Chapter XIII: Book VIII (3)

Fill my sad soul! Thus am I drawn away,
And in imagination soar to-day
To those blest regions where my Ann has gone,
And feel that even now I'm not alone.
For her pure spirit is with mine
Holding fellowship divine.
Hark! she whispers in the skies,
"Let thy prayers to Heaven arise;
Let thy songs ascend above;
Sing evermore Redeeming Love;
For all those who here do enter
Cleave to Jesus as their Centre,
And we now on holy ground
Join in one unceasing round
Of purest pleasure, and do raise
Our voices in the Saviour's praise
And thus throughout Eternity
Dwell in sweetest harmony.
To all my kindred I would say.
Work while 'tis called 'to-day.'
Always listen to the voice
Of Jesus, and in him rejoice.
Make his righteousness your boast,
For without it you are lost.
Listen now, he calls to-day;
Flee, Oh, flee to him away!"
She ceased to speak, and back her spirit fled
To yon bright Mansions where her Saviour led;
And we are left confined in tents of clay,
To "groan, being burdened," for Redemption's day.
Oh, then, dear parents, let us not forget
The "still small voice" of Mercy's speaking yet.
Let us put on afresh our heavenly armor,
The Christian warfare is but growing warmer.
Should our weak courage fail, let us in meekness
Look still to him who gives us strength in weakness.
And thus supported, may our lives declare
How blest the portion which through grace we share.

TO MY INFANT ANNIE.

1847.

Motherless babe, I can't forbear to make Some rhyme to thee for thy dear mother's sake. Thy pleasant looks, thy smiles, thy temper mild Do much surprise me in so young a child. In thy sweet face I view in embryo My lost wife's charms; it is, it must be so. Quiet thy ways, and smiling oft through tears, An earnest surely this for future years, That the same lovely conduct may be shown Which marked thy mother's life, as is well known. Then as thou dost advance to womanhood, May God's own Word by thee be understood. Can I look forward to the time When thou shalt reach a woman's prime? When youth and beauty, linked with grace May beam forth from thy smiling face? Alas, the future, hid from sight Of all but Him who dwells in light, May see us numbered with the dead. And knowing this may I be led To train my children in the way That leads to Heaven's eternal day.

STANZAS.

IN MEMORY OF ANNIE, DIED JULY 11, 1847.

Thou'rt gone, thou lovely gem, I trust
To grace the crown of Zion's King;
And we thy body to the dust
Commit with faith unwavering.

Thou wast just long enough with us
To charm our hearts and claim our low;
And now thou'rt gone. Why is it thus?
Did Jesus need thy soul above?

For twenty weeks thy lovely face,
Thy pleasing smiles, thy temper mild,
Have made thy father hope to trace
The mother in her darling child.

And yet thou hast for some time seemed
Too fair a flower to bloom below.
Thy death but proves our Father deemed
It best that thou in Heaven should'st grow.

And knowing, as I well may know
That this vain world is full of trial,
I would not say against the blow,
Though it may cause me self-denial.

Now, while I write, my thoughts ascend
More fleetly than the lightning's flame
To that blest place where lowly bend
God's saints, In worship of his name.

And there methinks I see thee join
With mother and a numerous throng.
In praise of Him who is Divine,
To whom all honor does belong.

Why should we grudge to part with thee?
Thou went our Heavenly father's own;
And he far better knows than we
What's best to do, as will be shown.

And yet it seems so hard to part--,
To part with those we love so dearly,
That, though the keenness of the smart
Is gone through Jesus' death most clearly,

We cannot help but mourn and weep
At losing for a time such treasure.
But we'll, rejoice that those who sleep
In Christ, shall, in unbounded measure,

Enjoy true happiness and peace
In yon fair World, where pain not tears.
Are either felt or seen; where cease
All sorrow and perplexing fears,

TO MRS. H. BATTSON.

1847.

To you, dear sister, I would now address
A rude production of my rhyming brain;
And if it does increase your happiness,
Of this intrusion you will not complain.

Margaret, nine years have nearly rolled away,
Since I first met on at your father's place.
Well I remember, to the very day,
My first glad glimpse of your young smiling face.

More, I remember for, almost forlorn,
I was received well 'neath that friendly roof,
And such pure kindness unto me was shown
As put my gratitude to strongest proof.

May I not hope that our dear Saviour took
As done to him what then was done for me?
If so, your names are written in his book,
As an assembled universe may see.

