Chapter V: Part 5

I hear the deep voice of the sea,
As slowly it breaks on the shore,
With the self-same tone
To my childhood known—
Its music for evermore!

How sublimely its accents fall
And pierce each recess of the soul,
Recalling the past
With a trumpet’s blast,
And a might beyond control!

It tells of the gay infant hours
When I play’d on the sun-lit sand,
Whilst each shell and stone
Was a wealth unknown,
And the beach a fairy-land.

It speaks of the wild boyish days
When I roam’d to the rocks afar,
Where the black sea-weed
Cracks loud to the tread,
And shell-fish in thousand are.

All times on my spirit come back
When I’ve dwelt by thy shore, O sea;
Each friend I have known,
Each look and each tone,
Now cruelly reft from me.

Thy voice is the voice of a dirge,
And mournfully sighs for the dead;
Sound on, then, thy knell,
Like a funeral bell,
For the loved who from earth have fled.

Yet Hope seems to sweeten the sound,
Bright Faith, and her sister Love;
For whilst on thy brink,
I cheerfully think,
Of the calm blue heavens above!

The Fisherman.

The fisherman’s life is a mighty war,—
He fights the winds and waves;
And on the broad plain of ocean afar
The hostile tempest braves.

When the sun shines clear, and the clouds float bright,
He hoists his ruddy sail,
And away he goes under breezes light
From home with a joyous—hail!

He baits his long lines and prepares his nets,
To take the finny prey;
And sings at his work until he gets
Far off in the open sea.

Now the land is gone, and no sights are near,
But calm blue skies above,
And ocean below him as bright and clear,
Yet green as a summer grove.

Mid the emerald depths he strives to snare
The swift free fish of the sea;
And when he has won of the spoils a share
He homeward plies his way.

Now the sun sinks down with a fierce red glare,
And dark clouds crowd his path,
To bid the fisherman bold beware
O’ th’ coming tempest’s wrath.

The night grows dark, and the winds roar high,
The wild waves proudly swell;
But mid the dread gloom, no star in the sky,
The mariner’s path to tell!

Each billow comes on like a mountain rock
To crush his fragile bark,
And cast him far down with an awful shock
To a grave in the waters dark.

His courage is high, but his heart will think
Of all in his happy home,
How in tears they’ll rush to the cliffs steep brink
And watch if his boat may come.

His home is where widows and orphans dwell,
Whose kin were lost in the sea;
And oft to each other they weeping tell
Of the loved they no more shall see.

But bright morning comes, and the wild wind veers,
The huge waves die away,
And mid the lost rage of the surf he steers
Right home through the well-known bay.

Go thou forth, then, fisherman bold, go forth
A thousand times again;
And loaded with spoils, to fond hearts return
In joy o’er the peaceful main.

The Head-Land.

From this proud noble head-land
How grand to look below,
Where far beneath the sea-birds soar,
And ocean-waters flow.

The rock-reefs clad with sea-weed,
The bright green pools between,
And strange wild chasms in rent cliffs, form
A soul exalting scene.

Dark blue the distant ocean,
Unites with circling sky,
So softly that their bounds sublime
Elude the piercing eye.

What a mighty plain extended,
How fearful, awful, vast,
Whilst sleeping, calm—then what in storm,
When ploughed up by the blast?

There float light skiffs, whose beauty
Swift from the sight is gone;
And there gigantic merchant-ships
In majesty move on.

Ten thousand hearts are sailing
Along yon azure deep;
Yet from their native land afar,
Sweet thoughts of home they keep.

Ah, how sublime is ocean!
For bounds extending wide;
But more so as a stage whereon
The human heart is tried.

There hope and fear are nurtured,
Love to love will oft reply;
And th’ fierce might of despair is heard
In the sailor’s drowning cry.

Whilst thus on ocean gazing,
What thoughts our spirits throng;
Too deep for tears, too deep for words,
Too deep for poet’s song.

The proud high capes and head-lands,
Wide views far o’er the sea,
Seem scarce as things of time and earth,
But of eternity!

The Storm-King.

