Chapter 2

Though earthly friends are dear to me, I feel them twining round my heart, A friend in heaven, by faith, I see, Who bids my joyful soul depart.

Dear mourning friends, now dry your tears; Bid ev'ry murm'ring thought be still; My mind is free from doubts and fears,-- I sink into my Savior's will.

With smiles of vict'ry on his brow, And heav'nly transport in his breast, Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe, And like an infant sinks to rest.

Down through the portals of the sky Descend a glorious shining band. Who waft his soul to joys on high, And blissful scenes at God's right hand.

Nor does the monster yet relent,-- Four blooming victims he has slain, Yet on another now intent, He bends his fatal bow again.

And must this only daughter go, Ere half her budding graces bloom? Yes, cruel death will take her too, To swell his numbers in the tomb.

See on her cheek the death rose bloom, And smile with a deceitful glow; 'Tis the red banner of the tomb, To warn her friends that she must go.

With bleeding hearts they feel the rod, And weeping, lay her in the grave, Yet with submission yield to God, The precious jewel which he gave.

But when the trump of God shall sound, To call each sainted sleeper home, Should they, with ev'ry child, surround The mighty conq'ror of the tomb--

They'll cry, oh Lord, thou ever just, Behold is and our children here! Thou didst in love give them to us, And we resigned them to thy care.

Now we will chant Redemption's sung, Which Gabriel never learned to sing, Nor one of all th' angelic throng,-- To Jesus, prophet, priest and king.

THE ROSE AND LILAC TREE.[2]

No garland, fresh from Eden's bowers, Could be more sweet than these dear flowers To each surviving friend; They'll water them with falling tears, And nurse them through succeeding years, And from each ill defend.

Bloom on, each weeping parent cried,-- My daughters planted you and died,-- You are most dear to me; Each now in smiling beauty stands, Where placed by these fair youthful hands,-- Sweet rose and lilac tree.

Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air,-- I love to see you flourish there, And in bright beauty bloom; Each tiny leaf I hold most dear, Although you oft call forth a tear For loved ones in the tomb.

Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may; Your fading leaves will soon portray The lovely, fragile form, Which passed from earth while skies seemed fair, Like vapors quiv'ring in the air, Before a coming storm.

I gaze upon these opening flowers-- They bring a dream of blissful hours, When brighter germs were mine; Once on my throbbing bosom lay Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they, Fraught with immortal minds.

'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade-- Fair emblems of the youthful dead, But spring restores their bloom. Just so the saints that droop and die, When Gabriel's trump shall rend the sky, Will leave the mould'ring tomb.

They'll leave this dull, this earthly sod, And, in the garden of our God, Bloom with celestial grace, Where frost and mildew ne'er can blight; There, all enraptured with delight, God's wondrous works they'll trace.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: The Rose and Lilac trees, referred to above, were planted by two youthful sisters a short time before their death.]

LINES

Composed on the death of Mrs. Mary M. West, of Jay.

Dear Mary, while thou art in heaven, at rest, We're mourning thy absence, bereft and depressed; For thou wert so faithful, so winning and kind, That our hearts' ev'ry fibre around thee entwined.

How oft have we listened, unwilling to part, While sweet heavenly music gushed forth from thy heart, Till angels in glory, well pleased with the strain, Re-echoed it over the heavenly plain.

The sound of thy voice we can never forget, Thy last parting smile sweetly lingers here yet; And since thy freed spirit to heaven was borne, Our hearts crave the boon o'er thy mem'ry to mourn.

Adieu, dearest Mary, thy spirit has flown To those blissful regions where tears are unknown; No trials assail thee, no troubles or fears,-- The smile of thy Savior has dried up thy tears.

No more shalt thou weep o'er thy dear Henry,[3] dead-- For now by his side thou art resting thy head; Thou now dost behold him in glory above. But Jesus, thy Savior, outvies him in love.

Transported with joy, with thy Savior at rest, Though angels are singing, you'll praise him the best. Bright glories, unfolding, still burst on thy view-- The song thou art chanting will ever be new.