'Tis now, when one not only dear to me,
But to you all, has reached the World of Bliss,
That I am led more clearly still to see
The grandeur which in our Religion is.

May I not hope that in some small degree,
The exercise of my poor gifts did tend
To lead the youthful, loving sisters three
Beneath Christ's yoke their willing necks to bend?

And now what shall I say? You are a wife;
A mother's joys, I trust, will soon be ours.
O, may you still in blest conjugal life
Find that true grace which evermore endues.

And may you live for many years to come
That life which none but Christians true can live.
Press forward now to reach your heavenly home;
A sacrifice to God your being give.

And may the Lord give Grace to one and all,
That we may serve him while we stay below;
Then, in due time He will our spirits call
To share that bliss he can alone bestow.

TO MR. AND MRS. W. BATTY, OF PARIS.

1847.

Brother and sister dear, my stay I prolong here,
While an effusion can flow from my pen.
May it you gratify, your minds now satisfy,
That I may have courage to try it again.

Do thou, my dear brother--for there is no other
Has a claim upon me if thou be denied--
Accept from me the lay I in gratitude pay
For services rendered when I was so tried.

When by great sickness low, I was some years ago,
Thy interest with mine was clearly as one.
For me thou wast striving, thyself wast depriving
Of needful repose when thy day's work was done.

In view then of thy strong affection
As shown to me, my feelings flow;
And, while I enjoy reflection,
I'll strive my gratitude to show.

I saw thy conduct with emotion,
Prayed my God to own and bless
What thou didst through love's devotion,
To increase my happiness.

'Twas then I sought thy soul's Salvation;
In prayer besought the Lord to make
What proved to me severe probation
A blessing to thee for Christ's' sake.

And now I see thee with thy wife,
Ranked amongst the heirs of Glory,
Partakers of Eternal Life
Through faith in sweet Redemption's Story.

A blessing this, which fleeting Time
Can not unfold in all its brightness,
As 'twill be seen when in Heaven's prime
We walk its streets in robes of whiteness.

Hail happy day! thy near approach
Inspires our hearts with joy and gladness,
Enables us to bear reproach,
Takes from our hearts much of their sadness.

Brother and sister dear, let us while we are here
Cling unto Jesus, our very best friend;
That when Death shall come we may soon reach our home,
And gain Felicity never to end.

FIRESIDE THOUGHTS OF ANN, MY FORMER WIFE.

Wrapt of late in solemn musing
On the checkered scenes of life,
Peace was o'er my mind diffusing
As I thought of Ann, my wife.

Pure in life and conversation,
Full of smiles and modest worth,
Showing calmest resignation
When sad trials called it forth.

Sweet and softly o'er me stealing,
Like a pleasant zephyr's breath,
Came pure faith, my sore heart healing
As I thought of Ann in death.

In her prime and beauty dying,
Full of love and heavenly joy,
Safe in Christ, stern Death, defying
Nothing could her peace destroy.

Faith and fancy both combining,
Blessings to me freely given,
Keep my soul from e'er repining,
As I think of Ann in Heaven.

TO MY BROTHER JAMES.

James, 'tis full time for me to write Some rhymes to you in earnest quite. I've promised long, and now I'll try My promise to fulfill, and why? Because you have a claim on me Which, when paid off, will set me free, To run awhile again in debt, Which in its turn shall sure be met. But this is trifling, you may say. Perhaps it is, but trifles may Effect some good; they often do, And quite as often please us, too. Who's free from trifling? I would ask. To find out one would prove a task. But then I candidly confess That we should surely trifle less. Well, let me see; can any theme Be started? Yes, I had a dream [FOOTNOTE: Fact.] The other night. Both you and I Were standing on a hill so high, And soon there came a mighty stream Which did not leave of hope a gleam. But suddenly a plank we found, That brought us safely to dry ground. Then I awoke devoid of fear, And you the Moral true shall hear.

All mortals now are sailing down The stream of time, as you must own; And waters roar, and dash, and foam. Then say--how shall we reach our home? There is a plank, as we have seen, And it is safe, most safe, I ween. 'Tis in the Gospel clearly shown, 'Tis by all Christians fully known. We have its merits long since tried, And glory in the Lamb who died. Then let us prize it as we ought, And serve him who our souls has bought. For surely this our duty is If we would reach eternal bliss.

