1854.
Friend, I've read thy touching versesPoured from gentle, loving heart,Glad that sense of thy own merciesGives thee-zeal to act thy partIn bringing sweet, poetic artTo bear upon the orphan's case,And show as by a sunbeam's traceHow 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 slightingTh' orphan's cause, that it is sweet,Pure modest worth with love to greet,Though that worth may not appearIn form bedecked in gorgeous gear,But one in tattered garb complete.
Well indeed hast thou depictedWhat the ragged boy endured;How his soul with grief afflictedCould alone by One be cured.O, would that such could be alluredAt 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 notBut watch over thee in love.He will thy foes in wrath reprove.For this he strongly pledged his word,Which should true comfort thee affordTill death all thy sad woes remove.
Did thy mother die confidingIn 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 giveWill 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 brothersSuch as thou; though foulest spiteMay be displayed in earnest quite,By those who are so fond of selfThat they cant spare a little pelfTo make your saddened faces bright.
I saw a youthful mother lieUpon the bed of death.No bitter tears bedimmed her eyeThough parents, spouse, and friends were nigh,Expecting her last breath.
And when a little daughter cameTo see her mother dear,She did not call her child by name,But, quite composed, appeared the sameAs if she were not near.
I asked myself what made her actIn 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 theseConcerned 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 callThat 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 bledOn 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 wellThat of true joy inspired.
And oh, methought were she but strong,She would have raised her voiceTo join us in that pleasing song,And let it waft her soul alongTo Him who was her choice.
Yet doubtless then her spirit sung,Yea joined us too in prayer;And now her golden harp is strungWhich will ne'er be "on willows hung,"In weakness or despair.
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 TearsAffliction's needed still to bring us through.
Why should it not be so? Our God is good;He also wise, and better far doth knowWhat's best for us, and if we understoodOur 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 sentHis promise is that he will not disownThose dear to him, though by sore troubles bent.
O, that the sacred influence of truthWhich 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 containThe greatest charter our kind God can grant,May prove to be like precious heavenly rainTo 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 viewThose glorious things "the righteous nation" hath.
In sure and certain prospect, far beyondIn point of worth this world and all its toys,Treasure in heaven, beside the blissful soundOf Jesus' voice, with sweetest heavenly joys.
And may our children all likewise receiveThe richest dews of heavenly blessing now.O, may the Lord make each of them believeThe gospel pure, and to its teachings bow.
And then indeed should we be called to partWhile in this world, we all shall meet above,Where we with every power and all our heartWill praise the Saviour's name and sing his love.
O, blest, blest thought! through vast EternityIn purest bliss and holiness to dwell.There our glad eyes shall Jesus ever see,And hear the Saints his greatest wonders tell.
1842.
Sweetly asleep is Mary Ann,In calmest infantile reposeHer 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 curbI use in trying to subdue
Thy peevish temper, which, I weenNeeds constant care from me, thy site,While through thy childish ways are seenThy passions strong in wildest fire.
Sleep on, my child, some future dayMay see thee walking in God's ways.For this great blessing will I prayStill 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 adornThe 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 ceaseFrom talking much in thy own way.
Sleep on, sweet prattler, and may brightAngelic Spirits guard thee round,Till Sol with his resplendent lightDoth 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 bidMy girl awake to run the raceWhich Christians run, when thorns amidMay 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 arrivesFor thee to sleep in death at peace,And thy pure spirit strongly strivesTo gain her longed-for wished release,
O, may she mount to yon abodeWhere God's blest Saints and Angels dwell;And there rejoice in him who trodeThe path to death to save from hell.
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 tryTo make amends quite ample,And trust the time is nighWhen you can read this sample.
Ellen, I think I seeThat thou resemblest mother;Thou'rt not so much like meAs Willie, thy young brother.
One thing I wish you both,That you in your behaviourLike her, may not be loathTo follow Christ, the Saviour.
For never have I seenOne 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 youWould 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 heedAs you advance in age.
Then to the Savior fly,Who, only, you can saveFrom woes that never die,In death beyond the grave.
That we may meet at lastIn Heaven, that happy place,When every storm is past,To view our Jesus' face.
1847.
