Heavy upon my weary spirit pressed,—
The struggle between poverty and pride,—
Ill could my temper bear the bitter test,
Exhausted hope could find no place of rest;
I, for the love of one, had all resigned,
And now my heart in bitterness confessed,
Though faithful love might yet remain behind,
It was no more the light of joy, the sunbeam of the mind.
Yet I content, nay, happy might have proved,
Could I have meekly stooped the yoke to bear,
Nor sought perfection in the man I loved;
But I had hoped a heaven on earth to share,—
Too ardent hope rebounds into despair.
When pride or passion fix the nuptial chain,
Time must the gilding from the fetters wear,—
Love’s golden links alone unchanged remain,
Hallowed by faith, to be renewed in Heaven again.
I now approach the crisis of my woes.
One, known in early life, again I met;—
With proud disdain I had regarded those
Who—low by birth, by nature lower—yet
Their upstart confidence in riches set;
And could I calmly Agnes now behold
Her brow encircled with a coronet,
Endure her haughty smile, her greeting cold,
Who owed her triumph solely to the power of gold?
I felt the press of poverty, and she
Had only to desire—and to possess;
Yet why should sight of her prosperity
Add to my cup one drop of bitterness?
Her luxuries made not my comforts less.
I know it now, though my deluded heart
Would then have scorned its weakness to confess;
Envy had fixed within his venomed dart,
And love had no sweet balm to heal the wounded part.
Hate’s ready weapon, ridicule, I sought,
The lightest word may give the deepest wound,—
Montoro’s sparkling wit the impulse caught,
His jests, by malice circulated round,
Too soon a fatal destination found.
Words are but breath, but breath may kindle flame
Destined to level cities with the ground!
My God, from Thy dread wrath the judgment came,
But oh! my guilt, my wretchedness were still the same!
A fatal sword hung o’er my head unknown,
Yawned at my feet a precipice unseen!
One morn Montoro had gone forth alone,
Methought there was a sadness in his mien,
And tender had his words at parting been;
A long fond kiss upon our babe he prest,
Still in her cradle slumbering serene;
The tide of love gushed warmer in my breast,
His glance recalled the hours when first that love was blest.
Thrice the accumulating mound of sand
Marked in my glass the hours that passed away,
I turned it listlessly with weary hand,
And marvelled at Montoro’s long delay:
Heavy with mist and rain advanced the day;
My babe awoke and wept, her cry of fear
I strove to soothe with melancholy lay,
And bore her, sobbing, to the casement near,
And bade her infant accents call her father dear.
Upon the dreary prospect forth I gazed;
Poured from the lowering sky incessant rain,
The trees their dark and dripping branches raised,
Reflected dimly on the flooded plain,
Trickled the raindrops down the misty pane;
The wind in sudden gusts our dwelling shook,
Then sank, in mournful murmurs to complain;
With heavy heart the casement I forsook,
While to my early home her flight sad memory took.
“Where is the happiness I thought to find
When forth I went, a young rejoicing bride?
Springs grief from earthly trials, or a mind
For ever restless and dissatisfied?
Montoro’s love outweighed the world beside,—
Is it his wife’s misfortune or her sin
That petty cares so oft our hearts divide?
Oh, that another era might begin,
And life’s storms but enhance the holy peace within!
“My childhood’s friend I in his age forsook,—
The old man sleeps beneath the grassy sod!
To frown of care is changed the joyous look
With which Montoro once life’s garden trod;
God gave me life,—I have not lived to God!
My threefold duties I neglected see,—
Great God! suspend awhile thy chastening rod!
Oh, come, my husband, life henceforth shall be
Devoted unto piety and thee!”
He came—but oh! _how_ did Montoro come?
Why did I live to look on his return?
Bleeding and pale they bore him to his home.
Life glimmered faintly,—I had yet to learn
The hopeless grief that must for ever burn
Within the widow’s desolated breast:
Enough—mine eyes have seen Montoro’s urn;
One tie is left—one treasure still possest,—
The shadow of despair is cast on all the rest!
There is no wretchedness where sin is not,—
Religion may relieve the darkest woes,
All—save remorse—be softened or forgot—
But where can she—the guilty—find repose,
Whose anguish from her own transgression flows?
_My_ pride—_my_ envy bade Montoro die,
His life embittered, stained with blood its close!
Aye, weep ye who _can_ weep—but I—but I
My heart weeps tears of blood, and yet mine eyes are dry!
III.
PRIDE.