Thy sun at its zenith on earth ceased to shine, But beams with new lustre in regions divine; For ages eternal 't will ever shine on-- Still gath'ring new splendor from God's dazzling throne.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: Husband of Mrs. W.]

THOUGHTS

Occasioned by the sudden death of J.W.N.

The short lived, fragrant, vernal flower, Which blooms and withers in an hour, With him may well compare; His life was like the meteor's light, Which shone and vanished from the sight-- Dissolving in the air.

Not so the thrilling ties that bind The loved one's image to the mind-- It lives and brightens there; Engraved upon each bleeding heart, Which cannot, will not, deign to part With such a jewel rare.

REFLECTIONS

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF S. WHITE, OF LIVERMORE, WHO DIED DEC. 25TH, 1842, AGED 26.

Why do these tears bedew our eyes? Why heaves the breast with bursting sighs? We've seen a friend depart; In vain we tune our harp and sing, We cannot touch that thrilling string, Which vibrates in the heart.

Engaging, graceful and refined, Frank, open, generous and kind, Was our departed friend; His mental powers were deep and clear,-- His ardent friendship, most sincere, With life alone could end.

His heart could feel for others' woe-- How oft his footsteps, soft and low, Fell on the suff'rer's ear! Each word he spake, their grief to quell, Seemed waters gushing from a well, Whose fount was deep and clear.

In early years he mourned for sin, And prayed for garments white and clean, Washed in the Savior's blood. He journeyed on for many years, Amidst temptations, doubts, and fears, But found a pard'ning God.

His lustrous eyes are dim in death, His voice passed like the zephyr's breath, That heart has lost its lone; But while we weep around his dust, That soul its prison doors hath burst, And worships 'round the throne.

But shall we murmur and complain? Shall our warm tears descend like rain Around his early grave? While kindred dear must weep and mourn, More sacred tears bedew his urn Than ever friendship gave.

That brother, who with him has played Beside the brook, or in the shade Where feathered warblers sang, And sported by the river side, Or o'er the ice taught him to glide, While merry laughter rang--

His love increased with growing years, One were their hopes, their joys, their fears, Their Savior, too, was one. That brother's grief must be severe, Yet from his lips we hope to hear, "My Father's will be done."

Like ivy, round some youthful pine, Did Julia's warm affections twine Round his fraternal heart; Through adverse scenes they struggled long, Which rendered nature's ties more strong, But they, alas! must part.

Should fell disease assail her now, Place his pale signet on her brow, And chill her heart with fear; No more he'd stand beside her bed,-- Bathe her parched lips, and aching head, And strive her mind to cheer.

She'll range the paths where they have strayed, And wander through the silent shade, And ask, "is brother here?" She'll view the grave, and that will say There's naught within but mould'ring clay, No more will he appear.

That sister, who hath sought a friend To share her grief till time shall end, Must still in tears be drowned; Although a partner soothes her grief, And kindly strives to give relief, And children cluster round;--

She sees their glossy ringlets flow, In clusters o'er each little brow; They speak of days gone by, When she with brother often strayed, O'er hill and dale and flow'ry glade, Where golden sunbeams lie.

A fair young friend, whose aching heart Now feels affliction's keenest dart, Must long in sadness weep; Her brightest hopes are fled away, Alas! her sweetest joys decay, They in the grave must sleep.

Her heart still bleeds at every pore, That much loved form she'll see no more, Till Gabriel's trump shall sound; We trust they'll then in raptures rise, To that blight world above the skies, Where tears no more are found.

His aged parents feel the blow; Long since they gazed upon his brow, And blessed their infant boy; Trembling with age, we hear them say, "This dear support is torn away, What now can yield us joy?

"Long years we watched our lovely plant, With care supplied its every want, And hoped it long might bloom; But fierce disease has laid it low, Reckless of tears that 'round it flow. And laid it in the tomb.

"Long, long we nursed his fading form, And strove to shun the gath'ring storm, Which threaten'd in the sky; Yet from our bleeding bosoms torn, Our darling son leaves us to mourn; Who can his place supply?"

But could their vision now extend To those bright realms where dwells their friend, Their tears would cease to flow; They'd long to leave this dusky sphere, And from their lips we soon should hear, "Dear Savior, let me go."

