Part 8
A star which, viewed with steadfast eye, Gives forth a purer ray, And guiding onwards brightly glows Refulgent as the day.
Its rich beams falling on the earth Illume the clouds of care; And, harbinger of lasting peace, Imprint a rainbow there.
Lines to a Young Child.
Come hither, pretty creature, Come hither from thy play; ’Tis in thy happy nature To gambol all the day.
Thy cheek so fair and smiling, Thine eye so softly blue, Awake in me repining To be a child like you.
Once was I young as thee, love, And played as thou dost now; With heart as light and joyous, Such gladness on my brow.
I culled young flowers as gaily, And bound them in a wreath; But soon their hues so lovely All withered into death.
And like that beauty fading, Have hopes and joys decayed; Bright visions fled for ever, And heart-trust been betrayed.
Thus will thy young heart suffer Amid the wrestling strife Of grief, pain, tears and sorrow, That wait on human life.
Yet is a sweet balm given To sooth and to appease; The radiant hope of heaven— That land were sorrows cease.
Thence cheering rays of brightness Illuminate earth’s shore, Oh! follow but their guidance And soon thou’lt weep no more!
Ballad.
A maiden left her father’s home, Her home of early years, With smiling cheek and brightened eye, Though all around were tears.
They fondly wept with her to part, Then why was she unmoved? Oh with a calm confiding heart She went with him she loved!
Each scene in early childhood dear, Her sisters’ love unknown, A mother’s love, a father’s care— She left them all for _One_.
Oh thou with whom she fondly went Thus let thy love be shewn— In gentleness and constancy Be _all_ to her in _one_.
A woman’s love!—no gem on earth From India’s richest mine, Can match its high and untold worth— That brightest gem is thine!
Oh keep the gift, unstained and pure, From every blemish free, If thou ungratefully dost not What woe should wait on thee!
Ye love-linked pair! long may ye live And joys your dwelling bless; A poet’s heart, a heart that feels, Would thus its wish express.
May He who clothes the lillies, guard And guide you with his care, And with a father’s love your hearts For brighter worlds prepare.
When life shall close, and mortal ties Link after link are riven, Be all your loves and joys on earth Exchanged for those of heaven.
The Old Man’s Smile.
’Twas on a bright and balmy morn In autumn’s calm decline, I saw an old man pensive sit Beneath an ancient pine.
The sunlight streamed upon his brow And o’er his silver hair, And with its bright reflective glow Revealed the calmness there.
A smile, a soft and peaceful smile, Played gently on his cheek; More placid ne’er an infants’ was, More innocent or meek.
Whence could it spring, that lovely smile? Few things are there on earth, Mid faded joys and perished hopes, To give such looks a birth.
Did memory hover o’er the past— Sweet childhood’s sunny hours, Till life seemed one bright holiday Mid woods and fields and flowers?
Or did it dream of youth again, With joyous sports and glee, The happy heart, the buoyant thought, And footstep wildly free?
Perchance the bygone hours of love Came warmly o’er the heart, With sweet, soft thrill, their sacred joy And pleasure to impart.
Did manhood’s bold and active prime, Ambition’s gaudy prize, Earth’s tinsel joys, her pomp and state, In vision o’er him rise?
Ah! none of these, a smile so calm, Could o’er the features bring; A stream of joy that glanced so bright Burst from a purer spring.
It was a gleam of light that shone From yonder world above, Where round the great eternal throne Bright angels dwell in love.
And, deep within, its sacred warmth Aroused his happy breast, To confident exulting hope Full soon to reach that rest.
The Village Church.
I love the simple village church, Though framed uncouth, or sculptured rude, With ivy twining round its porch Amidst a leafy solitude.
It’s moss-clad stones, the verdure round, The yew tree’s shadow, dim and wan, The wild-flowers o’er each burial mound Seem speaking more of God than man.
Unlike the dark sepulchral vault, In towns where corses crowded lie; Such quiet scenes our thoughts exalt From death below to life on high.
The Rustic, pointing to the spot, Says “there my father’s ashes rest;”— Whilst cherished feelings, ne’er forgot, With sacred joy suffuse his breast.
“Oh! may I live the life he lived, So pious, pure, and free from pride, And when my spirit quits the earth My bones be buried by his side.
