who minister in holy things, That they, unfettered, may aloud proclaim Christ's great Salvation to a ruined World! Let all true Christians in thy midst unite, In holy efforts and God's strength, to stem The torrent great of foul Iniquity. Yes, fellow Christians, let our lives be such As many commend the Truth which we believe, Unto the consciences of all around. Let those of us, especially, who claim A parent's honored name, now boldly stand, And show in bonds conjugal, faithfulness; Still manifesting love and tenderness Unto our partners; always aim to make Our homes the scenes of happiness and peace! Then will our children rise and call us blessed; And generations yet unborn will tell-- That Brantford was determined to be great In every thing which is both wise and good!

STANZAS.

WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER SEEING THE "HURON" LOCOMOTIVE, FOR THE FIRST TIME, AT CAINSVILLE, JANUARY 6, 1854.

[Footnote: This piece was the second that was printed in a Brantford paper, I would here take the opportunity to say that Henry Lemmon, Esq., of the _Courier_, though differing from me in politics, was exceedingly courteous in giving my rhymes free admission into his journal. The same testimony I also willingly hear to the late _Herald_, and the _Expositor_, still flourishing.]

The Iron Horse has reached at last Cayuga's heights so near; Look out, ye men of Brantford, now, for soon he will be here! He brings with him a weighty load, his way before him feels, As slowly o'er the new-laid track he moves his ponderous wheels.

Mechanics, use your utmost skill, and ply each brawny arm, Let sight of yon huge iron steed your very heart's-blood warm; Nor let cold Winter's raging storms your progress now retard, But quickly get the bridges built; nor doubt a rich reward.

Be steady, men! the hammers lift, send home the sturdy nails; Make every fixture quite secure, and solid lay the rails; 'Tis done right well! and now, again, the Monster moves along, But cautiously, for fear the work should not prove very strong.

He does resemble very much the mighty Elephant, That let our new-made wooden bridge his courage sadly daunt; Who, when he came to cross the stream which flows right through our town, Did fancy his great clumsy foot would break the fabric down.

So slowly moves this horse along, but soon his speed he'll quicken-- Nor care a straw though Winter's snow right in his track may thicken; For when the works are finished well, he'll seem to snuff the breeze, And fly at such a rapid rate as may his masters please.

Look out, ye men of Brantford, now! See, he has reached your doors; He heaves and pants, he snorts and looks to sweat through all his pores; And yet he stands in harness trim, not cares a fig for rest, But is quite ready still to move, and waits but your behest.

And now, above his whistle shrill, is heard a deafening noise-- The people all, in loud hurrahs, give vent to heartfelt joys; The cannon roars, while all around is vigorous effort made To make this Celebration throw all others in the shade!

Processions form, the banners wave; now mark those hardy Bands-- The Fire Brigade--who well deserve much honor at our hands; For they in war-like deeds excel, yet not in bloody fight-- The battle with destroying fire, by day as well as night!

These form, with others in their rear, a very numerous host; The Marshal gives command, and now each company takes its post; The drums are beat, sweet music fills the ear with much delight, And splendid Fireworks are prepared to grace the coming night.

O, ye who have the management of this most glorious _fete_, My Muse would your attention crave, and earnestly entreat, That you would not forget the poor, but give to them a share Of all your choicest eatables, as much as you can spare.

And let them have a good supply of tea and coffee, too; They well deserve as rich a treat as either I or you; For do they not, with constant toil, such works as this complete? Then welcome them unto the board, and bid them freely eat.

Now I will close my hasty rhyme, with earnest wish expressed, That all our town would well behave to each and every guest; Let all our conduct on that day be orderly and quiet, And none lay out a single cent in drunkenness and riot.

THE YOUNG MOTHER'S VISION

1854.

I saw a fair young mother sitting,
With a babe upon her knee;
Fast through 'er mind sweet thoughts were flitting--
So it did appeal to me.

Her eyes with fondest smiles were beaming
On that infant's lovely face;
She seemed upon the future dreaming,
And I tried her dream to trace.

While her face with love was glowing,
As her babe looked up and smiled;
Thus I sketched her numbers flowing
Freely forth unto her child:

"Charming boy, in beauty vieing
With the fairest rose I see;
This I need not be denying,
That thou dearer art to me.

"Whilst thou slept, I fell to musing
On thy present happy lot;
And thy future for thee choosing,
Soon all other thoughts forgot.

"Thus I chose at first to paint thee--
Growing up toward thy teens;
No corruption near to taint thee
Passing through thy boyish scenes.

"Then I traced out all the labor
Which I would bestow on thee,
That thou mightest grow in favor
With the Lord, as well as me.

"Next I viewed thy mind expanding,
With the best of knowledge stored:
Light divine, and understanding
Gained from God's most holy Word.

