BOOK VIII.

THE ARGUMENT.-Address to Hope. Its benefits to William. Commences

business. Manner of conducting it. Thinks again of Matrimony. Shop

described. Inconveniences in it. An incident. Discouragement in trade.

Compensation for them in visits to his intended. A further glance of

her. The home provided her. Marriage. A peep at their home afterward.

Forced to leave it. A second move. A Love's-pledge. Imminent peril of

the wife. Unhappy condition of first-born. Church matters. WILLIAM'S

trials from temper, etc. Continued success in business. Tinsmith's

Song. His long sickness, and support under it. Dutiful conduct of

Apprentice. Wife's self-sacrifices and matronly management. COOPER'S

gratitude to her for it. Continued Poetical predelictions. Visits with

his Wife the Falls of Niagara. Family increase. Troubles in Church

affairs. Excommunication. Fresh Church connection. Troubles arise

afresh. Death of Wife. WILLIAM'S lament. Conclusion.

Hail, Hope! thou gem-decked Maid, with features fair!

Fairer than fabled goddesses of air.

I still regarded thee as sprung from God;

As sent to us from his divine abode,

With the sweet sisters, holy Faith and Love,

That favored mortals might your virtues prove.

Led on by thee, we pass through heavy trial,

Requiring ever constant self-denial,

Unscathed, yet ridded of defiling dross,

To find ourselves the better for its loss.

Prompted by thee, we scale vast mountain heights;

Or take to Earth's far bounds most rapid flights;

Face dreadful storms; yea, greatest dangers brave,

And, unappalled, view the deep, yawning grave!

In every age thy praise have Poets sung;

Throughout the world thy praise has loudly rung

So much and often, that I need not dwell

Upon thy worth: for it were hard to tell

The millionth part of good thou hast achieved;

By finite man it cannot be conceived!

Thy sovereign virtues WILLIAM deeply felt,

Howe'er engaged, and wheresoe'er he dwelt.

In constant toil, and chilled by Penury,

He knew 'twas blessed to be cheered by thee.

Thou madest him content in low estate,

And for Prosperity to patient wait;

Till some, who thought his course deserved much blame,

Were led to full approval of the same.

More weeks went past, and his kind patron bought

Both tools and stock; when he with vigor wrought

In a small shop, and did his best to give

Due satisfaction, and made out to live.

Throughout the country nothing now was heard

Save talk of Civil war; yet undeterred

Was he, by what was going on around,

From his employment; and kept gaining ground.

The village of brave Soldier's was quite full,

And they, alone, made business far from dull.

When he at first commended, he made a rule

For which some folks then deemed him quite a fool

To make good work and cheap, and have his pay

For all he sold; and this he did always.

He had been taught to look Honesty

As the best part of Business policy;

And his experience fully proved the truth

Of that old maxim learned in early youth.

Meanwhile, as worldly prospects brighter grew,

To marriage state he turned his thoughts anew,

And made proposals for that lovely maid;

Nor was disapprobation once displayed

By either parent, who gave full consent,

As she, to marry him, was quite content.

Though not a "first love," their's remained still true,

And smoothly ran-was ever fresh and new!

His humble home, and shop, were all in one,

And looked, to others' eyes, most woe-begone!

It was for business truly quite unfit;

Yet customers still found their way to it.

Back from the street--up some half dozen stairs--

Two boards, on barrels, held his shining wares!

On one side high--the other very low--

And all unplastered; it was quite a show!

At one end stood his bench, and close beside it

Lay his rude couch; let not the rich deride it!

At times, he rose from off that humble bed

With a fair _snow-wreath_ close about his head!

One bitter night, some loyal Volunteers

Were quartered on him; and he told his fears,

That much of comfort could not there be found,

In such a room, with all his fixtures round.

One made reply which went to WILLIAM'S heart,

And proved _that man_ had "chosen the good part"--

"'Tis better," said he, "than our Savior had;

Of such a lodging He would have been glad!"

Our hero, with his _hand-tools_ got along,

At best, but slowly; and sometimes went wrong.

It was no easy thing to ascertain

What kind of goods a ready sale would gain.

His brother Tinsmith showed no friendly spirit;

He deemed him far too low in workman-merit!

And threatened vauntingly to drive him out:

But God's rich blessing compassed him about!

His patterns he contrived, as best he could;

And every month, as _tradesman_, firmer stood.

His constant visits to his future bride,

Much of sweet pleasure every time supplied.

Rare worth and beauty did the maid possess;

To see her was to taste of happiness!

She was too lovely, and too gentle, far,

For one whose mind was very oft ajar;

So humble, that she left her father's house,

With all its comforts, to become his spouse.

The home which he for that fair girl provided,

By most young lasses would have been derided.

'Twas just the farthest half of his rude shop,

Lined with planed boards on all sides, and the top;

Quite small in size, 'twas amply furnished,

With stove, three chairs, a table, box and bed!

In March, his natal month, through sleet and rain,

He bore his wife, who did not once complain.

No _wedding jaunt_ could their small means afford,

Yet they had pleasure in true love's accord;'

And what they lacked in way of outward show,

Was quite made up by warm affection's glow.

They were a happy couple, with warm hearts:

Both striving eagerly to act their parts.

If ever twain were blended into one,

'Twas in their case, as all who knew them own.

He, working soon and late to rid his debt;

She taking care of all he chanced to get.

And, with sweet smiles upon her face,

Dispelling of despondency each trace.

Too soon, the place in which their bliss begun.

Was made too hot by our Canadian sun.

A Bakery below, Sol's rays above,

With heat from stove made them most glad to move.

They next obtained a shop which answered well;

For all he made, they could most freely sell.

This place, however, they were forced to quit

In three months after they had entered it.

More than one person had on it a claim,

And each law-suit fanned their litigious flame,

Until at length it went to Chancery,

And that sage Court could on this thing agree--

To have it closed forthwith! And thus our friends

Were forced to move, once more, to gain their ends.

Each move brought double rent; but this became

A thing remembered only by its name.

Trade still increased, as did Experience, too,

And WILLIAM now had more than he could do.

But by this time he had assistance found

In his wife's brother, as apprentice bound;

A youth most active, and good-natured, too,

Who took delight in what he had to do.

The shop to which they went--last on the street--

Was, as a residence, to them most sweet.

Almost in front, a river calmly flowed;

Close by, a plain wood bridge the stream bestrode.

There, he could stand at his shop door and view

A scene which called up feelings ever new.

Above the bridge, for nearly half a mile,

It is most lovely, clad in Summer's smile.

Tall trees, of various kinds, its margins grace,

While it flows on, with ever gentle pace,

Past two small islands; each one like a gem

Set in the stream so softly passing them.

There, often has he sat, on summer's eve,

With his fair bride, both loath the scene to leave.

Lit up by Luna's beams, 'twould larger seem,

And scope afford for sweet poetic dream.

One island he would picture as the site

Of a neat mansion, where he might, at night,

Retire from business cares to take a boat.

And on the surface of the river float

With his most charming--his most loving wife;

Content to leave behind all worldly strife.

Such freaks would Fancy play, when he inclined

To let her reign sole Monarch of his mind!

Yet, when the spell was broke, the sweets of home

Were such, that from them he ne'er wished to roam.

And thus days, weeks and months most smoothly passed,

Till Winter came, each beauteous scene to blast.

Now, with new hopes, alas! came fears as well,

The strength of which it is not mine to tell.