When ocean is calm and the air’s soft balm,
O’er the glassy surface sweeps;
Far in his deep cave, by the salt sea wave,
The Storm-king soundly sleeps.

The winds at his call will rise or will fall,
Each wave is beneath his sway;
The gloom of his frown brings the black clouds down,
And turns into night the day.

When his dream is o’er, by the rock-reef shore,
In anger he rushes forth,
And calls each dread wave from its secret cave,
And beckons fierce blasts from the north.

Then proudly he rides o’er the boiling tides,
As they eddy around the rocks;
Whilst their awful roar on the wreck-strewn shore,
The hollow-voiced thunder mocks.

When ocean and cloud like a woven shroud,
Are all mingled into one,
Amidst the dense spray he pursues his way,
And hurries triumphant on.

The terrible form of the king of storm,
Few mortal eyes have seen;
Or his fierce glance cast where the lightning’s blast,
Hath shivered the rocks in twain.

If you would behold the vision unrolled
Of the Storm-king on his way;
Then his to yon steep that o’erlooks the deep,
Where the weed-strewn sea-caves lay.

When winds have the tone of a dull low moan,
Foretelling a coming blast;
’Tis a sign that he, from his sleep is free,
And gathers his armies fast.

When ocean roars loud, and the sky’s one cloud,
From his dark cave issues he;
And if you watch well, where waves highest swell,
Perchance his dread look you may see.

Farewell to the Sea.

Farewell! bright ocean, to thy winding shore,
But not, my spirit trusts, for evermore;
Thy power is on me, and ’twould be deep pain,
Never to view thy glorious scenes again;
Yet till that hour in gladness comes to me
Full oft with pleasure shall I muse on thee,
And in clear vision see thy form displayed
In all its light and loveliness arrayed.
Oft will the music of thy choral waves
Upon the sand-beach, or in fretted caves,
Fall with its mighty harmonies full, clear,
Distinct and tuneful on the inward ear,
Recalling brightly to the mind’s rapt sight
Waves, cliffs, rocks, head-lands, all in beauty bright.—
I see the splendour of the morning’s ray
Illume the burnished mirror of the bay,
Whilst o’er its smooth and polished surface glide
Unnumbered sails in triumph and in pride,
Some dim in cloudy shade, some pure in light,
Whilst some, far distant, scarcely win the sight.
And now the glory of the noonday sun
Makes each wave silver that it shines upon;
Keen, vivid radiance pouring from the sky
Flashes around, too piercing for the eye!
But evening’s beams of ever-varied hue
Spread o’er the ocean and enhance its blue;
Soft, pearly tints, bright saffron, richest rose,
Their lovely rainbow radiance disclose,
Reflected on the deep so sweet, so fair,
That the charmed eye could gaze forever there.
Around soft stillness and mute calmness reign
Along the ocean’s clear and polished plain;
No vagrant zephyr’s gentle voice is heard,
No shout of sailor, and no wing of bird,
The gentle ripples chiming on the beach
The sole sweet music that the ear can reach!
Some image Peace amid the woodland grove,
Some in soft vales where simple rustics rove;
But to behold her calmest reign, give me
A gorgeous twilight by the waveless sea!
Rocks, reefs, bold head-lands on my memory gleam,
The sea-bird soaring in the sun’s bright beam,—
The dense clouds casting darker shades below,—
The waves beginning with white crests to flow,
Till lashed to fury in wild rage they roar,
And strew light foam along the sounding shore.
If thus, great ocean, memory can recall
Thy varied scenes, and gaze upon them all
As in thy presence, need there be regret
At parting from thee? Though it may be sweet
In fancy’s pictures to behold thee clear,
Yet the true lover would be ever near
The mistress of his choice;—and so would I
Full oft behold thee with delighted eye;
And in this farewell to thy much-prized shore
Hope would plead softly “not for evermore!”

Lines to the Sun.

Bright regent of ether,
Great monarch of day,
Whose sceptre of splendour
Drives darkness away;

Thou art the restorer
Of life on the earth,
And givest its beauty
Renewal of birth.