No more they'd wish the seraph here, To wander in this vale so drear, And lay his glory by; To suffer years of grief and pain, And cross cold Jordan's stream again, To reach the joys on high.

THE SISTER'S LAMENT

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF E. TORRY, OF PORTLAND

Oh, Edward, dear Edward! how precious that sound, I seek for an equal--it cannot be found; In tones soft and pensive it visits my ear,-- I fain would believe thou art hovering near.

Since thy happy spirit to heaven has fled, Art thou with me by day, by night round my bed? I visit thy grave and bedew it with tears, To share in my sorrow, no Edward appears.

On earth 't was thy pleasure to soothe all my grief, To wipe off my tears and to bring me relief; Thy heart's warm affections were lavished on me, I've spent happy moments conversing with thee.

My counselor, playmate, my guide, and my friend, On whom I might always in safety depend, In paths of fair virtue my feet thou hast led, Where vice, that foul monster, dares not show his head.

Nor was all thy kindness bestowed upon one; Thou wast an affectionate, dutiful son; Thy dear honored parents drank deep of thy love, None ever shared more but thy Father above.

Thy father now sinks 'neath a burden of woe, His once brilliant eyes now with tears overflow; Thy mother sits weeping, thy fond brothers sigh, The dear little children cease playing and cry.

Fair nature is wearing a mantle of gloom, Deep sorrow sits brooding all round our sweet home; The soft venial zephyrs come sighing along, The streamlets are murm'ring a sad, mournful song.

The gray twilight shades come attended with gloom, While like a dark pall they encircle thy tomb; When soft showers descend, something whispers to me, That tears from the clouds are descending for thee.

No star spangled heavens nor cool shady bowers, No deep ancient forest or fair fragrant flowers Can fill up the void that I feel in my breast, Although thou art tuning thy harp with the blest.

In dreams I behold thee when I am asleep, It cheers up my spirits and I cease to weep; Enshrined in my heart thy fair image shall dwell, I'll keep it there always, I love it so well.

LINES UPON A LOCK OF HAIR.

I'll weave a bracelet of this hair,-- Although these locks so hallowed are, It seems like sacrilege to wear Such relics of the dead.

I've seen them clust'ring 'round a brow Which drooped beneath affliction's blow, And slumbers in the church-yard now, With all its beauty flown.

The hand that dressed these locks with care, And 'ranged them 'round that brow so fair, And oft clasped mine with friendly air, Is turning back to dust.

And closed those eyes, whose radiant beams Surpass'd imagination's dreams, Yet whisp'ring still, were but faint gleams Emerging from the soul.

Farewell, dear friend, these locks I'll keep, Till in the grave with thee I sleep; There, like thee, may I cease to weep, And, with thee, wake to sing.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY READING AN ACCOUNT OF THE LAST HOURS OF MRS. SARAH JUDSON, SECOND WIFE OF THE LATE LAMENTED DR. JUDSON, OF BURMAN.

"I am in a strait betwixt two, let the will of the Lord be done."--_Judson's Offering_, 231_st page_. These were the words of Mrs. Judson a few days previous to her death, when questioned as to her desires respecting the issue of the affliction under which she was suffering.

Life's trials and dangers will all soon be o'er, I feel myself nearing the heavenly shore, I'm weary of wand'ring, oh! fain would I rest With Jesus, my Savior, and sleep on his breast.

I'm weary and thirsty, my spirit has flown Almost to that river which bursts from the throne;-- I'd range its fair borders, and plunge in its flood, And join with the angels in praising my God.

I'd rest in the shade of that tree, growing near, Which yields its rich fruit every month in the year; Its leaves are so healing, no sickness comes there, To mar the new song as it floats through the air.

I think of the rest in those regions above,-- My soul spreads her pinions and soars like a dove,-- Yet I'm drawn back to earth by one tender tie, Which oft clogs my wings;--then, oh! how can I fly!

I think of New England, my fair native land, The friends of my childhood, that dear faithful band, Who're waiting to greet me with hearts full of love, Not knowing my bark will cast anchor above.