“I love this ancient village church; Its pathway my forefathers trod, When from their quiet cottage homes They hither came to worship God.
“In infancy they here were brought, And here their vows of love were sealed, And here their ‘earthly house’ was laid When death a higher life revealed.”
Elegy.
The bright sun shines upon the grave And fresh trees wave above, Where late in death’s cold bonds was laid The form of her we love.
There morn and eve the dew will rest, The wild flowers sweetly spring, And birds in nature’s soothing notes Her requiem softly sing.
A rural quiet reigns around, The air seems holy breath,— A calm asylum to repose The worn out frame in death!
And thine was worn—for sorrow came, And grief, and pain, and care; Such fearful ill, such suff’ring keen, As few are called to bear.
The promise saith those are beloved Who own the chastening rod; Such is our hope, and trust, and faith, And now thou art with GOD.
“The LORD my Shepherd,” peaceful words Thy dying lips disclose; The LORD THY Shepherd is the joy Thy risen spirit knows.
How oft our hopes will follow thee To brighter realms above, And feel our spirits linked to thine In ties of sacred love.
Our thoughts of thee, as time rolls on, Will grow more pure and bright, And view thy well known earthly form Arrayed in angel light.
May each in sorrow left behind From sin and evil flee, And through Redemptive love attain That radiant world with thee.
Then shall we all again unite To part in grief no more, But mingle with serene delight, On that eternal shore.
“In Memoriam.”
B. B. Y. Obt. Aug., 1852.
Oh! deep is our sorrow, Anguish and woe, No more to behold thee, Loved one, below; All the rich promise Thy sweet childhood gave, Blighted for ever. Cut short by the grave! Well may we weep for thee, Child of our love, Thy spirit all gentle And meek as the dove; Well may we mourn for thee, Child of our hopes,— Each fond expectation A blighted flower droops! The dear thoughts we cherished Of future for thee, Like unripe fruit perished And fall’n from the tree. At night and in day-dreams We hear thy sweet voice, But at the known music We weep—not rejoice! We yearn to behold thee, We call as before; The walls of the charnel But echo “no more!” No more shall we see thee— No more on this earth— E’en we who have loved thee Each hour since thy birth. Oh! whence can a balm for Our deep wounds be given? This world cannot yield such, It must come from heaven! Then let us look upward In hope and in prayer, That we may behold thee In bright dwellings there. How pure the last moments Assigned thee below, Whilst sweet thoughts within thee Alone seemed to flow; And love high and holy Glowed warm in thy breast, To prove thee preparing For heaven’s calm rest. God’s words of rich promise Upheld thy young heart, And made thee in peace and In gladness depart; And gives full assurance, Thy last breath on earth, Was but passing to heaven And death was thy birth! By faith we behold thee An angel of light, All radiant with glory, In holiness bright, Thy sweet young voice singing With seraphs above, Some anthem of gladness Some pure song of love, For ever rejoicing In that high abode In Him, Thy Creator, Redeemer and God. This thought will shine on us With life-giving ray, And be our rich solace Through time’s dreary way. Our keen sorrows softened, Our anguish forgot, In viewing the glory And peace of thy lot; And thy dear memory be As a clear beacon given, To win our hearts onward To join thee in heaven.
Lines for the Bazaar in Aid of St. James’ National Schools, Hull.
Ye who love charity! approach and buy These beauteous trifles spread before the eye; All gifts of kindness, works of happy skill, Where hands were aided by a cheerful will, This work of bounty with delight to do,— To train the young in all things good and true! How great the object! noble is the aim, From sin’s dread snares the wretched to reclaim; But ’tis a task more angel-like and pure, Soft infant minds by kindness to allure, And Sacred teachings from the Page of Truth, To yield to God the first-fruits of their youth. ’Tis in the morning’s fresh and dewy hours That richest incense rises from the flowers; And childhood’s heart ’ere crime’s dark paths were known, The sweetest piety to God has shewn. Then aid our cause, our useful schools support, Where throngs of “little ones” each day resort, By mental nurture to expand the mind, To have each hand to industry inclined, Each heart from scripture by Heaven’s mercy taught, Religion’s ways with pleasantness are fraught; That holy peace may dwell within each breast, Their lives be useful, and their deaths be blest.