From soft dewy slumber,
Mid darkness and night,
Each flower opes its eyelid
To gaze on thy light.

The dew-drops of morning,
Which spangle the vale,
To honour thy coming
As incense exhale.

Gay birds of the woodland
Aroused by thy ray,
To musical breezes
Attune the sweet lay.

The trees of the forest
Rejoice in thy beams,
That glance like bright silver
Along the clear streams.

How splendid all nature
Beneath thy glad reign,
In light and in glory,
O’er land and o’er main.

E’en man, the earth’s ruler,
Awaits thy command;
His fetters of slumber
Are broke by thy hand.

From sleep he ariseth
To toil and to care,
Till evening’s rich lustre
Hath vanished from air.

Yet art thou but agent,—
The servant of him
Who gave thee thy brightness,
And polished thy beam.

Thy glory is darkness;
Thy splendour but night;
To Him, thy Creator,
Who “dwelleth in light.”

The Muse.

Why woo a false and fabled muse?
The breeze, the sunlight, or the shower,
Fair morning’s dawn, sweet evening dews,
The noble tree or simple flower,
Can act with Inspiration’s power
Poetic ardours to infuse!

The rough rock, or the mountain glen;
Vast forests where no light is gleaming;
Lone pathless wilds untrod by men,
Quick lightning o’er vexed ocean streaming,
Dark nights when no clear star is beaming,
Arouse the soul’s sublimest strain.

Each acting on the mental frame,
That intellect which God has given,
Enkindle poesy’s bright flame,
Whose warmth o’er thought and feeling driven
In numbers flows; _thus_ drawn from heaven
Are thoughts that gain the poet’s fame!

Song—Young Spring.

Young Spring he was a rosy boy,
And loved light skies and breezes;
Sweet, calm and tranquil in his joy,
Like one whom each thing pleases.
He danced amid the hawthorn shade,
Before it burst to blossom,
And scattered yellow wild-flowers round
Just where he liked to toss ’em.
Young Spring, Young Spring, Young Spring!
You are a merry creature,
And when you smile, it makes us smile,
Yea—smile in every feature!

Our poets, in the times of old,
O’er-loaded him with praises,
As if his path all glory were,
Midst bright fields rich in daisies.
But now he seems to walk on clouds
With heavy plunging paces,
And squirts, as from a watering-pot,
Rain-drizzle in our faces.
Young Spring, Young Spring, Young Spring!
You’re grown a freakish fellow,
For now you smile, and now you weep,—
John!—bring me my umbrella.

Tis said, in ancient days he dwelt
In bowers of blooming roses,
Whilst nigh him, on the fragrant turf,
Warm Zephyr’s wing reposes;
But now he can blow hot and cold,
Just like the fabled satyr,
And chill your blood, and cramp your bones,
And make your old teeth chatter.
Young Spring, Young Spring, Young Spring!
You are a precious turncoat,
For you were warm, but now you’re cold,—
George!—get me out my greatcoat!

If that his olden days were fair,
And full of glowing sunshine,
His temper, then, has altered much,
Or all such talk was—moonshine.
For now his humours often breed
A most unseemly weather,
Where rain and hail and frost and snow
Come mingled up together.
Young Spring, Young Spring, Young Spring!
Old Winter you impannel,
And play at romps with frost and snow,—
Jane!—air my under-flannel!

Autumn.

In this glad season, when the ripened corn
All golden-hued along the landscape gleams,
And fruits, as poured from Plenty’s flowing horn,
Blush red and purple in the sun’s bright beams.
Incense of gratitude it well beseems
Frail man to offer with devotion high,
From his heart as an altar, whilst there teems
Such glad abundance round him, and the sky
Glows with a glorious light to prove heaven’s goodness nigh.

Oh, that such goodness we regarded more!
And, winged with gratitude, our thoughts aloft
Like morning skylarks, would rejoicing soar
To pay their glad and cheerful tribute oft.
Ah! sweet is grateful love, and calm and soft
Its soothing influence upon the mind,
Making it purer, as the breezes waft
Life to the flowers! Then on thy spirit bind
The thought of heaven’s rich love, beneficent and kind!