Proud—and of what! poor vain and helpless worm
Crawling in weakness through thy life’s brief term,
Yet filled with thoughts presumptuous, bold, and high,
As though thy grovelling soul could scan the sky,
As though thy wisdom, which can not foreshow
What _one_ day brings of coming weal or woe,
Could pierce the depths of far futurity,
And all the wingèd shafts of fate defy!
Art proud of riches? of the glittering dust
Each day _may_ rob thee of, and one day _must_,
When mines of wealth will purchase no delay,
When dust to dust must turn, and clay to clay,
And nought remain to thee of all possest,
Save one dark cell in earth’s unconscious breast!
Or proud of power? on this little ball
Some petty tract may thee its master call,
Some fellow-mortals, bending lowly down,
Bask in thy smile, or tremble at thy frown;
Great in the world’s eyes, in thine own how great,
How swells thy breast with conscious pride elate!
And art thou great? lift up—lift up thine eyes,
Survey the heavens, gaze into the skies,—
View the fair worlds that glitter o’er thy head,
Orb above orb in bright succession spread,
Beyond the reach of sight, the power of thought,—
Then turn thy gaze to earth, and thou art—_nought_;
The globe itself a speck—an atom thou!
Oh, child of dust, shall pride exalt thee now?
In one thing only thou mayst glory still,
And let exulting joy thy bosom fill,—
Glory in this—and what is all beside,—
That for this worm—this atom—Christ hath died!
Does conscious genius fire thy haughty mind,
Genius, that raises man above his kind,
The lofty soul that soars on wing of fire,
While crowds at distance marvel and admire?
Oh! while the charmed world pays her homage just,
Remember _every talent is a trust_,
A treasure God doth to thy care confide,
A cause for gratitude, but none for pride.
If thou that precious talent misapply,
To spread the flood of infidelity,
To strew with flowers the paths which sinners tread,
To hide one treacherous snare by Satan spread,—
How blest, how great, compared to thee, the man
Whose life obscurely ends as it began,
To whose meek soul no knowledge ere was given
Save that—of all most high—that lifts the soul to Heaven.
For, as the sun’s pure radiance, streaming bright,
Transcends the glow-worm’s dim and fading light,
The wisdom to that man vouchsafed from high
Excells the earth-born fires that flash—and die!
Oh! where shall pride securely harbour then,
Where urge his claims to rule the minds of men?
Blest Eden knew him not,—where all was fair,
Where all was faultless,—pride abode not there.
The glorious angels are above his sway,
Their bliss to minister—to serve—obey;
We—only we—poor children of a day,
Tread haughtily the ground for our sakes curst,
And wear with pride the chains our Surety burst!
Would that the world could know and truly prize
That which is great in the Creator’s eyes!
The poor man, bending o’er his scanty store,
Who, with God’s presence blest, desires no more;
Who feels his sins, his weakness, though his ways
Be just and pure beyond all _human_ praise;
Whose humble thoughts well with his prayer accord,
“Have mercy upon me, a sinner, Lord!”
Who, heir of an eternal, heavenly throne,
Rests all his hopes on Christ, and Christ _alone_!
Wisest of men—for he alone is wise;
Richest of men—secure his treasure lies;
Greatest of men—his mansion is on high;
His Father—God; his portion—immortality!
IV.
A DREAM OF THE SECOND ADVENT.
I dreamed that in the stilly hush of night—
Deep midnight—I was startled from my sleep
By a clear sound as of a trumpet! Loud
It swelled, and louder, thrilling every nerve,
Making the heart beat wildly, strangely, till
All other senses seemed in hearing lost.
Up from my couch I sprang in trembling haste,
Cast on my garments, wondering to behold
Through half-closed shutters sudden radiance gleam,
More clear, more vivid than the glare of day!
What marvel, then, that with a breathless hope
That gave me wings, forth from my home I rushed,
Though heaved the earth as if instinct with life,
Its very dust awakening! Can it be—
Is this the call, “Behold the Bridegroom comes!”
Comes He, the long-expected—long-desired?
Crowds thronged the street, with every face upturned,
Gazing into the sky—the flaming sky—
Where every cloud was like a throne of light.
None could look back, not even to behold
If those beloved were nigh; one thrilling thought
Rapt all the multitude—“Can He be near!”
Then cries of terror rose—I scarcely heard;
And buildings shook, and rocked, and crashing fell—
I scarcely marked their fall; the trembling ground
Rose like the billowy sea—I scarcely felt
The motion, such intensity of hope—
Joy—expectation—flooded all my soul,
A tide of living light, o’erwhelming all
The hopes and fears, the cares and woes of earth!