"Years flew by; thou wert approaching
Very near to man's estate,
And, to those, around, wert broaching
Thy deep thoughts, with soul elate!

"Again I saw thee; thou wert coming
To the heights of world-wide fame;
My fears arose, I saw ills looming,
And bid thee guard thy spotless name.

"I looked again, and found thee wooing
Damsel modest, rich and fair;
And wicked men sought thy undoing,
Ere thou wert the least aware.

"But, thanks to God! He did preserve thee--
Gave thee, too, a lovely wife;
For duty this afresh did nerve thee,
Struggling with the ills of life.

"Again the vision passed before me,
But some years had fled away;
Thou hadst been sick, the Lord restored thee--
Children were around at play.

"I saw thy wife and thee were growing
In sweetest chaste conjugal love;
To things of God attention showing,
Fitting you for bliss above.

"The curtain drops: thy smiles recall me
To discharge my duties right;
Rich mercies I enjoy console me
For the loss of Vision bright."

STANZAS.

TO THE AUTHOR OF "LITTLE RAGGED NED, AN ORPHAN."

1854.

Friend, I've read thy touching verses
Poured from gentle, loving heart,
Glad that sense of thy own mercies
Gives thee-zeal to act thy part
In bringing sweet, poetic art
To bear upon the orphan's case,
And show as by a sunbeam's trace
How such as he are made to smart.

Would I had thy skill in writing;
I would give thee tribute meet,
Showing those too fond of slighting
Th' orphan's cause, that it is sweet,
Pure modest worth with love to greet,
Though that worth may not appear
In form bedecked in gorgeous gear,
But one in tattered garb complete.

Well indeed hast thou depicted
What the ragged boy endured;
How his soul with grief afflicted
Could alone by One be cured.
O, would that such could be allured
At once to fly to Jesus' arms--
To prove how great are all his charms;
And thus have peace of mind ensured.

Poor dear ragged orphan, weep not;
There is one thy Friend above.
Know then that this Friend will sleep not
But watch over thee in love.
He will thy foes in wrath reprove.
For this he strongly pledged his word,
Which should true comfort thee afford
Till death all thy sad woes remove.

Did thy mother die confiding
In the Saviour's precious blood?
'Neath that covert be thou hiding,
If thy soul would seek its good.
Yes, dearest child, have faith in God,
Then the rich blessings he can give
Will all be thine while thou dost live;
As from the Word is understood.

I would join this friend and others.
Who have hearts and feelings right,
To acknowledge for our brothers
Such as thou; though foulest spite
May be displayed in earnest quite,
By those who are so fond of self
That they cant spare a little pelf
To make your saddened faces bright.

I SAW A YOUTHFUL MOTHER LIE

I saw a youthful mother lie Upon the bed of death. No bitter tears bedimmed her eye Though parents, spouse, and friends were nigh, Expecting her last breath.

And when a little daughter came To see her mother dear, She did not call her child by name, But, quite composed, appeared the same As if she were not near.

I asked myself what made her act In this way to her kin? Was her poor frame with torture racked, Or was it consciousness she lacked, Or dreadful fears within?

I well divine 'twas none of these Concerned this mother's mind. 'Tis true her cough gave her no ease, That she was sinking from disease, And was to all resigned.

O, was it the dear Saviour's call That she was listening to? It was, and rapture filled her soul, Feeling content to leave them all, With heaven in her view.

And then, by some strong impulse led, She wished us next to sing. We sang the praise of him who bled On Calvary in the sinner's stead, That he to us might bring

Salvation from both sin and hell, A song she much admitted, And one on which she loved to dwell; One suited to her case so well That of true joy inspired.

And oh, methought were she but strong, She would have raised her voice To join us in that pleasing song, And let it waft her soul along To Him who was her choice.

Yet doubtless then her spirit sung, Yea joined us too in prayer; And now her golden harp is strung Which will ne'er be "on willows hung," In weakness or despair.

FAMILY PIECES

TO MY BELOVED WIFE, DURING AFFLICTION, 1842.

Ann, we have lived in peace for three long years.
Much pleasure we have had, some crosses too;
Enough to show that in this Vale of Tears
Affliction's needed still to bring us through.

Why should it not be so? Our God is good;
He also wise, and better far doth know
What's best for us, and if we understood
Our interest well we should confess it so.

A man both wise and good did once aver--
"At th' hands of God we have received good;
And shall not we, who are so prone to err,
Receive our evil too, as best we should?"

My dearest Ann, let not your spirits down,
But with me kiss the rod that God hath sent
His promise is that he will not disown
Those dear to him, though by sore troubles bent.

O, that the sacred influence of truth
Which we profess may ever dwell within;
That we may bear the yoke now in our youth,
And always flee the devious paths of sin.

O, that the Holy Book which does contain
The greatest charter our kind God can grant,
May prove to be like precious heavenly rain
To nourish, strengthen, and keep us from want.