TO MY DAUGHTER ELLEN, ON HER WEDDING DAY, MARCH 20, 1859.

Ellen, on this glad occasion
I address to you a rhyme,
And in tones of sweet persuasion
Would advise you at this time.

If full measure of enjoyment
You would seek in married life,
Make it daily your employment
To avoid what leads to strife.

Prize, O prize, both now and ever,
Joseph's confidence of love.
See that fits of temper never
Drive him forth from home to rove.

Should he show unlooked for weakness,
Hide the secret in your breast,
And expostulate with meekness
When you have God's Throne addressed.

Always aim to dress with neatness,
Though your clothes be e'er so plain;
Add to this your mother's sweetness,
If you would love's sway maintain.

Should yours prove a life of trial,
May you both still look above.
Exercise in self-denial
Strengthens pre-existing love.

I have found that constant blessing
Springs from troubles sanctified,
And when needs have been most pressing,
God himself those needs supplied.

To His care I therefore leave you,
Bid you lean upon his arm;
May naught soon arise to grieve you,
Naught to damp affection warm.

MURDER WILL OUT; OR, THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE.

A tale of Jealousy and Revenge, by Bernard Gray.

Turned into a Ballad and some new Scenes added.

1854

[Footnote: I would not wish exactly to be held responsible for what the reader may deem unchristian-like language or statements in this ballad, as I have copied the original in such matters.]

Sullen sat in jealous mood, A most brutal-looking man; Purpose foul served him for food. Against a maid he lately wooed His dreadful purpose ran.

Long he sat with vacant stare, Large his eyes, quite gray and full; Fell in tangled locks his hair, O'er his dirty forehead there, Fit covering for such skull.

Stands in the room a crazy bed And two wretched, worn-out chairs. _That_ had rested limbs and head, _These_ now served for _that_ instead; Thus ill the villain fares.

Heard he on that gloomy night Demon foul to urge the deed? Would he tremble at the sight If some horrid goblin sprite Came his strong wrath to feed?

He would welcome as his friend Ev'n proud Satan, prince of Hell, If he would assistance lend So that he could gain his end In crime--so very fell.

She who thus had roused his ire, Lived a little distance off. With his jealous soul on fire Cudgel stout suits his desire; He has one stout and tough.

Soon he reached her shabby home, Rapped aloud upon the door. "Yes, John Bristol, you may come," Said a voice within that room So high on the third floor.

Near the window, very sad, Sat she, deeply wrapped in thought And appeared but thinly clad. Brown her hair, blue eyes she had As e'en with love were fraught!

She asked the man to take a seat. He "preferred to stand awhile, Had been sitting much of late." Now, as if impelled by fate, He has recourse to guile.

Says she, "Glad I am you've come For I thought you took offense." Little dreams she of the doom Hanging o'er her in that room, Or she would flee from thence.

He her conduct now reproves, She replies in innocence. Softly he behind her moves, Right behind the girl he loves, In cowardly pretence.

Ere suspicion could arise In the hapless victim's mind, Up the sturdy cudgel flies, Downward on its aim it flies, And strikes her as designed.

Right upon her temples fair, Murder foul has done its part. Eyes assume a strange, fixed stare, Flows the blood among her hair, No longer throbs the heart.

Now the villain lifts her arm, Now he finds the pulse has fled; He can do no further harm; Conscience sounds a loud alarm, For surely she is dead.

Now he flees in haste away; Shifts the scene again to her: She is found by friends next day Stiff and gory as she lay, And they create a stir.

Quickly gathers round a mob, Fleetly flies the horrid news, Making hearts more strongly throb; Women shriek, and cry, and sob As each the body views.

Come the officers of law; Cries are heard to let them pass. Through, the crowd they forward go, To behold the scene of woe; Suspense now holds the mass.

Shifts the scene unto the sea, Nears a port a stately sail; Joyful seems the crew to be, Dream they not of misery From an approaching gale.

Swiftly comes--a dreadful storm; Fast the rigging's torn away; Broken masts the ship deform, All is terror and alarm Amidst the dashing spray.

Angry roars the foaming deep; Death now stares them in the face; There is found no time to sleep, Nor would it avail to weep In such a woeful case.

Lift they up a prayer to God; Does He heat them in distress? See, He waves his righteous Rod, For they've on his precepts trod; His might they now confess.

Two alone survive the rest, These are clinging to a spar. One with secret in his breast Is by sense of guilt oppressed, Which keeps his mind ajar.