The hopeful promise of the early spring
Is now fulfilled; the summer’s rosy flower
Transmuted into fruit; and corn-fields bring
The full redundance of their golden store,
To glad the heart of man. His labour o’er,
Well may he lift a deeply thankful voice,
And ere the closing of the year grown hoar,
Make hospitality’s free rites his choice—
A season of glad cheer when loving hearts rejoice.

The Reaper.

The reaper now plies his sturdy arm,
’Mid the heat of the noon-day sun;
And early and late in the sweat of his brow,
He works till his task be done.

The sun scarce peeps o’er the distant trees,
Ere he labours along the fields;
And the silvery beams of the harvest moon,
Shine sweet as the sheaves he builds.

’Mid cloud and dew of the early spring,
In good hope he buried the grain;
And soon in green blades with the soft summer breeze
It wavered along the plain.

The bright warm close of the golden year,
Made his ample reward complete;
As it swell’d out each grain and made ripe each ear,
And all for the sickle meet.

Happy art thou in thy fruitful work,
O reaper of rich teeming fields;
For the bright hope we sow in this mortal life,
Full often no harvest yields.

The blasts of sorrow, the clouds of care,
Disappointment’s terrible blight,
Destroy many sweet pleasures we hoped to rear,
And leave but winter and night.

Yet unto man in this vale of tears,
A holier hope is given;
If he scatter around him good seed on earth,
His harvest he’ll reap in heaven.

The Widow.

She wanders round the old church walls,
And by the grassy graves,
As if some scanty solace thence
Her mourning spirit craves.

When death, the cherished and the loved,
Hath severed from the heart,
To view the tombs where they were laid
Can sad relief impart.

Such loss is hers—but in that ground
Her loved ones do not lie;
Yet often there she wanders lone,
And strange graves hovers nigh.

Once she a husband kind possessed,
And two sons stout and brave;
But midst the stern November gales
The sea became their grave.

Far off from land, their fishing barks
The whelming waves flowed o’er;
At home she waited their return,
But never saw them more!

With faithful heart she’s wept for them
Through many fleeting years;
Though o’er their graves she ne’er could pay
The tribute of her tears.

Now oft her slow and feeble steps
Are to that church-yard led,
Because she feels more nigh to them
Amid the silent dead!

The Blind Musician.

He touched his flute by the lone inn door,
And artless were all the sounds he drew;
But mid the notes of that simple lay
The deep delight of his soul breathed through.

The earth for him had no robes of light,
No gorgeous scenes to exalt his mind;
No bright summer clouds or sunset skies
To melt his spirit—for he was blind!

Yet cheerless and dark his soul was not,
Shut out from a lovely world around;
For music could waft his thoughts to dwell,
In a rich and joyful world of sound.

I saw on his cheek content’s calm smile,
And blessed in my heart the love of heaven;
That to a being in darkness born,
Such a secret fund of joy had given.

Yet as I gazed on the landscape round
All glowing in sunshine rich and free;
There gushed from my heart, intense and strong,—
“I thank Thee, O God—I see! I see!”

Hope.

Hope, with a rich enchanting light,
Allures us gaily on;
That, when we think to grasp the prize,
Just flickers and is gone.

Its lambent flame again appears,
And we renew the chase;
But soon our smiles are turned to tears—
We’re baffled in the race!

Earth’s hopes are like the meteor-lights
That spread the moorland far,
But heavenly hope eternal shines
Serenely as a star.

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.

By Thy Spirit’s grace impart
That pure, humble, contrite heart,
Loved of Thee, that we may share
All thy goodness, power, and care.

Omnipresent Power.

Oh God thine omnipresent power
’Tis beautiful to trace,
As manifested in each flower,
Or through the realms of space.

All nature’s scenes, though in themselves
Most lovely, bright, and fair,
Are redolent with glorious life
When we behold Thee there!

The gentle breeze, or verdant mead;
The sunset clouds above;
The sparkling stream, the waving tree,
Then witness to thy love.