But those who once have fond, young husbands been,

May well conceive what hopes and fears I mean.

Scarce bad December sealed the Frost-King's reign,

Ere these true hearts a Love's-pledge did obtain.

Protracted labor, bringing sore distress,

Came nigh extinguishing their happiness!

This oft led WILLIAM to the Mercy Seat;

And, oh, his visits there were truly sweet!

Nor was it vain; two precious lives were spared,

And the young parents were, afresh, prepared

To grapple with their duties--growing large--

Conscious of weakness in their full discharge.

The babe proved cross and fretful; and, for years,

Frequent convulsive fits filled them with fears;

And quite unfitted her, in after life,

For bearing a just share of toil and strife.

This proved an exercise for faith and prayer,

Until the fully felt that God's kind care

Would be extended o'er their suffering child;

And this thought made their souls more reconciled,

To bear with patience this great, frequent trial,

Which called on them so much for self-denial.

A growing interest now in Church affairs

Filled that young father's mind with weighty cares.

At this my readers need not be surprised;

Nor should my notice of it be despised.

That Church on Scripture truth had ta'en its stand,

And wished to bend alone to God's command--

To copy, in their government, the plan

Marked out by Christ, when first His Church began.

Now they sought one well qualified to take

The Elder's office--not for lucre's, sake,

Nor "as a lord o'er God's own heritage"--

But one who humbly would, with warmth, engage

To do His bidding, and bear peaceful rule

O'er that small Church-that it might prove a school

For Saints to grow in strict conformity

To God's just will-as they that will may see.

One soon they found, who had for years been tried:

Who by Paul's test was willing to abide;

Well knowing the advice which he had given

To Ephesian Elders; and how he had striven

To labor with his hands for the support

Of self and friends, oft made the worldling's sport.

Let none imagine that this flock obtained

Another's labor for some selfish end;

Large sums they raise to help the suffering poor,

And freely give of their superfluous store

To send the Bible into heathen lands--

And that while all are laboring with their hands.

This testimony I would bear of them;

'Tis strictly true, whoever may contemn.

As deacons they chose WILLIAM and another,

Who was regarded as a worthy brother.

In God's pure sight they viewed themselves unfit

For such high office; yet accepted it

In deference to their brethren, who made choice

Of them at once, without dissenting voice.

'Twas thus it came that he had many cares,

Beside his family's and trade's affairs.

In preaching now he took his regular turn,

And, though but weakly, did with ardor burn

To tell poor sinners of a Savior's love,

Or Saints instruct in lessons from Above.

He 'midst those labors found, with sore distress,

A constant warfare mar his happiness.

Dyspepsia-fell disease-his stomach seized,

And, like a demon, would not be appeased;

But made his temper, far too quick and warm,

By frequent outbursts often work him harm.

This grieved the heart of his beloved wife,

And might have led to constant family strife,

Had not the Lord to him his folly shown,

By greater chastisement than he had known.

And now our friends possessed sufficient means

To pay their debt, or purchase those machines

Which tinsmiths use; and WILLIAM asked his friend

If he, conveniently, could longer lend

What they were owing him? His kind reply

Led COOPER soon the needful tools to buy.

This was an era in their history,

And they most gladly work more actively

In manufacturing their humble wares,

Or giving to old things their due repairs.

While freely pushing their close labor through,

They still found plenty for the two to do;

Which called on them for greater thankfulness

To their kind God, who did their business bless.

While thus engaged, pray tell me where's the wrong,

If they should sing the following "Tinsmith's Song?"

TINSMITH'S SONG.

What though our bench labor rob us of the favor

Enjoyed by the farmer, 'midst fair Country scenes;

What though 'tis confining to make up tins shining,

There's naught in the trade which our conduct demeans,

Then ply the shears, since it appears

That our calling is honest and fair;

Yet take good heed, lest, in our speed,

We should send from our hands leaky ware!

In using the folder we then may grow bolder,

And form and groove pans with our consciences clear;

Drive each of the turners with skill beyond learners,

And put in stout wire with our hearts full of cheer.

Then take a burr and make it whirr,

As the bottoms spin round like a "top;"

And fit these tight, which is but right

If we wish a good name for the shop.

In this case the setter will do the work better,

And strong double seams will repay all our pains;

But slight not the soldering, or customers ordering

Their work at our hands will begrudge us our gains.

This we can do and yet push through

Quite a good share of labor each day,

And in our sales of pans or pails

Boldly ask those who buy for our pay.

We thus may be working, no selfishness lurking

Within, though the weather be cloudy or cold;

And lawfully striving our trade still be driving

From far better motives than mere thirst for gold.

Then we may serve and never swerve

From strict duty's plain, straightforward path,

Our country's weal with fervid zeal

By skill which each artisan hath.

O! then our bench labor may bring us the favor

Of a jaunt now and then midst the forests and fields,

Which pleasure so joyous can never annoy us,

If health and contentment it constantly yields.

Then ply the shears, since it appears

That our calling is honest and fair;

Yet take good heed lest in our speed.

We should send from our hands leaky ware.

And now these parents' hearts were rendered glad

By a sweet babe as ever parents had;

A lovely boy, a precious first-born son,

An April flower ere Spring had well begun.

Thus were their family and cares increased

While pleasure was not lessened in the least.

But a few months were destined to disclose

A lengthy list of what some think are woes.

Three serious accidents that year befel

His aged father, and 'twere hard to tell

The weary months of suffering he endured

Ere loss of limb to him relief procured.

Their patron, too, was by sore sickness brought

Down to death's door, as all who saw him thought

WILLIAM at last was on a sick-bed thrown

For many weeks, and then was fully shown

The fervent love and patience of his wife

Increasing still through years of after life.

Bereft of reason, as his friends declared,

Rich consolation he at all times shared.

Death--man's "last foe"--for him no terrors had,

His blighted prospects did not make him sad.

To leave his wife and babes he was resigned,

And this while all deemed him of unsound mind.

The tempter, true, his faith and feelings tried,

But his suggestions met "God will provide."

This simple text was strong enough to stay

Each wavering thought that rose from day to day.

The time when he fell sick was in the Fall,

When lively business made most pressing call.

And yet he was enabled to abide

Content with this, "Jehovah will provide,"

Ev'n so he did, and that in wondrous way,

For his wife's brother worked both night and day,

A striking instance of unselfishness

But rarely seen in youths of such a class.

Though outward things looked dark, this chastisement

Was plainly from a loving father sent;

And they saw constant reason to rejoice

That what is painful might be made their choice.

For, while it weaned their thoughts from things of earth

It made them prize the more their heavenly birth.

And ev'n their fond affection for each other

Was purified from that which tends to smother

The noblest energies of Christian souls,

And far too often their best thoughts controls.

This sickness showed, and that most strikingly,

How good a nurse this faithful wife could be.

Through all her trials she was quite resigned,

And not one murmuring thought rose in her mind.

A more attentive or enduring nurse

I'm very sure ne'er shone in poet's verse.

When his recovery was manifested

Her love and patience were severely tested.

For _calomel_ caused him such great distress

He was oft found in fits of fretfulness.

But yet she meekly bore with his caprice

And her self-sacrifice did never cease.

He, when restored again to perfect health,

Grew far more conscious of the store of wealth

By him possessed in having such a wife

To act as helpmate through the storms of life.