To see me, my kindred impatiently wait,-- I think of those dear ones,--my soul's in a strait,-- My father, my mother, my dear orphan son,-- Oh Lord, decide for me, let thy will be done'

JUDSON'S GRAVE.

Dear shepherd of the Burman sheep, Where have they laid thee down to sleep? Beside thy long lamented Ann, Or 'midst thy charge at Aracan? Or does that palm tree o'er thee wave, Which shadows thy dear Sarah's grave? I pause, and drop the silent tear,-- In mournful tones, a voice I hear, Exclaiming, "Earth affords no space For Judson's last calm resting place." Ye spicy groves, perfume each breeze That steals along the Indian seas,-- For we have felt a pang of woe, Since, plunged in awful depths below, Our much lamented Judson's clay, Must 'neath its rolling billows lay, Where monsters of the ocean creep, 'Round him o'er whom the nations weep. No stone directs the stranger's eye To where his sacred relics lie, Nor can the weeping Burmans come To shed their tears around his tomb. And when their work on earth is done, No mourning daughter, wife, or son Can rest from toil the weary head, Beside him in his ocean bed. But while we shrink from such a grave, He rests as sweetly 'neath the wave As though in Auburn's bowers he lay, Where sunbeams through green branches play, And roses, wet with tear drops, bloom Around th' unconscious sleeper's tomb. Let no rude wind, no angry storm, The ocean's heaving breast deform,-- 'Tis hallowed as dear Judson's bed, Until the sea gives up its dead. Though mortals weep with fond regret, The Lord that spot will ne'er forget; He will a faithful record keep,-- He knows where all his children sleep. Though monsters should that form devour, 'Twill rise in beauty, strength and power; That voice, which rends the tombs and graves, Will sound through all the ocean caves; Then 'roused by heaven's eternal King, He'll tune his golden harp and sing; While, quick as thought, to join the song, Will Burman converts round him throng, And on that bright auspicious morn, Like jewels his rich crown adorn.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY A REMARK MADE BY THE REV. WINTHROP MORSE, WHILE ADDRESSING A CONGREGATION ASSEMBLED ON THE BANKS OF THE SANDY RIVER, UPON A BAPTISMAL OCCASION.

The writer of the following, though but a child, was present, and, for the first time, witnessed the administration of that solemn ordinance.

"We're trav'ling to eternity," God's faithful servant cried, As he addressed the multitude That thronged the water's side.

"We're trav'ling to eternity," He said with tearful eye,-- Then come, dear friends, and choose the path That leads to joys on high.

"We're trav'ling to eternity," The convert seemed to say,-- I'll trace the path my Savior marked, Though through these waves it lay.

"We're trav'ling to eternity," Was echoed from the stream, Like me your days will swiftly glide, Or like a fleeting dream.

"We're trav'ling to eternity," The Holy Spirit said,-- And sweetly whispered to the soul, "I'll be thy heavenly guide."

"We're trav'ling to eternity," That sentence reached my heart, I trembled lest I there should hear That awful word, "depart."

Yes, trav'ling to eternity, While overwhelmed with guilt,-- Afraid that Jesus' pard'ning love, By me would ne'er be felt.

"We're trav'ling to eternity,"-- It rings upon my ear; The hills which echoed back that sound, Still to my heart are dear.

"We're traveling to eternity," Said that dear faithful friend, Whose image in my mem'ry lives, And will, till life shall end.

"We're traveling to eternity," Soon, soon we there shall meet, And is my deathless soul prepared, That friend in heaven to greet?

THE INQUIRY.

Am I a Christian far astray, And slumb'ring on enchanted ground; Or did my feet ne'er find the way, Which Bunyan's humble pilgrim found?

Whence was that strange delight I felt? Why did the gospel charm my ear? What caused this stubborn heart to melt? Why was the Savior's name so dear?

Why was the fountain of his blood, So precious in my mental eye? Why did such deep sensations crowd Around the scene on Calvary?

Why did the Godhead shine so bright? Why did I love the garb he wore, Alike, when justice claimed his right, And when sweet mercy's name he bore?

Did airy phantoms fill my brain?-- Did vain delusions cheat my soul?-- Must those bright hopes prove false and vain? And must I miss the heavenly goal?