Then, hand in hand in unity and love,
In holiness we'll walk before our God,
And have affections fixed on things above,
Our feet with "gospel preparation shod."

And thus may we hold on Life's journey through;
Nor e'er forsake pure Wisdom's sacred path.
Still as we journey always keep in view
Those glorious things "the righteous nation" hath.

In sure and certain prospect, far beyond
In point of worth this world and all its toys,
Treasure in heaven, beside the blissful sound
Of Jesus' voice, with sweetest heavenly joys.

And may our children all likewise receive
The richest dews of heavenly blessing now.
O, may the Lord make each of them believe
The gospel pure, and to its teachings bow.

And then indeed should we be called to part
While in this world, we all shall meet above,
Where we with every power and all our heart
Will praise the Saviour's name and sing his love.

O, blest, blest thought! through vast Eternity
In purest bliss and holiness to dwell.
There our glad eyes shall Jesus ever see,
And hear the Saints his greatest wonders tell.

TO MY DAUGHTER MARY ANN, ASLEEP.

1842.

Sweetly asleep is Mary Ann,
In calmest infantile repose
Her lovely face no longer wan,
Seems lovelier still when in a doze.

Sleep on, my babe, I'll not disturb,
Thy silent rest I love to view;
For now thou needest not the curb
I use in trying to subdue

Thy peevish temper, which, I ween
Needs constant care from me, thy site,
While through thy childish ways are seen
Thy passions strong in wildest fire.

Sleep on, my child, some future day
May see thee walking in God's ways.
For this great blessing will I pray
Still guided by the Truth's clear rays.

Sleep on, my little girl, till morn,
And when awake pursue thy play;
Yet, when grown up, may'st thou adorn
The sphere in which thou mov'st by day.

Sleep on, my daughter, sleep in peace.
Thou has been toiling through the day.
Thy little tongue doth seldom cease
From talking much in thy own way.

Sleep on, sweet prattler, and may bright
Angelic Spirits guard thee round,
Till Sol with his resplendent light
Doth break thy slumbers quite profound.

Yes, sleep, my child, through every night,
As fast revolving years proceed.
By day enjoy the heavenly light,
Of which we in the Bible read.

But oh, sleep not when duties bid
My girl awake to run the race
Which Christians run, when thorns amid
May make her see her need of Grace.

And oh, sleep not in ways of sin,
For dangers lurk with serpent wiles;
And false security within,
Each unsuspecting mind beguiles.

And when the solemn time arrives
For thee to sleep in death at peace,
And thy pure spirit strongly strives
To gain her longed-for wished release,

O, may she mount to yon abode
Where God's blest Saints and Angels dwell;
And there rejoice in him who trode
The path to death to save from hell.

TO ELLEN AND WILLIE.

Ellen, my prattler dear,
Willie, my darling boy,
My children need not fear,
They shall my gift employ.

To you, by great neglect,
I have no rhyme addressed.
This you would scarce expect,
So much you've been caressed.

For it I now will try
To make amends quite ample,
And trust the time is nigh
When you can read this sample.

Ellen, I think I see
That thou resemblest mother;
Thou'rt not so much like me
As Willie, thy young brother.

One thing I wish you both,
That you in your behaviour
Like her, may not be loath
To follow Christ, the Saviour.

For never have I seen
One of a lovelier spirit;
No mortals do, I ween,
Such loveliness inherit.

She was of temper mild,
Was often smiling sweetly,
In malice was a child,
As a Christian walked discreetly.

To have this said of you
Would give your father pleasure.
It would be worth, if true,
To me a world of treasure.

So Ellen, prattler dear,
Willie, my darling boy,
While father's stay is here,
O, fill his heart with joy.

As soon as you can read, Peruse the Bible's page, And to your ways take heed As you advance in age.

Then to the Savior fly,
Who, only, you can save
From woes that never die,
In death beyond the grave.

That we may meet at last
In Heaven, that happy place,
When every storm is past,
To view our Jesus' face.

TO MR. AND MRS. C. BATTY.

1847.

Parents-in-law, a Rhymer much in debt
Deems it full time to try his debts to pay;
And as some large arrears are standing yet,
To give this mite I will no more delay.

And if I cannot make a full discharge,
Perhaps I may induce you to forbear,
For though this portion is not very large,
'Tis quite as much as I can freely spare.

Preliminaries settled, I proceed
To seek the assistance of my humble Muse;
Well knowing that she will in time of need
Give forth such numbers as you'll not refuse.

Impelled by gratitute for kindness shown, I bless my God I now so long have known That sweet connection in which I have stood With you and yours. Thoughts of it make the blood Run freely through my veins; they cheer my mind, Revive my spirits, make me leave behind Vile carking cares, dispel my melancholy, Fire my devotion with desires most holy,