And not long after, when their lovely boy

Was very sick, he did his skill employ

To soothe her sorrows by an artless lay

Exhorting her to make God's love her stay;

And holding up to view Heaven's perfect bliss,

He aimed to show that naught can come amiss

To those who all their hopes on Jesus rest,

And "seek through His Atonement to be bless'd."

Their child restored, their joys again increase,

For God's sweet service yields them constant peace.

He, constantly employed in hard bench work,

Let not a thirst for wealth within him lurk,

And was enabled to preserve his mind

So free from care that, when he felt inclined,

He could with ease bring all his thoughts to bear

On Scripture truths, and each with each compare,

Or let his fancy take her random flight

To bring from _Dreamland_ some new-coined delight.

At other times would raise his tuneful voice

And sing sweet hymns which long had been his choice,

Or else recite some charming poetry

With touch of skill and much of energy.

At times his spouse, too, did her sewing bring,

And joined harmoniously God's praise to sing.

Thus mostly passed their time for months and years

In bliss too great to last, as it appears.

Meanwhile their debt most honestly was paid,

By which then prospects were much brighter made.

Yet gratitude glowed brightly in each heart,

To him who acted such a friendly part

As to lend money and then wait for years

In patience for the payment of arrears.

About this time they visited "The Falls,"

As business was not urgent in its calls.

WILLIAM felt joyful in no trifling measure

With such a wife to share so great a pleasure,

And gladly spent his money and his time

To view with her that scenery sublime.

This jaunt gave both the most heartfelt delight,

And furnished her the first and only sight

She ever had of wonders there displayed,

Which were in Spring's fresh beauty then arrayed.

They stood and gazed, or sat in shady place,

With glowing feelings pictured in each face.

He greatly longed to have a dwelling near,

That he might oftener view scenes grown so dear.

But family needs would force themselves on him,

And those bright visions very soon grew dim.

Yet he inquiry made of settlers round

To learn what prospects then might there be found

Of earning a just living at his trade;

But this quite threw the project in the shade.

Then he thought fit to let "well be" alone

Till clearer light should on the scheme be thrown.

Hopes next arose that he might yet revisit

Once every year, with pleasure more exquisite,

Those grand, unrivalled Falls with her he loved,

More lovely still now that her love was proved.

The sequel shows how little we foresee

Of good or evil in our destiny.

'Tis right; and this should make us place our trust

In God, our Father, ever wise and just.

Since naught can happen without His permission

Who orders our affairs with wise precision.

At the appointed time they home returned,

While love for it more strongly in them burned.

One Winter and two Summers now had passed

Since a fine boy upon their care was cast.

Again stern winter came, with cloudy skies

And howling blasts like some fell demon cries.

Dark, chill November had been ushered in,

With much of elemental strife and din,

When came another daughter, bright and fair,

To charm the hearts of that still loving pair.

The new come love pledge, as time swiftly flew,

In sweetest bands their souls more closely drew.

Increasing means more household comforts brought,

Not greatly coveted if they were sought.

They asked God day by day for such supplies

Of worldly blessings as He deemed most wise,

Took those most thankfully He kindly sent,

And with their lot, for most part, were content.

'Tis true that COOPER wished to spend more time

For the improvement of himself in rhyme,

But greater duties had a higher claim,

Neglect of which would bring upon him blame.

He therefore kept his muse in close subjection,

And gained God's blessing and most kind protection.

Yet now and then his pent up feelings broke

Through all restraint, and his rude harp awoke

To pour forth numbers with intent to cheer

Parents or friends, who lent a willing ear

To his effusions, void of learning's grace,

But full of feeling, which supplied its place.

Another Spring and Summer passed away,

Then Autumn, too, and Winter held the sway;

While January, when half its course was run,

Brought to our friends a second infant son.

Two of each kind parental love now claim,

As sharers of their destiny and name;

While years of happiness might seem in store

For, prosperous still, they loved each other more.

That season was their best in way of trade,

And thus their prospects wore no darkening shade.

Satan--arch enemy of all mankind--

Beheld with envy their true peace of mind,

And most maliciously employed his skill

To work them woe--defiant of God's will.

Their worldly property he did not touch,

For loss of this would not be felt so much

As trouble with their brethren in the church,

Severed from whom they might be left in lurch.

His plan succeeded, as I know too well,

For some deemed wise were held as by a spell

In hands of strongest preconceived opinion,

While Ignorance held them in his dominion.

WILLIAM had seen this long, and mourned in soul,

With such emotion as scarce brooked control,

And, knowing that they held it just and right

For all to seek increasing Scripture light,

He, in the search for truth, gave up his mind,

And was well pleased some few choice pearls to find.

These lustrous gems he had no wish to hide,

So held them up to view, and earnest tried

To lead his brethren to approve their worth;

But such a course gave to contention birth.

Nor was it long before occasion came

For those opposed to lay upon him blame,

The end of which was that they did him sever

From sweet communion with their church forever!

Under this blow he tried to bear up well,

But all he suffered 'twould be hard to tell.

His spouse and parents with him sympathised

And broke the bands which each so long had prized.

Naught now remained for them but to unite

In holy fellowship with purer light.

Soon some few other friends who knew their case

Their humble cause did with much warmth embrace.

One with our hero labored in the Word

With what small skill and time he could afford.

Things went on smoothly for about a year,

And some success did much their hearts to cheer.

Ere long, however, troubles unforeseen

Burst on the little band with shafts so keen

That WILLIAM'S faith and strength were sorely tried,

And with his lot he was dissatisfied.

One of the flock was easily led astray,

And self-indulgence held him in its sway.

Two others left because a change of view

Made several seek to be baptized anew.

Slow passed another very trying year,

And thick gloom gathered, filling them with fear.

Our friend was sick from an unquiet mind,

While Comfort--wonted guest--he failed to find.

At last his loved, his idolized wife

In her accouchment left this mortal life.

Schooled long, he firmly bore this heavy stroke,

And bowed his head submissive 'neath God's yoke.

This brought him peace, and his sad muse ere long

Found utterance in the following mournful song:

WILLIAM'S LAMENT ON THE DEATH OF HIS BELOVED WIFE.

Awake, my harp! give forth in solemn time

Thy sweetest numbers in harmonious rhyme.

'Tis time to bid my dormant powers arise,

Yet I would first dry up my weeping eyes.

My full charged bosom heaves, and oh, how slow

Conflicting thoughts in well timed numbers flow.

Cease, rebel feelings, cease your dreadful strife;

The theme's my love, the partner of my life.

Her portrait is before me, and that smile

Upon her features playing, shows no guile.

What were thy thoughts, my loved one, on that day

The artist's skill did our joint forms portray?

Thou wast not then so foolish as to deem

An early death a vain or idle dream.

We oft had converse on that mournful theme,

As oft looked forward to the solemn day

When death, grim monster! should tear one away.

_I_ thought my time most surely first would come,

And _thou_, expected'st, first to reach thy home!

Thus were we apt to number out our days,

And oft together led to seek God's ways.

Most unfeigned pleasure did we take in this,

And gained as fruit sweet tastes of heavenly bliss.

Now, my belov'd one, thou art gone from me

And our dear little ones! Oh! can it be?

The sad reality comes o'er my mind.

Thou'rt gone indeed, and we are left behind.

Oh for that faith of which thou wast possessed,

As thy pure spirit strove to gain her rest.

Oh for that patience which thou didst display

Beneath our Father's hand to thy last day.