A Poet’s Aspiration.
When silent in the grave I lie May some fond hearts remember me; ’Twould be a double death to die To fall from life and memory!
I would not have a hero’s fame, His wreath of laurel soiled with blood, Though shouting nations hailed my name As age succeeding age ensued.
I would not have a poet’s praise, Though sounded loudly through the earth, If serpent-vice lurked in my lays Or impious thoughts attained a birth.
Ah! who can touch the poet’s lyre, And not its sounds his breast inflame, With glowing, ardent, fond desire, To gain the lasting meed of fame?
My hand has strayed amid its chords! Oh could I from its strings ring forth Some passioned lay, whose deathless words The distant times might deem of worth!
Some feeling song to touch the heart, To prompt to virtue—teach to live, Religion’s sweetest truths impart, And hope beyond the grave to give.
Should this be mine—should any come In after days to gladly strew A votive offering on my tomb, And pay a tribute deemed as due;
Then may they view the resting-spot Of one, whose deeds and life have given A hope assured his earthly lot Was ended in the rest of heaven.
When silent in the grave I lie, If thus fond hearts remember me, ’Twould be but half a death to die To own so fair a memory.
1839
Lines Suggested by a Review in the “Hull Packet.”
I bear a hope that I may yet become A bard not fameless—but, oh, be that fame The meed for songs, whose melody is taught To sweetly warble the Creator’s praise, To tell of virtue, happiness, and truth, And seek the good of man! A laurel wreath To me seems brighter than a crown of gold, The diadem of monarchs; and my hand Would rather strike the silver-chorded lyre Than wield a kingly sceptre. From above All power descends, all talents are derived, And if the Great Disposer give me skill I shall out-reach my highest fondest hope; If he deny—my aspiration’s vain, My harp is tuneless, and my tongue is mute. To Thee, O God, I lift mine orison, And would implore, with deep humility, Thy blessing. May my labours and mine aim Prove no abortion, but repay with fruit; And, above all things, may thy Spirit dwell Within my heart, form it to purity, And sanctify it as thine own abode.
1840
Love of the Lyre.
O! I’ll be a poet! I must! I will! To tune the Lyrical harp, I’ll earnestly strive to attain the skill, And naught shall my purpose warp.
“Pray why would you ever a poet be, What charm is there in his trade?”— His soul the bright home of the Beautiful, The Good and the True is made!
He dwells with fresh Nature, mid birds and flowers, Fair trees and all lovely things; In his heart is the joy of woodland bowers, Deep dells and secluded springs.
And thus in creation he walks with God, Beholding his wondrous ways; And when he has long in this pathway trod, He ventures his song of praise.
The rich earth becomes as a heaven to him, And fair as the sky above, For he hears the glad bird, and the light breeze sing, Th’ sweet truth that “God is love.”
Oh! wonder thou not at my heart’s deep choice, Of the poet’s lonely ways, Whose task is in music, to lift his voice, And through nature God to praise!
1852
The Christmas Bells.
The keen frost shrivells the last dead leaves, The storm through the forest yells; But on the wild blast soft music floats O’er woodlands and moors and fells— “Ting-Ting-a-Tong-Tong, Tong-Tong-a-Ting-Ting,” Just hark to the Christmas bells!
Gay mirth is around each social hearth, With rapture each bosom swells, And each soul owns the mystical power Of this ancient music’s spells— “Ting-Ting-a-Tong-Tong,” &c.
The gay dance runs through the laurell’d hall, Where youth and fair beauty dwells; But o’er the brisk sounds that time their steps, A deep-toned sound excels— “Ting-Ting-a-Tong-Tong,” &c.
To th’ old it recalls dim years long past, It opens the grave’s dark cells, And whilst they muse on the loved and lost, A tear to the eye compels— “Ting-Ting-a-Tong-Tong,” &c.
Yet breathes it still, with high hope to all, As that sacred carol swells, And with the voice of an angel’s song Of Goodness and Mercy tells— “Ting-Ting-a-Tong-Tong,” &c.
Christmas Carol.