Parents-in-law, a Rhymer much in debtDeems 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 proceedTo seek the assistance of my humble Muse;Well knowing that she will in time of needGive forth such numbers as you'll not refuse.
Impelled by gratitute for kindness shown,I bless my God I now so long have knownThat sweet connection in which I have stoodWith you and yours. Thoughts of it make the bloodRun freely through my veins; they cheer my mind,Revive my spirits, make me leave behindVile carking cares, dispel my melancholy,Fire my devotion with desires most holy,
Fill my sad soul! Thus am I drawn away,And in imagination soar to-dayTo those blest regions where my Ann has gone,And feel that even now I'm not alone.For her pure spirit is with mineHolding 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 enterCleave to Jesus as their Centre,And we now on holy groundJoin in one unceasing roundOf purest pleasure, and do raiseOur voices in the Saviour's praiseAnd thus throughout EternityDwell in sweetest harmony.To all my kindred I would say.Work while 'tis called 'to-day.'Always listen to the voiceOf 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 fledTo 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 forgetThe "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 meeknessLook still to him who gives us strength in weakness.And thus supported, may our lives declareHow blest the portion which through grace we share.
1847.
Motherless babe, I can't forbear to makeSome rhyme to thee for thy dear mother's sake.Thy pleasant looks, thy smiles, thy temper mildDo much surprise me in so young a child.In thy sweet face I view in embryoMy 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 shownWhich 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 timeWhen thou shalt reach a woman's prime?When youth and beauty, linked with graceMay beam forth from thy smiling face?Alas, the future, hid from sightOf all but Him who dwells in light,May see us numbered with the dead.And knowing this may I be ledTo train my children in the wayThat leads to Heaven's eternal day.
Thou'rt gone, thou lovely gem, I trustTo grace the crown of Zion's King;And we thy body to the dustCommit with faith unwavering.
Thou wast just long enough with usTo 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 traceThe mother in her darling child.
And yet thou hast for some time seemedToo fair a flower to bloom below.Thy death but proves our Father deemedIt best that thou in Heaven should'st grow.
And knowing, as I well may knowThat 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 ascendMore fleetly than the lightning's flameTo that blest place where lowly bendGod's saints, In worship of his name.
And there methinks I see thee joinWith 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 weWhat'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 smartIs gone through Jesus' death most clearly,
We cannot help but mourn and weepAt losing for a time such treasure.But we'll, rejoice that those who sleepIn Christ, shall, in unbounded measure,
Enjoy true happiness and peaceIn yon fair World, where pain not tears.Are either felt or seen; where ceaseAll sorrow and perplexing fears,
1847.
To you, dear sister, I would now addressA 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 shownAs put my gratitude to strongest proof.
May I not hope that our dear Saviour tookAs 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 seeThe grandeur which in our Religion is.
May I not hope that in some small degree,The exercise of my poor gifts did tendTo lead the youthful, loving sisters threeBeneath 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 lifeFind that true grace which evermore endues.
And may you live for many years to comeThat 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 callTo share that bliss he can alone bestow.
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 otherHas a claim upon me if thou be denied—Accept from me the lay I in gratitude payFor 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 deprivingOf needful repose when thy day's work was done.
In view then of thy strong affectionAs 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 blessWhat thou didst through love's devotion,To increase my happiness.
'Twas then I sought thy soul's Salvation;In prayer besought the Lord to makeWhat proved to me severe probationA blessing to thee for Christ's' sake.
And now I see thee with thy wife,Ranked amongst the heirs of Glory,Partakers of Eternal LifeThrough faith in sweet Redemption's Story.
A blessing this, which fleeting TimeCan not unfold in all its brightness,As 'twill be seen when in Heaven's primeWe walk its streets in robes of whiteness.
Hail happy day! thy near approachInspires 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 hereCling unto Jesus, our very best friend;That when Death shall come we may soon reach our home,And gain Felicity never to end.
Wrapt of late in solemn musingOn the checkered scenes of life,Peace was o'er my mind diffusingAs I thought of Ann, my wife.
Pure in life and conversation,Full of smiles and modest worth,Showing calmest resignationWhen sad trials called it forth.
Sweet and softly o'er me stealing,Like a pleasant zephyr's breath,Came pure faith, my sore heart healingAs I thought of Ann in death.