Methinks that thou art whispering in my ear:

"Let God's sure promises thy spirit cheer;

"Remember that our Jesus is the same

"To all whose trust is in His precious name.

"A few short days, perchance, or months, or years,

"May flee away; yet he will still thy fears

"And bear thee up as if on 'eagle's wings,'

"Far, far above the reach of earthly things.

"Remember what thou didst to comfort me;

"Thou hast God's word, the same it is to thee.

"Let fervent prayer ascend to God above;

"He'll deign to listen for He still is love.

"Rouse then, thy courage, let thy faith be strong,

"Let Hope, 'an anchor sure,' to thee belong.

"The time's not distant we again shall meet

"To part no more. This is a thought most sweet.

"But yet in patience do thy soul possess,

"And wait God's time, and then He will thee bless."

Enough my loved one, I will haste away

To do my duties without more delay.

And trust in God who can fresh strength impart

To me to serve him with a perfect heart.

Here, then, kind reader, I must close my lay,

As other duties call me now away.

If you've had patience to go with me through

My lengthened tale, I bid you warm adieu.

If my small learning has called forth a sneer,

Know you from such things I have naught to fear.

For what is written I have this defense:

My song at least lacks not for _common-sense_.

WILLIAM AND AMELIA

[Footnote: For the benefit of such readers as are not acquainted with

the locality of Lake Windermere, I may say it is the largest lake in

England, and lies to the north.]

Near the side of Windermere,

Down a gentle rising hill,

Flowed a murmuring brook so clear

Every portion of the year,

And no doubt is flowing still.

Hard by stood a small, neat house,

Tenanted by peasants poor.

The mother was a loving spouse,

One who never was a blowze,

But most tidy evermore.

The husband was an honest man

Working hard on working days,

Deeming it the wisest plan.

Each day's labor he began

By pure prayer to God always.

We shall call them HUMBLEWORTH;

They such name deserved quite well.

In that country of the north

All would speak their praises forth,

With delight their worth would tell.

Three dear children graced their home,

Lovely were they in their youth.

When they chanced in woods to roam,

Fairies seemed they to become;

Full their hearts of love and truth.

AMIE, BESS and little ANN

We their names at present call;

AMIE'S bloom was richer than

Any rose which zephyrs fan.

She had, too, a lovely soul.

BESS was as a lily pale,

Graceful as a fawn could be.

She was never very hale,

Parents' eyes could see her fail,

And they felt anxiety.

Little ANN, a chubby lass,

Was the youngest and the pet;

Friends all thought naught could surpass

That sweet child in loveliness

Which they in their lives had met.

I have said that they were poor.

This was true of worldly things;

Yet they had an ample store,

They were skilled in Bible lore;

And from this sweet comfort springs.

Very close observers might

Deem them once of higher rank,

They defrauded of their right,

But still blest with gospel light,

Of rich consolation drank.

Near them lived a proud, rich man,

Wide his lands, but small his heart.

Of him a report there ran

That he to be rich began

Practicing a knavish part.

"GRIPEY" was the name he bore

'Mongst the country people round;

They could reckon up a score

Of vile actions, if not more,

And from these this name they found.

Call I him "SIR FINGERNEED,"

Such a name is more genteel;

Had he done one worthy deed

I would not withold the meed

Of sweet praise I truly feel.

He had but an only son,

WILLIAM was his given name;

He to love had not begun,

Yet at times he liked to run

In the woods when AMIE came.

There for her he'd try to find

Hazel nuts and berries, too.

Thus he showed his heart was kind--

That he had no churlish mind

When such actions he could do.

Time flew past; poor BESSIE lay--

On her humble dying bed.

Parents now beside her pray,

AMIE watches her by day--

Moving round with softest tread.

WILLIAM oft some dainty brought

To her by his mother sent,

And returned with sober thought,

Musing as each mortal ought

On a death-bed scene intent.

He had heard fair AMIE speak

Of a place above the sky,

Where dear BESS with spirit meek

Would be taken, though so weak,

If at present she should die.

Now he reaches that fine place

Where he and his parents live.

Marks of sadness on his face

Make his father wish to trace

What could him such trouble give.

WILLIAM, not inclined to guile,

Did the truth at once disclose.

This creates a scornful smile

On that rich man's face the while,

Then unto his wife he goes,

And in stern and angry mood

Asks her why she sent the boy;

Did she call that doing good

Sending one of gentler blood,

Just to watch a cottar die?

He no reasons deigns to hear,

Bids the boy not go again.

WILLIAM drops a silent tear

While his parent still is near,

Yet strict silence does maintain.

BESS has left this earthly scene,

Sorrow therefore fills that home.

They have to the churchyard been,

And its clods are now between

Them and charming BESSIE'S form.

They were not alone in grief,

WILLIAM sorrowed much at heart,

Knew not yet the saint's belief,

And most slowly came relief

To remove from him his smart.

Those who seek to curb the mind

Of their offspring in their youth,

Should show reason why they bind,

Clothed in language very kind,

Lest they tempt them from the truth.

Soon the youth began to feel

Galled by most unjust restraint,

And did oft in secret steal

To enquire of AMIE'S weal,

And to her would make complaint.

Then she told her father all.

Calm but firm was his reply:--

"WILLIAM shall no longer call;

Some great ill might him befall,

And he must himself deny."

This AMELIA saw was right

And informed the gentle boy.

Tears bedimmed his eyes that night

For the loss of his delight,

Which would all his peace destroy.

Said he now, "I will refrain

From my visits, AMIE dear,

If you'll true to me remain

Till I can consent obtain

From my father, whom I fear."

AMIE blushed, her word did pledge.

WILLIAM snatched a parting kiss

As he swiftly climbs the hedge,

Fairest dreams his mind engage

For he tastes of lovers' bliss.

Pass we o'er five tedious years.

Years which saw great changes come

To some thousands in all spheres,

Raised by hopes or sunk by fears,

Now alive, or in the tomb

WILLIAM had just come from school

Summoned to his father's bed

On an Autumn evening cool.

Now dread thoughts began to rule

Him who lay just like the dead.

Why that start, that vacant stare?

Does he know his son is by?

Guilty conscience who can bear?

Hope shut out or blank Despair,

When one's latter end is nigh?

Stood the youth with tearful eyes

Fixed upon the dying man.

He would speak, but when he tries

His young soul within him dies

As he views that face so wan.

Speaks the father now at last,

"WILLIAM, listen to my tale.

I through dreadful crime have passed,

But while life is ebbing fast

Now to you I would unveil

"My base heart, if yet I may

In some measure crime atone.

It is thirty years this day

Since a _Will_ I made away,

To gain riches not my own.

"Him I wronged is HUMBLEWORTH,

Long a neighbor near this house:

His my wealth by right of birth;

All I own upon this earth

Is my family--and disgrace.

"I would make amends to him,

But grim death now shakes his dart;

Breathing fails me, eyes grow dim,

Spectres 'fore my vision skim,

And with terrors fill my heart.

"List, my son, your's be the task,

When I'm past this earthly scene,

Pardon for my sin to ask,

My vile conduct to unmask,

And make known what I have been.

"But, my boy, in pity spare,

Spare your mother's feelings dear.

Warning take, from me, nor dare

Sport with sin; of that beware,

For great danger lurketh near.

"I more would say, but now again

Death's strong fetters bind my tongue."

Soon his struggles are in vain;

WILLIAM'S heart is wrung with pain,

And his nerves are all unstrung.