Old Christmas comes on with his snow-white hair, But a step most firm and free, With his eye so bright, and his laugh so light, For a jocund blade is he. Christmas! Christmas! Hurrah! for bonny old Christmas! With his eye so bright, And his laugh so light— Hurrah! for bonny old Christmas!
He trips round the farm with a cheerful step, And sees all the work is done. Oh! come hither, he cries, my boys and girls, Come into the hall for fun. Christmas! Christmas! Hurrah! for merry old Christmas! With his hair so white, And his look of delight— Hurrah! for merry old Christmas!
He loves to peep at the family hearth, Where parents and children join, In their household jokes and innocent mirth, Whilst their sparkling bright eyes shine. Christmas! Christmas! Hurrah! for social old Christmas! With his rosy cheek, And his form so sleek— Hurrah! for social old Christmas!
He heaps up his board with plentiful cheer, He brings out his cakes and wine, To give a glad heart to the good old year, And warmth in his cold decline. Christmas! Christmas! Hurrah! for loving old Christmas! With his healthy hue, And his heart so true— Hurrah! for loving old Christmas!
He heeds not the sleet on his window pane, Nor the storm against the door; He sits by the fire, his hand in his purse, And gives out gold for the poor. Christmas! Christmas! Hurrah! for gen’rous old Christmas! With his purse of gold, For the poor and old— Hurrah! for gen’rous old Christmas!
How he loves to list to the old church bells Ringing out their ancient tune; Whilst he thinks on One, till his good heart swells, Bringing earth her richest boon! Christmas! Christmas! We hail thee pious old Christmas! Of the pure heart fraught, With most sacred thought— We hail thee pious old Christmas!
Angels Appearing to the Shepherds.
Fair and mild the stars were shining O’er Judea’s purple sky, And the moon with silver lustre Sweetly gleaming from on high.
Night-winds o’er the dewy verdure An Æolian music made, Where a band of watchful shepherds Lay beneath a palm tree’s shade.
They, on sacred themes conversing, Peacefully beguiled the hours; Thought on each prophetic promise, Calmly dwelt as dew on flowers.
They were men devout and holy, Walking wisdom’s pleasant road; Men who waited for salvation, Firmly trusting Israel’s God.
Lo, what light! Is day arising On the mid-watch of the night? Richest splendours now are shining More than noonday glory bright!
In the midst, a radiant angel, Through that fulgent grandeur springs, And in tones of love and mercy Sweetly to the shepherds sings—
“Fear ye not! Behold I bring you Tidings full of peace and joy; Unto you is born a Saviour, Who shall sin and death destroy.
“He, a babe, in David’s city, In a manger now is laid, Yet he is the Lord, the Mighty; Christ to you salvation made.”
Now the glorious band, surrounding That bright angel, lift their voice, Mixed with sounds from harp and trumpet, And in anthems loud rejoice.
“Glory to our God, the Highest, Praise eternal sing again, For this message of His mercy— ‘Peace on earth, good-will to men.’”
Christmas Thoughts.
Behold! in yon low manger lies A sleeping new-born child; Whilst on its form with rapture beams A mother’s glance so mild!
Around, adoring Magi bow To own earth’s Sovereign king; Unseen by man, bright cherub forms, Rejoicing anthems sing.
For God hath chose his Temple there, The form wherein to dwell, And speak his Truth through human lips And rout the powers of hell.
Redemption’s triumph hath begun, And God’s eternal might His Son upholds, that he shall bear Temptation’s darkest night!
Naught can the mighty conquest foil, Nor failing bring, nor loss,— The hosts of hell, the foes of earth,— The passion of the cross!
A moment in the grave he lies, Then bursts the feeble chain, And rises to the throne of heaven Triumphantly to reign.
Oh! God in Christ, and Christ in God, The Father—Spirit—Son— Thee would we own our sovereign Lord, The Uncreated One!
Thy great and glorious work complete! Redeem our souls from sin, Till life in truth and goodness flows From purity within.
Thy kingdom come! Thy will be done, Thy grace to us be given! Until we fall asleep on earth To wake with Thee in heaven.
New-Year Thoughts.
This morn we enter the unknown domain, The clouded confine of a coming year, But vainly scan the wide-extended plain— No objects to the sight distinct appear!