In her prime and beauty dying,Full of love and heavenly joy,Safe in Christ, stern Death, defyingNothing 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.
James, 'tis full time for me to writeSome rhymes to you in earnest quite.I've promised long, and now I'll tryMy promise to fulfill, and why?Because you have a claim on meWhich, 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 mayEffect 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 confessThat we should surely trifle less.Well, let me see; can any themeBe started? Yes, I had a dream [FOOTNOTE: Fact.]The other night. Both you and IWere standing on a hill so high,And soon there came a mighty streamWhich 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 downThe 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 isIf we would reach eternal bliss.
TO MY DAUGHTER ELLEN, ON HER WEDDING DAY, MARCH 20, 1859.
Ellen, on this glad occasionI address to you a rhyme,And in tones of sweet persuasionWould advise you at this time.
If full measure of enjoymentYou would seek in married life,Make it daily your employmentTo avoid what leads to strife.
Prize, O prize, both now and ever,Joseph's confidence of love.See that fits of temper neverDrive him forth from home to rove.
Should he show unlooked for weakness,Hide the secret in your breast,And expostulate with meeknessWhen 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-denialStrengthens pre-existing love.
I have found that constant blessingSprings 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.
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 wooedHis 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.Thathad rested limbs and head,Thesenow served forthatinstead; Thus ill the villain fares.
Heard he on that gloomy nightDemon foul to urge the deed?Would he tremble at the sightIf some horrid goblin spriteCame his strong wrath to feed?
He would welcome as his friendEv'n proud Satan, prince of Hell,If he would assistance lendSo that he could gain his endIn crime—so very fell.
She who thus had roused his ire,Lived a little distance off.With his jealous soul on fireCudgel 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 roomSo high on the third floor.
Near the window, very sad,Sat she, deeply wrapped in thoughtAnd appeared but thinly clad.Brown her hair, blue eyes she hadAs 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 comeFor I thought you took offense."Little dreams she of the doomHanging 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 ariseIn 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 dayStiff 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 sobAs 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 miseryFrom an approaching gale.
Swiftly comes—a dreadful storm;Fast the rigging's torn away;Broken masts the ship deform,All is terror and alarmAmidst 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 weepIn 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 breastIs 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 shameTill life had nearly gone.
Now Hell's terrors seize his soul;Now he sees the murdered maidIn her blood before him fall;Hears her for God's vengeance call,And ask why it's delayed.
Feels the elements at warNothing to the strife within,Therefore to his brother tarHis locked heart he does unbar,To ease him of his sin.
Tells him how some months agoHe 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 aloneAnd has lost his peace of mind.Will he seek a port to findAnd there his sin atone?
Fellow sinner, think not hardOf the poor remaining one.He from proper light debarred,Thought it duty to rewardBristol for that deed done.
Why? He to the murdered maidWas a brother by his birth.His love for her did not fade,And this journey home he madeIn hopes to yield her mirth.
Shifts the gloomy scene once more,To a narrow, crooked street;In a wretched liquor storeSits a man we've seen before,Musing on things not sweet.
He might seem to view intentWatered spirits in a glass,For his eyes on that are bent,But his thoughts are wandering sentAlter 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 nameOf that pool maiden lone.
When her name was spoke 'tis saidChilling honor seized the soulOf both high and lowly bred;All who heard were filled with dreadWhich they could scarce control.
Seems the man irresoluteAbout 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 heavesHis broad chest, for her now dead!Bitter tears are freely shedAs 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 scanThe 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 sitIn that lonely, dirty room;Heeds not how the shadows flit,Asks not if such place be fitTo drive away his gloom.
Felt he quite constrained to seeThat house, where his sister dwelt,And refresh his memory,Thinking what she used to be,When he so happy felt.
Now he tries to realizeScenes that harrow up his soul.While, successfully, he tries,Fancies he can hear her cries!This does his heart appal.
Thus engaged, he quickly hearsSoft 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 catchThose 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 strokeUpon the stormy Main?
"You've the impudence to comeTo the place she occupied!Your foul presence taints the roomWhich to her was as a home,Till, by your hands, she died!
"You hardened wretch! Take, quickly takeYour 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 engageTo 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 fearMurderer'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 neckPays 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 backFirm 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 doomBy binding fast his hands.