Startling groans break on his ear

Now that ill-spent life has fled.

WILLIAM sees his mother near

And attempts her heart to cheer,

As she sinks upon the bed.

Seems this stroke too hard to bear.

In the lack of Christian hope,

Her weak heart from grief and care

Droops too soon to dire despair;

With such foe she cannot cope.

Now the youth feels greatest need

To curb well his ardent grief,

Calls he loud for help with speed.

His commands the servants heed,

They obey his mandates brief.

First the mistress they convey

To her room and lay her down.

There would WILLIAM with her stay,

But he could not brook delay

Till his father's crime he own.

Goes he to the house once more

Where his dear AMELIA lives.

With a heart most truly sore,

Reaches he the cottage door,

Knocks; no one admittance gives.

Why is all so still around?

This place they did occupy!

"Where can HUMBLEWORTHS be found?"

Asks he loud, nor heeds the sound

Of man's footsteps passing by.

Turns the man in haste his head

And the youth does recognize,

Tells him, "In the lake's clean bed

Some one found poor AMIE dead!"

And that thitherward he hies.

This like thrust of dagger came,

Near depriving him of sense.

In his breast's a raging flame,

Calls he AMIE'S lovely name

As he rushes o'er the fence.

Down toward the deep lake's side

Flies he now with greatest speed.

Forms among the bushes glide,

Sorely is the lover tried

In this saddest hour of need.

Who can paint his grief of mind

As the lifeless form he views?

Vainly strives he peace to find,

This stroke seems the most unkind;

He all comfort does refuse.

AMIE'S face has lost its bloom,

Though her countenance is fair.

Little ANN within the room

Deeply shares the general gloom,

In a dim lit corner there.

Some make efforts to restore

That sweet girl they loved so well.

Too long time elapsed before

Her dear form was drawn to shore.

Death has cast o'er her his spell.

Women kind now lay her out,

In pure white her corpse invest.

WILLIAM then, by nature taught,

With poetic feeling fraught,

This warm song to her addressed:

SONG TO AMELIA.

Still like to Luna wading,

Beneath yon silvery cloud,

Thy beauties are unfading,

Though mantled in a shroud.

As thou in death art lying,

Thy lovely form I view,

And ask if aught in dying

Has made thy charms seem new.

Say, wert thou conscious ever

That I to thee was true?

That naught but death could sever

The bond 'twixt me and you?

I came with heart nigh bursting

From thee to get relief.

My very soul was thirsting

To let thee share its grief.

And now this stroke has fallen

Like thunderbolt on me,

And my poor heart is swollen

With saddest misery.

Oh, where can I be flying

For strength and succor now?

If there were hope in dying,

I soon to death would bow.

But now my duty strongly

Bids me my task fulfil;

Thy family suffered wrongly,

To right them I've the will.

And then I would be leaving

Each bitter scene of woe,

Haply my loss retrieving,

If that can be below.

Thou wert to me oft speaking

Of God's sweet place of Rest,

I would that place be seeking,

To be with thee most blest.

Farewell, my young life's charmer,

A long, a last farewell;

I feel my heart grow warmer

As on thy love I dwell.

Calls he HUMBLEWORTH aside,

Speaks to him with faltering tongue:

"Father's sin I dare not hide;

Me he bade before he died,

Soon redress your grievous wrong.

"He destroyed your uncle's _will_,

When you were a little boy,

And did not his part fulfil

As your proper guardian still,

Losing peace of mind and joy.

"I'm prepared to give a _deed_

To you of that large estate,

But I strongly intercede

For my mother in her need,

In her sad affliction great."

"My dear friend," the good man said,

"Let some time now pass away.

I am not of you afraid,

His command you have obeyed,

Let us talk some other day.

"Go, my boy, and cheer the heart

Of your mother, still my friend;

See, I bid you now depart,

Lest delay increase her smart;

I will soon to it attend.

"Learn to place in Christ your trust;

Seek for pardon through His blood.

God alone can keep you just,

For we are at best but dust;

Naught have we ourselves of good."

WILLIAM hastens to the Hall

With a somewhat easier mind.

Fearing that it might appal

Mother's heart, he tells not all

That befel their friends so kind.

Now an inquest has been held

O'er AMELIA'S corpse so fair,

Tears have from their fountains welled,

Grief immoderate has been quelled,

Which has brought of peace a share.

Now arrangements have been made

Suiting all who are concerned.

HUMBLEWORTHS such love displayed,

As proved all that I have said,

Showing in whose school they learned.

To the Hall, as theirs of right,

All the family removed;

And they strove with all their might

To make the widow's burden light,

For she was by them, beloved.

As assistant on the farm

WILLIAM proved of greatest use.

With a heart both young and warm,

He soon found that ANNIE'S charm

For lost time was some excuse.

Why should I prolong this tale?

All my object may divine.

Christian love will still prevail

O'er its foes when they assail,

And it will forever shine.

MY GARDEN

I have a little garden plot,

'Tis very small indeed;

But yet it is a pleasant spot,

And plenty large enough, I wot,

When out-door work I need.

Two woodbines flourish at my door,

And climb above its porch;

One yields of grateful scent a store,

One flowers till all the summer's o'er

And winter days approach.

And o'er the walls grape vines are spread,

Which bring delicious fruit;

These also sweetest odors shed,

And please my senses till I'm led

To hold them in repute.

And then I have of peach trees three,

Which have begun to bear,

And 'tis a pleasing sight to see

My somewhat numerous family

All eager for a share.

Three apple trees I next would name,

Though fruit they ne'er gave me;

For this their tender age I blame,

And other cause I cannot name,

And so I wait to see.

Some berry trees I also boast,

And these of different kinds.

Of flowering shrubs I have a host,

Which did in cash and labor cost

What might affright some minds.

Four kinds of lilac here are grown,

One double flowering cherry,

And weeping _ditto_, not much known;

Eight different sorts of rose I own,

And shrub that yields _snowberry_.

Of lily yea, and crocus, too,

I've some varieties,

And monkshood, pinks, and violets blue,

Of double almonds not a few,

With two kinds of peonies.

Some polyanthus and foxglove,

Sea-pinks, and columbine,

Sweet-scented tulips, which I love,

Whose beauty has e'en power to move

A heart less fond than mine.

The daisy and sunflower tall,

Present a contrast great;

One like to him who, proud in soul,

Expects his fellow men to fall

Submissive at his feet.

The other, like true modesty,

Scarce lifts its lovely head

Lest you its secret charms should see--

Just like a lovely maid, when she

Is to vain-glory dead.

Sweet-briar and sweet-william claim

A notice from my pen,

For each of these can boast of fame;--

Are better known than my poor name

Among the race of men.

My hollyhocks and lichens fine,

Spread out their charms to view,

And other pretty flowers are mine--

To speak whose praises I incline,

If but their names I knew.

Of annuals I have but few,

That fact I fully grant;

Yet I have larkspur, pink and blue,

And double poppies of rich hue.

To serve me while the summer's new

I've beds of rhubarb plant.

Some household herbs and fragrant thyme,

With lettuce, sage, and mint,

Complete my stock; but had I time

A lingering lesson swells my rhyme

With many a moral hint.

That as we rear in summer's glow.

Herbs, fruits and flowerets fair,

So may we in our natures grow

Sweet flowers that may hereafter blow

In Heaven's serener air.

The Inebriate's Daughter's Appeal to Her Father.