Can the reader guess his name? "Bristol?" yes, he was the one; He a sailor soon became, Nor felt any sense of shame Till life had nearly gone.

Now Hell's terrors seize his soul; Now he sees the murdered maid In her blood before him fall; Hears her for God's vengeance call, And ask why it's delayed.

Feels the elements at war Nothing to the strife within, Therefore to his brother tar His locked heart he does unbar, To ease him of his sin.

Tells him how some months ago He a harmless maiden slew. Jealousy had wrought his woe, Made him give the fatal blow; 'Twas very wrong he knew.

"Speak her name!" the other cries; "Mary Markham," Bristol screams. Rage gleams from that other's eyes, As he at John Bristol flies, To end his mortal dreams.

Soon he's by the murderer's side, Now he fiercely drags him down. "Here thou shalt no longer bide; Sink, fiend! sink into the tide, And all thy baseness drown!"

Loud and louder roars the wind; The new murderer is alone And has lost his peace of mind. Will he seek a port to find And there his sin atone?

Fellow sinner, think not hard Of the poor remaining one. He from proper light debarred, Thought it duty to reward Bristol for that deed done.

Why? He to the murdered maid Was a brother by his birth. His love for her did not fade, And this journey home he made In hopes to yield her mirth.

Shifts the gloomy scene once more, To a narrow, crooked street; In a wretched liquor store Sits a man we've seen before, Musing on things not sweet.

He might seem to view intent Watered spirits in a glass, For his eyes on that are bent, But his thoughts are wandering sent Alter that murdered lass.

In this street--the very same, That most shocking act was done; It had nearly lost its fame, Yet remembered was the name Of that pool maiden lone.

When her name was spoke 'tis said Chilling honor seized the soul Of both high and lowly bred; All who heard were filled with dread Which they could scarce control.

Seems the man irresolute About the drink before him placed. Now, his gestures are not mute, Showing feelings most acute, And such as might be traced.

Bodingly he shakes his head, Deep-drawn lengthy sigh then heaves His broad chest, for her now dead! Bitter tears are freely shed As he for sister grieves.

In plain sailor's clothes he's dressed, Anchor blue is on his hand. A woman's eyes now on him rest, Who, with babe upon her breast, Speaks him in accents bland.

"Does the liquor suit your taste? Is there nothing else you need?" From his seat he rose with haste, On the floor his feet he braced; "I'm thinking of that deed!"

Quickly swallows he the drink, Then asks, "Is not this the street?" "What street? Come, yourself bethink!" "I will; yet from it I shrink. Sweet girl, we ne'er shall meet!"

"Tell, good woman, if you can, Where she "--Once again a pause. Turns she now afresh to scan The face of that most wretched man. So very full of woes.

Anxious to relieve his mind, Stays she still within the room; Then says, "Man, what would you find? I to serve you am inclined." "Where met that girl her doom?"

Now she needs no other clue; Says, "You'll see the place from here. Fouler deed I never knew; Was she anything to you? Come, tell me without fear."

"Was my sister, that was all;" Soft he said, then paid his bill. Something seemed on him to call; Speedily away he stole, But not with ready will.

Radiant Sol is sinking low, And Night coming on apace; Roofs in the setting sunbeams glow, And his purple tints they show, Till he has run his race.

At this time does Markham sit In that lonely, dirty room; Heeds not how the shadows flit, Asks not if such place be fit To drive away his gloom.

Felt he quite constrained to see That house, where his sister dwelt, And refresh his memory, Thinking what she used to be, When he so happy felt.

Now he tries to realize Scenes that harrow up his soul. While, successfully, he tries, Fancies he can hear her cries! This does his heart appal.

Thus engaged, he quickly hears Soft steps coming to the door! This does not arouse his fears; Strong his nerves, it now appears, As ere they were before.

Timid hand has lift the latch; One more man is now within. Very soon he strikes a match; Candle's lit! Can Markham catch Those features--dark with sin?

Soon. But what a sight to see; Eyeballs from their sockets start! Trembles he convulsively; Should he try he could not flee; He's struck, as by a dart!

Bristol locks the door inside, And scans well the room around; His grey eyes are opened wide-- Who's that on the other side? Too soon the truth he found!

Markham springs now on his feet, While his eyes with passion glow; Bristol's these defying meet! Firm they stand, nor seek retreat; They well each other know!