Shifts the scene into a Court,Near to suffocation full;Counsel unto lies resort,And the jury loud exhortTo make proceedings null.
Bristol's friends had paid them gold,And they do their best to showBlack iswhite: as, when of old,Satan, withoutfee, 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 turnOn 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 heartTo refuse religion's aid;"In thatthinghe'll have no part,It would but increase his smart—Of death he's not afraid!"
Vainly strive God's messengersTo 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 flyTo 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 shockTo that man, with heart of rock,Though full of wretchedness!
Six! More dismal sounds are heardThan 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 wentTo 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 movesTo the fatal gallows-tree;There he sees no face he loves,Though the people come in drovesHis 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.
"Would I describe a Preacher such as PaulWere he on earth, would hear, approve and own,Paul should himself direct me."
To the deep umbrage of our North back woods,And near to Huron's wild romantic shore—Where Winter's storms are seen in angry moods,To make the Lake's waves dash with loudest roar—Came GOODWORTH, twelve years since, and brought a storeOf Christian wisdom to those lonely parts:To try if he could find an open doorBy which to reach the settlers' sinful hearts,And them inform of what would heal their inward smarts.
Firm in his mind, robust was he in frame,Of human learning having ample share;With fervent zeal, love-prompted, there he came,Pure Gospel Truth in meekness to declare,And backwoods hardships with his hearers share;He brought his loving wife and children four,Who for their own convenience showed small care;Who had with Christian heroism boreA heavy share of trial several years before.
These four dear children had been early trainedTo take their part in every day's employ;Nor were their youthful hearts by this estrangedFrom the kind parents, who did show their joyIn manifesting no wish to annoyTheir dearest offspring by undue restraint;Aware that this might very soon destroyTheir influence; and who has power to paintThe ills which flow from this too prevalent complaint?
Think not, kind reader, I would overdrawMy pictures of sweet, chaste, conjugal bliss;All I describe I've seen, and, therefore, knowI err not far—though some may doubt of this—And deem my sketches very far amiss.It matters not; those who have faithful beenIn wedlock pure have often found, I was,That a fair share of happiness sereneUpon this earth in Christian families still is seen.
And such were those of whom I speak above,For of God's grace they every one partook.Their actions sprang from the great Law of Love,So plainly laid down in his Holy Book.All might discover from each kind, sweet look,That they had been unto the Savior's School;That they had seldom Wisdom's paths forsook,But made the Word their only Guide and Rule.This kept their love alive, nor let their ardor cool.
Yet they did not to this at once attain;Poor human nature in its best estateHas much about it that is truly vain,And these were not exempt from common fate.Some fourteen years before my story's dateThey had been in the purifying fireOf great affliction; had been led to waitUpon their God who knew their soul's desire,And brought them through, clothed in Humility's attire.
And gave them for their loved ones taken away,What was more needful for their growth in grace,And led them thus to make His Arm their stay.In all their trials His kind hand to trace.'Twas this that fitted them for such a placeAs in these woods the were designed to fill;And hence they always wore a cheerful face,And bowed their own unto their Savior's will,While with the Spirit's sword the showed the greatest skill.
And such were needed in that settlementBut just reclaimed from the wild wilderness,For its inhabitants appeared contentWith worldly things, which did good thoughts repress,And cause the Pastor much of sore distress.In truth it seemed a most forbidding fieldFor pastoral labor, and it was no less.But God could make it precious fruit to yield,And be unto his servants constant Strength and Shield.
Now they had sought the mind of God to knowEre they concluded there to settle down;And this determined they resolved to goTo that rough place—quite far from any town,Where rude log huts were very thinly strown,And where hard labor stared them in the face,While gloomy woods appeared on them to frown,To find earth's comforts were but very scarce.For such a step I'm sure they needed special grace.
This they obtained, and providentiallyWere led to find a very splendidlot,Which fronted on that mighty inland Sea,And is in Summer a most lovely spot;A barren piece of land it sure is not.This might be known from its fine stock of trees.Now their good fortune gratitude begot,Which was poured forth to God upon their knees,While green leaves waved above, fanned by a warm, soft breeze.