One frosty night in bright moonlight,

I left my cheerful home;

My thoughts were such I cared not much

Which way I chanced to roam.

With firmest tread my way I thread

Through many a winding street

When drunkard's voice in tones not choice,

My startled ear did meet.

He cursed a girl whose hair in curl

Bespoke a tidy mother;

Whose clothes, though plain, wore not a stain,

Yet grief her words did smother

Her beauteous eyes told then no lies

While she looked at the man.

As nature brought the words she sought,

She this appeal began:

"Oh, father, leave this wretched place,

And hasten home with me;

For mother and the darling babe

Are in sad misery!

They have not tasted any food

Since morn of yesterday.

Yet you should hear that mother dear

For blessings on you pray.

"For when she prays aloud for you,

Her tears they flow apace,

And deepest crimson doth suffuse

Her ever lovely face.

She says that she must leave us all

Before 'tis very long,

To go to yonder Heaven above,

And join in Angel's song.

"And when she looks at our dear babe

Her tears flow forth again;

Yet never does she, father dear,

In words of you complain,

But says that she will try to make

A happy home for you.

Come ill, come well, whate'er betide,

She'll loving be and true.

"O, father, hasten with me, then,

Before my mother die!

When I left home, your charming boy

Most piteously did cry;

It would have moved a heart of stone

To see the tears he shed;

His shrieks make worse the dreadful pain

In mother's throbbing head!"

The drunkard stood in solemn mood,

In riveted attention.

This strong appeal did make him feel

Most serious apprehension.

He took the hand of maiden bland,

And hastened fast away;

Nor turned his face on that dread place

Which had made him its prey.

They reached the house where that dear spouse

Was breathing out her soul.

From sense of sin he rushes in,

Nor could himself control.

Upon his knees in agonies

He cries aloud, "My wife,

Do speak to me, for I will be

A husband, dear, through life!"

No voice there came; the vital flame

Had fled, of child and mother.

He could not stay, so turned away,

With look that made me shudder.

That little girl with hair in curl

At last to him doth speak:

"My father dear, your heart I'll cheer,

And blessings for you seek.

"How We must pray, she taught the way

Who now has gone to bliss.

Nor would I be the least degree

In duty found remiss."

Her artless strain made him refrain

From purposes most foul.

In after years she calmed his fears,

And saved at last his soul.

To the Children in Mrs. Day's School.

1853.

My dearest children, do you know

That best of all things here below,

And knowing, you should always show

To one another

Which when received doth warm the breast,

To troubled souls imparts sweet rest,

And makes each near connection blest--

Of friend or brother.

This precious thing has power to melt

Man's stubborn heart, as I have felt,

Subdue all sins that ever dwelt

In men benighted.

If o'er this world 'twere shed abroad,

The soldier soon might sheathe his sword,

And God alone would be adored,

And all things righted.

What is this thing of which I speak?

It can be found by those who seek,

With willing mind and spirit meek,

Intent on finding.

It has its origin above,

More beauteous is than any dove;

Those who have felt it know 'tis Love,

And well worth minding.

Where was this love most clearly seen

My children you can tell, I ween.

The truth both old and young may glean

From Scripture's pages.

For there we read that Jesus came

To suffer death, endure the shame,

That he might free us from all blame,

Throughout all ages.

SONG TO BRANTFORD.

1854.

_Air_--"AULD LANG SYNE."

Thou lovely town in which I dwell,

My own adopted place,

In verse I would most gladly tell

The pleasures which I trace,

As back I look through all the years

Which o'er my head have passed,

Since I began, with many fears,

My hopes on thee to cast.

For that support which, under God,

I have from thee obtained.

Now through life's journey I would plod,

With gratitude unfeigned.

When I at first began my trade,

I was not worth a cent.

That small commencement then I made

With money to me lent

By one whose name I fain would tell,

If he would give consent.

On love like this I'll fondly dwell,

Till my poor life be spent.

His kindness set me first afloat

In business and its cares,

And thy inhabitants have bought

My humble, shining wares.

So that my needs have been supplied,

And a most ample share

Of true home sweets I have enjoyed,

Such as are far too rare.

But yet I have had sorrows too,

Sent by my Father kind,

To make me think, and say and do

All he in love designed.

And now I candidly declare,

I would not if I could,

Have altered my sweet bill of fare,

It has been all so good.

Our eight dear children growing up,

My wife and I behold,

And quaff such, pleasures from life's cup

As none can get from gold.

And whence does such pure pleasure come?

I answer, from the Lord.

His presence cheers our humble home,

And we can well afford

To praise and glorify His name,

While we do here remain;

And be content to suffer shame,

If but the Crown we gain.

TO ELIHU BURRITT AFTER LISTENING TO HIS LECTURE ON

"COMMERCE,"

DEC. 26, 1857.

[Footnote: It affords me much pleasure to be able to say that after

presenting these verses to Mr. Burritt he was kind enough to call on me

at my house, and expressed himself pleased with them.]

DEAR SIR:--

Pray deem it not presumptious in me

To give expression thus to what I felt

Last night, while listening to the poetry

In your discourse, as you on Commerce dwelt.

I know not if you ever wrote a rhyme,

Or framed your thoughts in a well measured line;

But sure I am your language so sublime,

Shows you possess a deep, poetic mine.

I listened with attention most profound,

As did the audience that before you sat,

Feeling as if I was on holy ground;

Which in my mind deep reverence begat.

And O, when you led us in spirit back

To Eden's God-formed, most delightful bowers.

Ere our great parents had endured the rack

Of sin-struck consciences among her flowers,

I almost fancied that I heard the birds

Warbling melodiously the praise of God;

While sinless man in soul-enraptured words,

Responded as he pressed the flowery sod.

And when Sin came, as with hot furnace-breath,

To blast the loveliness of all around,

And our progenitors first tasted death

With consciousness that they were naked found,

You did portray the scene so vividly,

Of their rude efforts at an uncouth dress,

That tears of pity from strong sympathy

Bedimmed my eyes to see their great distress.

And when you showed how God with skillful hand

Employed Himself to make them coats of skin,

I saw mechanic skill take higher stand

From this divine and early origin.

And O, I thought this fact should ever lead

Artificers to strive and manage well

Their several crafts; and show by word and deed

Their love to him who does in glory dwell.

Then, as I watched the progress made by Art,

And peaceful Commerce coming by degrees,

I felt it was your mission to impart

To this war-ravaged world such views as these.

My gladsome soul did to such views respond,

And utterance found before my God in prayer.

Hence caught fresh glimpses of the time beyond

The present age, which shall such glory share.

Go on, great champion of the Good and True,

Spread wide the messages of dove-eyed Peace,

And may God's richest blessing flow to you

Where'er you are, until your labors cease!

TO A VIOLET. FOUND BLOOMING IN MY GARDEN IN DECEMBER,

1859.

Beauteous, variegated flower,

That with courageous mien,

Not heeding much stern Winter's power,

Hast let thy face be seen

At such a season, and amid such dearth

Of vernal beauty, I would bid thee hail;

For charms like thine to me have wond'rous worth,

When Summer's comforts fail.

I had not thought to see a gem

Like thee, as fresh and fair

As ever graced a diadem,

Bloom in the open air

After such killing frost as we have had;

And when grim Winter had his ice bolts hurled

With double vengeance, prematurely mad

As though to chill the world.

Still thou art here in loveliness,

But lacking Spring-time's scent,

And seeming in thy charming dress,

With thy lone lot content.