Could any doubt remain? Lo! from afar
A sound of “Hallelujah!” ne’er before
Had mortal ear drunk in such heavenly strain,
Save when on Bethlehem’s plain the shepherds heard
The music of the skies!
Behold! behold!
Like white-winged angels rise the radiant throng
That from yon cemetery’s gloomy verge
Have burst, immortal—glorious—undefiled!
Bright as the sun their crowns celestial shine,
Yet I behold them with undazzled eye!
Oh! that yon glittering canopy of light
Would burst asunder, that I might behold
Him whom so long, not seeing, I have loved!
It parted—lo! it opened—as I stood
With clasped hands stretched towards heav’n, my eager gaze
Fixed on the widening glory!
Suddenly,
As if the burden of the flesh no more
Could fetter down the aspiring soul to earth,
As if the fleshly nature were consumed—
Lost in the glowing ecstasy of love—
I soared aloft, I mounted through the air
Free as a spirit, rose to meet my Lord
With such a cry of rapture—that I woke!
Oh! misery, to wake in darkness, wake
From vision of unutterable joy,
Instead of trumpet-sound and song of heaven,
To hear the dull clock measuring out time,
When I had seemed to touch eternity!
In the first pang of disappointed hope,
I wept that I could wake from such a dream.
Until Faith gently whispered, “Wherefore weep
To lose the faint dim shadow of a joy
Of which the substance shall one day be thine?
Live in the hope,—that hope shall brighten life
And sanctify it to its highest end.”
Fast roll the chariot wheels of time. He comes!
The Spirit and the Bride expectant wait,—
Even so come, Lord Jesus! Saviour—come!
Footnotes
[1]The expression used by one who now rests in Christ.
[2]Captain Smith, the captive here mentioned, twice diverted the
Indians from their murderous intentions, by drawing their
attention to the marvels of the needle.
[3]Pocahontas was presented to James I.
Index to First Lines.
HYMNS.
A
Page
After labour sweet is rest 34
A helpless sinner in Thy sight 39
A holy warfare, Lord, is mine 79
An angel of comfort from heaven sped 18
At the foot of the Cross where my Saviour is bleeding 102
B
Before the morning’s toil begin 49
D
Day after day my weary task I ply 51
Death is not dreadful, no! 106
E
Earth’s bright hopes must fade 31
Ere our first parents fell, the ground 67
F
Far from the friends to me most dear 59
Father of Heaven, Thy guidance we implore 43
“Feed thou My lambs,” the Saviour said 47
Forsake not thou thy father’s friend 111
Forth from the city gate of Nain 95
H
Help me, Lord Jesus, to fulfil 71
How beautiful is Nature’s face! 75
How highly blest were those who saw 85
How swiftly flies man’s mortal thread 41
I
I bless Thee, Lord, in early spring 69
I cannot see the sunny gleam 23
I dare not raise my guilty eye 21
I do not dare, O holy Lord 15
In daily rounds my constant course I keep 61
In the silence of night when the stars glimmer o’er me 57
In the year that hath passed o’er us 121
I’ve laid the earth above the child 27
I would not take what is not mine, for hoards of wealth untold 53
L
“Lord! carest Thou not that we perish!” 88
N
Not alone in God’s house, or in seasons of prayer 73
Now in the East Hope’s trembling light 29
O
O God of Hosts, our fathers’ God 77
S
Souls are perishing before thee 119
Standing upon the awful brink 117
T
The awful night hath passed, the day 100
The balmy spring awakes the flowers 35
The day of life is closing 104
The fear of God most high 113
The precious blood of Christ my Lord 11
There is a sword of glittering sheen 32
There were fishermen once by the blue Galilee 45
The Sabbath sun has risen high 55
The stately mansion riseth beneath the builder’s hand 25
The summer blossoms fast decay 13
To whom do I obedience owe 63
W
When from the branches’ leafy screen 92
When in our breasts we feel the flame of love 97
When on Zion’s hill we rest 37
When Peter by the miracle 90
When shades of night around him close 16
When verdant fields are seen no more 65
Where is thy new-born Lord, O Judah? Zion—where thy King? 81
Who wisdom’s path forsakes 115
Why dread the future, trembling one 109
POEMS.
I dreamed that in the stilly hush of night 153
Life’s deep afflictions not alone demand 136
Proud—and of what! poor vain and helpless worm 149
Through the majestic forest shade 125
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