A shabby shanty stood upon the ground,Perhaps erected by a poor red man;Fire-weeds and brushwood thickly grew around,To clear off which they now at once began.Near by the place a charming spring-creek ran;This had its source in a high tree-clad hill,From top of which the country they could scan.The father and two sons with right good willThat shanty soon prepare, and they its small space till.
This proved a wretched shelter at the best,For rain came through the worn-out roof of bark,And for hard laborers was no place of rest,While its small window left it very dark.They speak together of a house, when, hark!A noise they hear—a sound as of great glee—The settlers in their breasts possessed a sparkOf sweet good nature, and now came to seeIf they could not be useful to the family.
This as an omen soon was understood,And pressing wants were to each friend made known.With axes armed these quick obtained some wood,Which by strong oxen speedily was drawnTo the selected spot that had been shown.The Pastor's wife and daughters then prepareA good, substantial meal, and with kind toneInvite the friends to come and taste their fare,Which they in gratitude had made with nicest care.
With this good offer all at once complied;They came to work and therefore needs must eat.The day was fine and beech tree shade suppliedA place for table, and each took a seat,Admiring much the dinner spread so neat.And GOODWORTH then gave thanks most rev'rentlyFor such sweet comforts in their wood's retreat,And prayed that each warm-hearted friend might beRewarded for his kindness in Eternity.
The dinner o'er, awhile in friendly chatThey sat and rested till the cattle fed.Then GOODWORTH freely spoke to them of whatHe and his family to that place had led,And sweetly mentioned Him that once had bled—The great God-man, who, sinners came to save.These men in silence heard all he had said,And some shed tears, and all looked very grave,Though each rude breast possessed a heart most truly brave.
Once more bright axes, wielded by strong armsMake chips fly fast, as they the logs prepare;Such willing work the Pastor's family charms,For they this kindness had not thought to share.A strong foundation now is laid with care;Of ample size, the fabric upward grows;The men take pains to have the corners square,Which to effect the spare nor strength nor blows;And thus, as if by magic, that neat structure rose.
Meanwhile, there came some shingles, nails and boards,Brought by two teams, which only now were seen;And this fresh kindness fullest proof affordsThat GOODWORTH'S object was approved, I ween.Now some for rafters a long way had been;And, as the sun had sunk into the West,The women had prepared their table clean,Well laden, as before, with food; the bestWhich they had power to furnish in that wild wood-nest.
Warm thanks are given: the workers fall to workTo do full justice to that savory meal.No wicked feelings in their bosoms lurkAgainst the family; but they strongly feelThey have an interest in all their weal,And freely speak of coming back next dayThe house to finish; kindly thus they dealWith those dear folks—who wish them still to stay—And they will sing awhile, to cheer them on their way.
To this they all consented; then aroseSong after song, in praise of Jesus' name!Such songs can lighten e'en our saddest woes,And raise in human hearts a heavenly flame.Six men there were who, from that night, becameQuite altered characters—as all might see.For Gospel Truth can e'en a savage tame;Though this to some men seems a mystery—Such have not seen themselves sunk in depravity.
The singing o'er, the good man said, "Let's pray."All down beside him reverently knelt;It was a proper close for such a day—As all engaged must then have deeply felt.And oh, the language of that prayer did meltSome stony hearts, as I in truth would tell:For GOODWORTH on God's love and mercy dwelt—On coming judgment—and on Heaven and Hell—Till every one seemed bound as by the strongest spell.
This done, those neighbors—though reluctantly—Took leave of that most happy household there:And were as pleased as any men could beThey were allowed such company to share.'Twas Spring time, and the still and balmy airWas most refreshing to the wearied frame;And Luna's brightness, though quite free from glare,Enabled them to see which way they came—For staying rather late they would incur no blame.
The morning came, and with alacrityCame settlers also, ready as beforeTo help the welcome new-come familyWhose strange, deep news had made their hearts so sore.And now the labor of the day each boreAs if his own advantage he would seek.Some went to roofing, some to fix the doorAnd windows, and with hearts and arms not weak,They make the work fly fast, scarce leaving time to speak.
The muster, greater this day than the last,Left some hands free to clear a piece of ground;And these, with brush-hooks, o'er two acres passed,Making good riddance of what brush they found.They then cut down some poles and fenced it round.The family, too, were busy all this while,For they were moved with gratitude profoundTo show their thankfulness in many a smile.Their happy faces do the laborers' hearts beguile.