The while that other plants are dead to sight,

And waiting patiently for Spring's approach,

When King Frost's forces shall have ta'en their flight,

Chased by Sol's glorious torch.

But now I bid a warm adieu,

And place this in a book

Where I can bring thee fresh to view.

When'er I choose to look.

Regretting only that I tore away

Thee from my garden bed, where thy sweet face

Lit up with smiles that nook, and made it gay,

As by a sunbeam's trace.

EMMA, THE TINKER'S DAUGHTER;

OR, THE BENEFITS OF SABBATH SCHOOL INSTRUCTION.

1854.

In a wretched, narrow street of an old English town,

A roving tinker lived; one who would often drown

Of Virtue every trace, by drinking much strong beer;

Oft mixing in a fight, a stranger to all fear.

Right before his door-step, mud did the gutter fill;

And once to cleanse it out he never had the will.

The windows of his house with patch-work were supplied,

And all within the door by coal-smoke well was dyed.

In such a place as this, we would not hope to find

One of the human race with pure and noble mind;

Yet one indeed there was, whom we shall _Emma_ call--

Most beautiful her face, most lovely in her soul.

She was the only child of that sin-hardened man--

Her sainted mother died as her tenth year began;

The father brutal seemed to all the World around,

Yet never with his girl was he in anger found.'

And much his kindness told upon her gentle heart;

It soothed her childish grief, and made her act her part.

The lessons she had learned before her mother died,

Were now of greatest use, for she was sorely tried.

And when her father went to stay a week away,

She read her Bible oft, and cared not much for play;

But, feeling ill at ease, with dirt within and out

She whitewashed all the rooms; of this you need not doubt.

The gutter still remained, just in its former state;

That she could not mend, so left it to its fate.

But now she scrubbed the floors, and waited patiently,

Till came her father home, who smiled the change to see.

His feelings were roused up when he viewed the comforts round,

And wondered where the child could so much skill have found?

Then clasped her in his arms--felt now inclined to be

More worthy of his girl, and work right steadily.

About this time there came a Sabbath visitor,

Who had got youths to school, but wanted many more.

The tinker angry sat, nor asked the man within;

Said, "Emma read her Book, and did not live in sin."

But she, quite conscience-struck, said, "Father, you're not right,

We all great sinners are, in God's most holy sight;

My Bible tells me this--I'm sure it speaks the truth;

Please let me go to school, while I am yet a youth!"

This unexpected thrust went to his parent-heart;

Yet still he did not like with his dear girl to part;

But bid the man sit down, and tell him what was taught

In these same Sabbath Schools, of which he had not thought.

This friend was nothing loath; he sought the good of souls--

Had tasted Jesus' love, which selfishness controls;

So told how many folks, by best of motives led,

Gave their own pleasure up, and taught the young instead.

'Mongst these were often found some great in rank and wealth,

Who loved the cause so well, they did it not by stealth;

But honor counted it to teach in Sunday School,

And thus to square their lives by their dear Savior's Rule.

The tinker was surprised to hear such news as this;

He thought that all fine folks were full of selfishness;

But, if it all was true, the girl at once might go--

Whatever good she got, she soon that good would show.

Then Emma threw her arms around his neck, and said,

"Dear father, for your love you shall be well repaid;

When I come home from school, I'll tell you all I learn,

Then the good of Sabbath Schools you may soon discern."

She asked the man to tell where she would have to go;

Who said, "My little girl, 'tis there, in _Union Row_;

In that large, lofty house; the time is half-past two."

This heard, forth Emma went, and made no more ado.

The father, when alone, sat long time lost in thought,

Then took the Bible up, and through its pages sought;

He wished to see himself if all they said was true;

But little progress made--such work to him was new.

Soon came his bright-eyed girl, with face like rose in June,

Who told of hymns they sung, and of each pretty tune;

What chapters there were read--the questions asked she told--

What prayers were offered up, both for the young and old.

She said her teacher was a lady very grand,

Who, when she first went in, most kindly took her hand,

And led her to a seat where she herself sat down,

Nor seemed afraid to crush her beautiful silk gown.

The tinker heard it all, and wondered in his mind

How gentlefolks could be so very good and kind;

And promised her she should next Sabbath go again,

But wished that she would now her former words explain.

His conscience told him oft that he was far from right,

That he had wicked been, in sinning against light;

Oh, was there then no hope that he should yet be saved?

This thought was hard to bear, and could not well be braved.

Then Emma meekly spoke, and told him all she knew;

And searched the Bible's page, to prove her words were true.

This was an easy task, for there 'twas clearly seen

How men, because of sin, by God condemned had been.

He found this prove as gall, and felt so much distressed,

By day he could not work, at night obtained no rest.

Before the week was gone he, almost in despair,

Went forth into the woods, and wandered here and there.

When Sunday came at last, he hailed it with more joy

Than he had done before, and did its hours employ

In poring o'er that Book which had so roused his fears--

When Emma went to school his eyes were full of tears.

So strongly on her mind was his sad state impressed,

She to her teacher flew, and thus herself expressed:

"O, Madam, please to tell what sinners great must do,

When they, because of sin, feel quite pierced through and through?

"My father, all the week, not worked, nor ate, nor slept;

But seemed much like a man who was of sense bereft.

Oh, speak, dear lady, speak! for surely he will die

Unless he soon can learn which way he is to fly!"

With pity in her eyes, the lady kindly took

The humble, loving girl, whose frame with terror shook,

And placed her in a seat, and whispered in her ear

That Jesus came to save poor sinners filled with fear.

She told her how He was both God and Man in one--

The Lord of Heaven and Earth, yet God's beloved Son;

That He for sinners died, just out of purest love,

And on the third day rose, and went again above;

But sent His Spirit down to work upon our hearts,

Through His blest Word of Truth, sent to our inward parts;

And says in that same word--the Bible you have read--

That all who do believe are saved, because he bled!

She further kindly said, "Wait now till school is done,

And I will go with you--so much my love you've won."

Then Emma dried her tears, and with a pleasant face,

Amongst the other girls she quickly took her place.

Again, from portions read, the teachers questions ask;

They strove to work from love, and felt it was no task;

Once more sweet hymns were sung which suited Emma's case,

And prayer from all arose up to the Throne of Grace.

The truth that Emma heard went home into her soul,

And joyful feelings rose which she could scarce control.

The pleasant service o'er, the teacher with her went

Into that filthy street, nor thought her time misspent.

They entered soon the house; the wretched man was found

Nigh overwhelmed with grief, and waiting for the sound

Of news, which, as he thought, his darling girl would bring;

But at this proof of love his tears afresh did spring.

He truly felt ashamed that one like she should come,

To try to do him good, in his most wretched home;

The lady told him soon what she might do for such

Was done for Jesus' sake, which did his feelings touch.

She then sat meekly down, and in a heavenly frame,

Told him how Jesus Christ a Sacrifice became;

How sinners of all ranks, by Faith, might be forgiven--

Be saved from sin and hell, and go, at last, to Heaven!

The Lord her labors blessed--they both believed the Word--

And thus it did appear the prayer of Faith was heard.

For such a state of things had Emma's mother prayed,

And she had her request, though for a time delayed.

The tinker, now reclaimed by God's almighty power,

His business still pursued, nor lost a single hour;

On Sabbath went to Church, with his neat, pretty maid,

And in temptations strong received the Savior's aid.