The past hath been a journey through a way Where thorns and flowers were mingled on the road; With now the sunny, now the stormy day, And oft in darkness we have made abode.
What mixed events the opening year may bring, In vain we ponder—we can never tell; But drear as winter, or as bright as spring, If God but bless them they will all be well!
O Thou who art a Saviour and a Guide, Kindly protect us on the lonely way; Supply with strength, for every want provide, Nor from the heaven-ward pathway let us stray.
Oh may the sunshine of Thy blessing pour On us its cheering, rich resplendent light; And give us peace, sweet peace, whose gentle power Can thrill the heart with filial delight.
Oh that our breasts with gratitude may glow, And fondly rest on thy paternal love; With steadfast hope that we this scene below May quit to meet Thee in a world above.
That world above—that fair and happy land, That brightest region, most refulgent shore, Where radiant spirits form a glorious band, And saints unite to never part the more.
That land where Thou hast fixed Thy shining throne, A realm of calmness, innocence and peace, Where evil comes not, sin was never known, But joy’s eternal ecstasies increase!
Birth-Day Lines.
’Tis sweet to mark our natal day, As year by year steals on, And trace each pleasure passed away, Each hour of sorrow gone; Yet more! to claim a higher birth Than that which gave us life on earth.
Unnumbered joys around us spring, And pleasures thrill the heart, To make the voice with gladness sing And happiness impart; E’en here we own—tho’ mixed with strife— A rich inheritance of life!
But there are higher worlds afar, And brighter scenes above, Where thought is pure as evening’s star, And life is holy love; Where calm, yet fervent, pleasures glow, And rapture makes the heart o’erflow.
To gain these joys the soul must be To higher life refined; A life of spotless purity, Where truth and love enshrined Within its deep recesses dwell, Like fragrance in the lily’s bell.
We love by nature self alone, And things of time to gain; But if high loves to God and man Within our spirits reign, We may rejoice—a second birth Has o’er us passed whilst yet on earth.
Then to each gladsome natal day Will this rich joy be given— Each rapid year, when passed away, But brings us nearer heaven! And, Blanche, this birth-day verse I twine To wish these hopes and blessings thine!
Affliction.
Days of sorrow most distressing, Hours of sickness, grief and pain, Often prove the highest blessing, And to us are richest gain; When we feel a God of Mercy Thus afflicts us in his love, And from earth our thought is drawing To His sacred rest above.
Heaven’s kingdom must be in us, Holy love possess each breast— Truth and purity and goodness— Would we know eternal rest; God in kindness ever striveth This high blessing to impart, And by overcoming evil Fill with gladness every heart.
Earth’s vain trifles often lead us To forget our gracious God, Him who made us and redeemed us And in us would make abode By His Holy Spirit giving Gifts of purity and peace, Richer, larger, fairer, higher, Till this breath of life shall cease.
Then to pass from earth as angels To far brighter realms above, Where all have eternal dwellings In the sunshine of His love; Full of gladness and rejoicing, Full of gratitude and praise, Still to higher life advancing Through their never ending days.
Happy hearts that now receive Him, And in holy worship bow, Meek, repentant—trusting, hoping, His salvation’s joy to know! If they live—they earth inherit, And in purer peace will dwell. If they die—the heavens receive them To that bliss no tongue can tell.
Hebrew Melody.
Oh! weep for Judah’s daughters, Who sat them down to weep, By Babel’s flowing waters With willows o’er their deep; There hung their harps in sorrow, Whilst for their land they sigh. With hearts too sad to borrow Sweet joy from melody.
“A song of Zion sing us,” The foe insulting said, Some sacred theme now give us In lofty notes arrayed. Oh how in exile can we Such base demand fulfil? When, Salem, we forget thee, Each hand forget its skill!
The Starry Heavens.
What a scene to gaze on high, O’er the grandeur of the sky, When the night’s rich purple shade Is with thousand stars arrayed.
God their march in order guides, Each within his power abides. Wond’rous wisdom! can he then Deign to mark the sons of men!
Thought infirm! for infinite Is His providential sight, And no things of earth and air, Small or mean, elude His care.
What sweet comfort to each breast, That would on his mercy rest, Thus to know a Father’s love, Guards us as the stars above.