First the brother silence broke; "Villain! Come you here again? Who did your light doom revoke? Died on not from my just stroke Upon the stormy Main?

"You've the impudence to come To the place she occupied! Your foul presence taints the room Which to her was as a home, Till, by your hands, she died!

"You hardened wretch! Take, quickly take Your polluted soul from here! Who, for you, Death's fetters brake? Satan his own child forsake! He'll have you, never fear!

"Monster! you're not fit to live, Neither yet to die, at all?" Bristol does no answer give; The torments no one can conceive, Endured by his vile soul!

Again the brother spoke in rage: "Think you to escape your doom? Other story, I engage To read, ere you quit this stage. Stern Vengeance now doth loom!

"If there be no other way, Law I'll take in my own hands." "This you've done"--did Bristol say-- "At the shipwreck yesterday;" Now Markham shuddering stands.

Said he, "Yes, I did it then, And you are sent back to me; You will ne'er escape again; Trial will be but in vain-- You're doomed to misery!

"Mary, my own sister dear! When I last time saw your face, Dreamt you not of cause to fear Murderer's hand upon you here, Within this very place!

"No stain was upon your name; Lively, modest girl you were; Would you ne'er had felt love's flame! Yet you had no cause to shame, But bore good character.

"If I live, your murderer's neck Pays the forfeit of his crime! Loss of time I will not reck-- Nothing shall my ardor check, Should he seek other clime!"

Speaking thus, he placed his back Firm against the outer door; As he had of voice no lack, Shouted, till his face grew black, And stamped upon the floor!

Presently the neighbors come, While poor Bristol trembling stands. Now they are within the room, And proceed to seal his doom By binding fast his hands.

Shifts the scene into a Court, Near to suffocation full; Counsel unto lies resort, And the jury loud exhort To make proceedings null.

Bristol's friends had paid them gold, And they do their best to show Black is _white_: as, when of old, Satan, without _fee_, lies told, To work our Parents' woe.

Let them do their very best, There's a witness all must hear! It is in John Bristol's breast, And it cannot, will not rest, Till all the truth appear!

All his quivering lips observe, While he now attempts to speak. Conscience cries, "Come, muster nerve. You must not from duty swerve; You shall proceedings check!"

He speaks; all eyes quickly turn On the wretched culprit's face. "I my crime most deeply mourn! Thoughts of it my vitals burn; I dare not hope for grace!"

Verdict found, and sentence passed. In three days condemned to die; Thus he's caught by Law at last; Fetters bind his limbs quite fast. As he, in cell, doth lie.

Now the Devil steels his heart To refuse religion's aid; "In that _thing_ he'll have no part, It would but increase his smart-- Of death he's not afraid!"

Vainly strive God's messengers To lead him to Jesus' blood; "There's no need," he still avers, And good victuals much prefers, So asks, again, for food.

'Tis the night before he die; Swiftly speed the hours away; They, like seconds, seem to fly To a Record, kept on high, Against the Judgment Day!

Two--three--four--five! from the clock, Sound like guns fired in distress. Yet appear to give no shock To that man, with heart of rock, Though full of wretchedness!

Six! More dismal sounds are heard Than the striking of the hour; Workmen's blows loud echoes stirred, Fixing scaffold--we inferred, To rouse him has this power?

Not the least; it scarcely went To the chambers of his brain; Others thought it cried, "Repent, Bristol, ere your life be spent!" But yet the cry was vain!

Still he hardens his vile heart, And hangs sullenly his head, Seven--eight--nine--ten! Did he start? No; but fiends from him depart, And he will soon be dead.

Comes the Sheriff to his cell; Puts the cord around his neck; Now his feelings, who can tell? Still he careth not for Hell-- But wait the Sheriff's beck.

Slow the dull procession moves To the fatal gallows-tree; There he sees no face he loves, Though the people come in droves His dying throes to see.

Now he hears the warrant read, Bids adieu to all around; Solemn prayer again is made, And the cap's drawn o'er his head; Signal's given; his soul has fled! The body sinks to th' ground.

"I've followed him unto the end!" Said a voice among the crowd. Warning take! Young men, attend! See the murderer's dreadful end! It speaks like thunder loud.

THE FAITHFUL PASTOR.

WRITTEN IN 1854.

"Would I describe a Preacher such as Paul Were he on earth, would hear, approve and own, Paul should himself direct me."

COWPER