* * * * *

"There is joy in Heaven, in the presence of the angels, over one sinner that repenteth."--_Scripture_.

What's this that breaks upon my ear? Music sweet; From golden harps, methinks I hear Glorious strains! "There's joy in Heaven," the angels sing, "A soul repents and owns our King;" From Heaven to earth the echoes ring, Pard'ning love!

JEPHTHAH'S VOW.

The warrior left the battle field,-- Jehovah there had been his shield,-- He heard his solemn vow. The foe had in confusion fled, While thousands on the field lay dead, All, all were vanquish'd now.

Though that brave heart was cased in steel. Which flashed forth wrath that all might feel, Who Israel's right oppressed; Yet, in its sacred chambers rose As pure a flame as ever glows Within a parent's breast.

He turned him to that sacred spot, Where one loved being shared his lot,-- (It was an only child;) Though long she'd wept and quaked with fear, When "victory," fell upon her ear, She wiped her eyes and smiled.

Like as the lark outspreads her wings, And, while she's soaring, sweetly sings To charm the listener's ears, The maiden, springing from her seat, Flew forth, her coming friend to greet. Her father now appears.

As her light footsteps pressed the ground, Melodious music floated round, Forth gushing from her heart. "Alas! my child," the father sighed, "What sent thee here, my love?" he cried, "To tell that we must part?"

"Thy father made a solemn vow,-- He sees, he feels his error now, Yes, made a vow to God; And he will claim my darling now, He bids me pay that awful vow, And pay it with thy blood."

"But how can I thy life destroy? Thou art my solace, hope, and joy, My cherished only child." The lustre beaming from her eye, Seemed caught from radiant orbs on high, So brilliant, yet so mild.

"Pay to the Lord thy vow," she said, "God's altar is a pleasant bed, From thence to heaven I'll rise. The Lord has answered thy request, Israel is free, our land at rest, I'll be thy sacrifice."

* * * * *

"Like a lost sheep I have gone astray."--_Psalms_.

Like sheep that wander far astray, Nor ask the shepherd's care, Did I forsake the narrow way, Nor seek my God in prayer.

I wandered in a desert wild. Where snares beset me 'round; Trifles and toys my feet beguiled, And all my senses drowned.

Though clouds encompassed me around, In darkness on I sped, Still wand'ring on enchanted ground, Till hope seemed almost fled.

I murmured, at the righteous hand That held the chast'ning rod, Like one that could not understand The precepts of his God.

Well might the Father's smile depart, The Savior hide his face, And God, the spirit, shun my heart, That foul polluted place.

We never find the heavenly dove Perched on an idol throne; Those, who would share Jehovah's love, Must worship him alone.

* * * * *

"And the vail of the temple was rent in twain."--_Scripture_.

Come, with your guilt and sin oppressed, In Christ there's pardon, peace and rest; Come, humbly bow before his feet, No vail conceals the mercy seat.

Come, boldly to a throne of grace, The vilest here may find a place,-- For that dark vail was rent in twain, When Christ, the heavenly lamb, was slain.

Come, rear no altar, slay no beast, Our Savior now is great high priest, He rent the vail, to make it plain, That free access should hence remain.

LINES

TO A LONG ABSENT RELATIVE.

Is Thy native land forgotten? Wilt thou still a wand'rer be? Have New England's hills and valleys Lost their every charm for thee?

Is thy native land forgotten? Tell me, dost thou feel content, Far from that loved rural dwelling Where thine infant days were spent?

Is thy native land forgotten, Where glad parents, filled with joy, Prayed for heaven's richest blessings To attend their infant boy?

Is thy native land forgotten, Laud where thou first drew thy breath, Where those sainted parents watched thee, Where they closed their eyes in death?

Is thy native land forgotten? Or dost thou revere the sod Where thy heart for sin was broken, Where thy soul found peace with God?

Is that sacred stream forgotten, Where, immersed beneath the flood, Saying, "I with Christ am buried, And henceforth will live to God?"

Is that hallowed spot forgotten? Or does fancy paint it now, With bright angels hov'ring o'er it Waiting to record that vow?