Rachel Elizabeth Patterson, better known as Lizzie Patterson, is the
daughter of William Patterson and Sarah (Catts) Patterson, and was born
in Port Deposit, February 2, 1820. She is also the granddaughter of an
Englishman who settled on Taylor's Island, in Chesapeake Bay, where he
owned considerable property, which by some means seems to have been lost
by his family.
Her father at one time kept a clothing store in Port Deposit, where he
died when the subject of this sketch was quite young, leaving a family
of helpless children, who were soon scattered among strangers. Elizabeth
was placed in a family residing a short distance south of the village of
Rising Sun. While in this family she was seized with a violent illness,
which confined her to bed for many months and from which she arose a
cripple and a sufferer for life.
Her poetic talent began to manifest itself in those early days of
suffering, and during subsequent years of confinement she found solace
and recreation by composing her "Songs in Affliction," which about
thirty years ago, in accordance with the advice of her friends, she
published in a small volume bearing that name. The first edition
consisted of eight hundred, and was so well received as to warrant the
publication of another one of five hundred copies. In 1872 she published
another small volume, entitled "The Little Streamlet," which contained
some poems written since the publication of the first volume. Miss
Patterson at present and for many years past has resided in Baltimore.
"JUDGE NOT!"
How, poor frail and erring mortal,
Darest thou judge thy fellow-man
And with bitter words and feelings,
All his faults and frailties scan?
Why rake out from time's dull ashes,
And before the world display
Deeds, it may be, long repented
And forgiven, ere this day?
Canst thou search his secret feelings?
Canst thou read his inmost soul?
Canst thou tell the hidden motives
Which his actions here control?
Is he erring? seek in kindness,
Then, to win him back to peace;
Is he weak? oh try to strengthen;
Sad? then bid his sorrows cease!
Lay thou not a heavier burden
By an unkind look or word,
On a heart which may by anguish
To its inmost depths be stirred.
O! forbear thy hasty judging!
Should thy righteous God demand
Half the justice which thy brother
Is receiving from thy hand,
What, oh what would be thy portion,
Though more righteous thou than he,
Would not the glad gates of mercy
Soon their portals close on thee?