And e’en the grandeur of the storm,
Or dashing of the tide,
Their terrors lose when thou art known
Their fearful might to guide.

The starry worlds so clear and bright,
And numberless foretel,
There must be worlds of heavenly light
Where minds angelic dwell.

The pure in heart behold their God,
Oh make our spirits pure,
That both in earth and heaven we may
Behold Thee evermore.

Providence.

Lord! thy providential care
Through life’s journey may we share;
Knowing, from thy throne above,
Thou regardest us with love.

Daily give us food to eat,
Peaceful homes, and raiment meet;
All our earthly wants supply
With a Father’s watchful eye.

Guard by thine Almighty power
In temptation’s trying hour;
And each chast’ning sorrow bless
To eternal happiness.

Sunshine and alternate rain
Make the green herbs spring amain;
May the joys or pains we know
Cause our hearts in grace to grow.

Mighty Father, Prince of Peace,
Give thy kingdom vast increase;
Make thy sons in every land
Countless as the sea-side sand.

Day by day our souls advance
To their heavenly heritance,
Till at last they calmly rest
In thy glorious presence blest.

Angelic Visits.

In ancient times bright angels
Oft burst upon the sight,
In radiant forms, and filled the hearts
Of men with rich delight.

Then earth was nigh to heaven,
And man more good and pure,
And through his spirit’s holy strength
Such brightness could endure.

But now deep clouds of darkness
Shut out the realms of light,
And shroud the earth beneath the shade
Of sin’s impervious night.

Oh that the veil were rended
Which hides them from our view,
That they might come in loving bands
Their visits to renew.

Are they not elder brothers
Advanced to higher spheres,
Who with bright tales of those high worlds
Could oft entrance our ears?

Then darkening doubt would vanish,
And faith would burn serene,
And man rejoice in glorious hope
Of heavenly worlds unseen.

Yea oft in holy vision
Their shores he might behold,
More fair than light, more rich than gems,
More radiant than gold.

Oh Thou with love Redemptive,
Thy mighty work complete,
And cleanse all souls, that heaven and earth,
In one pure bond may meet.

Joy in God.

Phil. c. 4, v. 4.

“Rejoice ye always in the Lord,
Rejoice again, I say rejoice!”
What words of triumph, sounds of cheer,
As sweet as from a seraph’s voice!

Although temptations reign on earth,
Deep sorrows pierce, and losses pain,
Yet christians oft with holy mirth
May cheerfully rejoice again.

A heart replete with steadfast hope,
Illumed by faith serene and bright,
And warmed with holy love, will make
All earth’s afflictions short and light.

As sunshine spreading o’er the land,
Makes all creation seem more fair,
So God a higher honour gains
When happy looks his people wear.

Give us, O God, bright faith and love,
That we may praise with cheerful voice,
And hastening to glad realms above,
In thee may evermore rejoice.

The Great Object of Life.

The soul was framed to trust
In God’s eternal might,
His Goodness love, His truth revere,
And in His works delight.

This is the law of life,
And brings unfailing peace,
Gives praise to God, deep bliss to man,
And joys that never cease.

But man has fallen thence
And lost his primal state;
For falsehood changed the light of truth
And holy love to hate.

Truth’s kingdom to restore,
From evil to redeem,
Christ came, God manifest in flesh,
And reigns in heaven supreme.

Free pardon he can give,
And by the Spirit’s might,
Create the soul to love again
The good, the true, the right.

Thus “born of God” will man
A son of God become,
And through a pilgrimage on earth
Haste to a Father’s home.

The Close of Life.

Whene’er this breath of life departs
And mortals find a grave,
The dust alone to earth returns,
The soul to God who gave!

Just as the eaglet leaves its shell
To seek its native sky,
The spirit quits its flesh to gain
A spirit-world on high.

The sanctified, the good and true,
The pure in heart ascend,
To dwell before the eternal throne
In joys that know no end.

The resurrection and the life,
Redeeming God, art Thou;
Oh raise our souls to love divine,
And holy life bestow;

That when our time of trial ends,
In triumph we may soar,
To join the glorious angel bands
Rejoicing evermore.