The meal-times passed with pleasure and some profit;Naught did occur to mar the harmony.If there were whisky every one kept off it,And all confessed they worked more easily.Too often liquor in the woods we see,And much vile mischief is it apt to doWhen neighbors come to help at Logging-bee,Or to assist each other at the plow.It pleases me to see this practice broken through.
The Country would have reason to rejoiceIf not a drop were as a beverage used,And I would not be slow to raise my voiceTill Temperance principles are more diffused.For this by some folks I may be abused,But where's the harm? I seek alone their good,And cannot be by conscience well excusedIf I refuse my aid to stem the floodWhich drowns its thousands of our common brotherhood.
But to return: The work had so well sped,And the new house was so far on the wayToward completion, that the family's headThought they might safely move that very day,But first enquired what there would be to pay?The neighbors smiled and kept the secret close,And what the bill was none thought fit to say.For satisfaction "he must ask theBoss."To tell whothatwas every one felt quite at loss.
Is this exaggeration? Witness now,Ye far backwoodsmen—much too oft belied,Are ye inclined these things to disavow?Or will my statements be by you denied?If not they stand for truth both far and wide,And your example may be found of useIn leading others quickly to decideThat they for ignorance have no excuseIn this enlightened age, when Knowledge is diffuse.
I need not mention every little thingThat was required to make the house complete.My humble Muse would now attempt to singOf subjects which to her are far more sweet.The Pastor happy lived in his retreat,Preaching on Sabbath, in a school-house near.There many came who could not get a seat,And such large audience did the Pastor cheer,Who spoke to them with zeal—for they to him were dear.
I may be asked, "What was this man's persuasion?Was he a Churchman or a Methodist?"I answer make without the least evasion,He owned no "ism," nor yet "ite," nor "ist."But if on further knowledge you insist,I only say that he was glad to ownThe "Blood-bought Throng" wherever they exist.Nor did he scruple to let this be known,The BIBLE still the Source from which his creed was drawn.
From it he gathered that ev'n two or threeMet in Christ's name a Church of God do make;That, when so met, they have full libertyOn each Lord's Day the Bread and Wine to take.All vain traditions they in this forsake,But get rich blessing from the King of Kings.And in that lonely house near Huron's Lake,The family enjoyed the bliss which springsFrom means well used, and these afresh each Sabbath brings.
The six of whom I spoke some pages back,Sought early fellowship with that small band.These of great sorrow had displayed no lack,And now as Christians publicly they stand,Unto Christ's work they give each heart and hand,And one of them called Luth, possessed of means,Resolved at once to give a piece of landOn which to build a chapel, midst sweet scenes;A very central place, and near two deep ravines.
Nor was this all; he gave some good pine treesAnd other requisites to build the place;The work he knew would all be done by "Bees."The friends the opportunity embraceTo make the matter fully known all round.Strong opposition they had now to faceFrom those who rather would in sin be found,And such cared nothing for the glorious Gospel sound.
The Minister proposed to wait awhile,Till this grave subject could be well discussed.He wished that none would act from motives vile,For popularity he did not lust,And in his Father he could always trust;Advised to seek God's mind by earnest prayer,In generosity to be still just;By such means only could they hope to shareGod's constant approbation and His guardian care.
This prudent course ensured the object sought.Some who opposed did, of their own accordPropose assistance, and with vigor wroughtTo raise the humble Chapel to the Lord.Dear GOODWORTH wielded skilfully the sword,Which by God's blessing pierced into the soulsOf those who came to hear the plain-taught Word,Whose rich Truth, for Sin's pleasures lost, consoles,And cheers and strengthens those whose lust it still controls.
Truly it was a lovely sight to seeThe opening of that place of worship pure.There was displayed no animosity,All seemed at home in perfect peace secure.Sweet gospel sermons fitted to allureThe erring sons and daughters of mankindWere preached that day, and I feel very sureIt was no "blind man's leading of the blind,"But preaching of that sort which is for good designed.
The music was by voices rich and clear,The words the language of most grateful hearts,All forming worship void of slavish fear;Most orderly besides in all its parts,Though the performers knew not much of artsOn which some pride themselves in this our day;Nor was the singing done by fits and starts,As if God's service were but childish play.They knew His Eye was on their secret thoughts alway.
I must not fail to mention the chief thingFor which all saints should meet on Sabbath day;But first my Muse would boldly spread her wing,For she could always on this subject stay.Your kind indulgence, reader, I would pray,As this sweet topic is most dear to me.Most gracious Savior, who for me didst payThy precious blood upon the cursed tree,That I might be redeemed from sin and misery.
Grant me Thy Spirit's aid while I attemptA true description of thy "Feast of Love"May I from evil motives be exempt,Nor mention aught but what Thou wilt approve.That small, dear family "born, from above,"Just numbering twelve, around the table meet.Each one displays the meekness of the dove,And hopes to share a most delicious treatIn joining thus with Jesus in Communion sweet.
And now the Pastor thought it right to tellWhat were the principles on which they met;For great misapprehension he knew wellPrevailed abroad, and some men's minds beset.He trusted no one present would forgetThat the pure Bible was their only guide.They had no human system to abet,Nor would they by man's arguments be tried.What say the Scriptures? these alone the case decide.
He said, "We meet, dear friends, in Jesus' name;By his command who, says, 'Remember me?'As He for us Sin-offering became,It is but right we should obedient be,And O, what wondrous love we here do see!To think we are invited all to feastWith Jesus in His glorious majesty.This is a marvel, and 'tis much increasedWhen we reflect we are not worthy in the least.
"Here at this table I now humbly standUpon a perfect level with the rest.We take the Bread and Wine at Jesus' hand,He hath these simple Emblems truly blest.Our love to him by this act is expressed,And though we are indeed a small, weak flock,The Lord makes each a highly honored guest.On His Atonement as our holy rock,We stand secure midst danger, nor fear any shock.
"We do this every First Day of the Week,Because of old God's people did the same;This all may learn who will take pains to seekThe Word of Truth. All arguments are lame.Men use against it, and not free from blame.Can we, dear friends, remember Christ too often?Ah, no indeed! To save our souls he came!And his vast Love to us our hearts should soften,And plume the, wings, of Faith, which we may soar aloft on.
"We do not wish to hold the servile viewsTo which too many of God's children cling.Oh, why should Christians in this way refuseWhat to their souls would sweetest comfort bring?'Remember Me' should make our love to springLike water gushing from a fountain clear,And tune our hearts each time afresh to singThe praise of Jesus, and should make us rearOur Ebenezer high as we to heaven draw near.
"Some ask us if we have the Lord's commandFor breaking bread upon each Sabbath day.We ask them in return, have they at handA plain behest for acting intheir way?If such they have let them without delaySpread wide the fact and let the truth be known.I should have nothing further then to say,Except my error thankfully to own.But friends, as yet none ever have such precept shown.
"Suppose there were near by a flock of sheepWhose sad, gaunt looks bespoke the pasture bare,While they have left scarce strength enough to creep,From having lacked too long good food and care.Suppose that these were brought to pasture fair,The gate of which was opened wide to them.Would they wait for command to enter there?In truth I think not, and can rightly claimThat we in doing this incur not any blame."
This said, he read aloud the Savior's words,Uttered that solemn night before he died.Deep, soul-toned language which quite well accordsWith his great sufferings for his blood-bought bride.O, let not any this plain feast deride;There ne'er was Ordinance appointed yetThat has more comfort to the Saints supplied.'Tis calculated to make them forgetTheir sorrows when they view Christ's death and bloody sweat.
And now most grateful thanks are offered up,The Bread is broke, and all in silence eat.Then in like manner they partake the Cup,In fellowship they sit at Jesus' feet,And take from his dear hands refreshment sweet.This done, collection for the Saints is made,And next praise rises to the "Mercy Seat."From right glad hearts and unfeigned lips 'tis paid:The meeting closes and each kind farewell is said.
Yet this day's joyous service was not o'er;Some met at night with GOODWORTH'S family,And there together searched the hidden storeOf Bible truth, the prayer of Faith the keyThat did unlock each wondrous mystery.All were invited, nay were pressed to speak,And show the light which God gave them to see.This course served well to strengthen what was weak,And all learned much who meekly were inclined to seek.