Then, feeling that the place where they were living now,

Was not the place at all for Faith and Love to grow,

He took a small, neat house, just outside of the town,

And, for a proper life, gained from the good, renown.

In time dear Emma came to be a teacher, too,

And God did her employ much lasting good to do.

Her father, in due time, was taken to his rest,

And she, with loving man, as a wife was truly blest.

I might prolong my tale, but quite enough is told,

To show that Christian Love is better far than gold;

That those who wish to be most happy here below,

Must strive with all their might the Savior well to know.

TO MY FATHER

SUPPOSED TO BE DYING--SEPTEMBER, 1841.

My dear, afflicted parent! Ere thine eyes

Are closed in death, accept this tribute due

From one who is allied by Nature's ties,

And ties which firmer bind both me and you.

My strain is humble, and my muse is rude,

Yet you my lay will now be pleased to hear.

Deem it not vain in me thus to intrude

My unlearned warblings on your dying ear.

'Tis not a thirst for fame that bids me wake

My youthful harp, and strike its solemn chords;

But 'tis the strong desire, for your dear sake,

I feel to treasure up your dying words.

Then come, my Muse; O, condescend to aid

My feeble efforts, while I touch this theme;

Ev'n thou who hoverest now o'er COWPER'S, shade--

Thou Source of Truth! and, with enlightening beam,

Remove the film that does becloud the eye

Of my dark understanding while I sing;

O, guide my trembling fingers, for I'll try

To tune my harp, and touch its every string.

Say now, what was that sound which caught my ear,

While I sat mute upon my father's bed

A sound so sweet it did my spirit cheer,

And made me muse, by contemplation led.

It was the triumph of that holy man--

His deathbed song, in view of yonder heaven

And as he spoke--till then his face was wan--

A brightened countenance was to him given.

"I have a glorious prospect now in sight!"

He said, then raised his voice--"'Tis through the blood

Of Jesus Christ; it fills me with delight,

And makes me long to cross dark Jordan's flood!"

But then, as if his words might be construed

To be impatient, he serenely said,

"Let not my language now be wrongly viewed;

I wait God's will--on Him my soul is stayed."

He still continued, "Though my suffering's great,

My strength has been quite equal to my day;

God's love to me indeed is very great,

Nor will I murmur though He still delay.

"I reckon all the sufferings of this time

As nothing, when compared with heavenly things!"

He ceased, and left me this to pen in rhyme,

And ponder o'er, when he in Glory sings.

I stood; my eyes were fixed upon that face

Which oft had worn a smile for me, his son;

In retrospect, I then began to trace

The many acts of kindness he had done.

Well I remember--though he was but poor--

How ardently he wished to have me taught

At least to read and write, if nothing more;

My interest to advance was what he sought.

And, aided by a frugal partner's care,

He furnished was with means to gain his end;

Most careful still, they always had to spare

To purchase books which might assistance lend.

Great pleasure then they took to hear me read

The Bible's sacred page; though I, averse

To what was good, would rather have been freed;

And they were grieved to have me to coerce.

I then knew not the value of that Book

Which, since that time, I have so precious found;

And my perverse young temper would not brook

Restraint, though it did much their feelings, wound.

They persevered in pointing out to me

The dangerous path that I was treading in;

At last, it pleased the Lord to let me see

How dreadful was the nature of my sin.

What joy then filled thy bosom, father dear

Thou, too, my mother, didst express delight,

That I was brought to lend a listening ear

To Jesus' voice, and with his soldiers fight.

But ere that time, what pleasure it did give

To hear the warbling of my youthful Muse;

It made you wish that you might only live

To see the day when I would not refuse

To sing of Love omnipotent, Divine!

Such love as Jesus bore to wretched man!

And, aided by the truth which clean doth shine

Shout forth aloud Redemption's finished plan.

For seven long years we have united been

Within a Church, in fellowship and love;

And in that time how often have we seen

Afflictions sent, dire evils to remove.

Let all now left, in gratitude to God--

In meek submission to His sacred will--

Both praise and bless His name! then kiss the rod:

This will our souls with consolation fill!

ODE TO PEACE

Come, dove-eyed peace-offspring of heaven, descend;

Thy calm, sweet influence do thou me lend;

Dispel the gloom that broods upon my mind;

Bid melancholy flee; make me resigned

To bear with patience and submission due

The will of God; and still my mind imbue

With reverential awe and just regard

For all his ways, as taught in his blest word.

Yes, thou sweet Peace, whom, when the Savior great

Had nearly closed sojourn in earthly state,

He gave as his last legacy to those

His dearest friends, who from mankind he chose,

In those dear words, "Peace now I leave with you,

My peace I give; you soon shall prove it true.

Not as the world its boasted treasure gives,

'Tis of my grace to each one who believes.

Let not your hearts be troubled, then, nor fear,

The Comforter--the Holy Ghost--is near.

And, when I shall to yonder heaven ascend,

Him, with His vast, rich blessings, I will send."

Not only these this gracious boon enjoyed,

But Saints before that time, pure, unalloyed,

And blissful peace within their breasts possessed,

Both in dread dangers and when much oppressed.

Adam, our great progenitor, received

With Eve, his wife, this gift, which much relieved

Their guilty minds. It was the promise great

Made to them while in their most abject state,

"That their illustrious Seed should bruise the head

Of the Arch Tempter, in their room and stead,"

Which wrought the change produced in their sad minds,

And soon bid flee that slavish fear which blinds

The eyes of mortals; gave them soon to see,

"Though the offense was great the gift was free,"

And would extend unto their progeny.

O blissful change! from dark foreboding fear,

A wounded conscience, and Hell's prospects drear,

To joy unspeakable and purest peace,

Which once received were never more to cease.

A prophet said--the prophet was a man

Who did enjoy that peace which only can

Flow from one source--God's own redemption plan--

"Mark well the perfect man; behold the upright,

Whose death so precious is in Jesus' sight;

His end is peace." He goes down to the shade

Of death's dark valley, and is not afraid

To come within the precincts of the grave,

Well knowing Christ is ever near to save.

Deluded Balaam also sweetly sung,

In words of solemn grandeur, bold and strong,

The happiness which Israel through his tribes

Enjoyed beneath God's care. Not Balak's bribes

Nor vain enchantments, with their altars reared,

Nor bleeding victims sacrificed, appeared

To move their God from blessing them to curse

His chosen people, oft to God averse.

Well Balaam knew that if he were to die

"Their God was not a man that he should lie."

He bated Truth, but was constrained to sing

Of their blest state beneath God's fostering wing.

And when he sang the latter end of such

His harp gave tones as though from Seraph's touch

He sang aloud their bliss, not did he cease

Till all the hills re-echoed sweetly "Peace."

Nor could refrain from envy when he viewed

Jehovah's covenant of Peace renewed;

But breaking forth in rapture loud did cry

"O let me die the death the Righteous die!

Let my last end be only like to his

Whom God dost bless with thee, delightful Peace!"

Even I, who write this simple Ode to thee,

Have felt thy thrice bless'd influence on me;

And feeling fresh the vigor thou dost give,

Would gladly trace thy merits while I live;

Would fain enumerate the mighty host

Of those who've had pure peace of mind to boast;

But ah, how great the sum! even time would fail

Or if to gain its aid I could prevail,

My powers of mind would fail to set them forth

As they appear in Scripture; yet 'tis worth

The little time which I can freely spare

To choose a few from many that are there.

The pleasure it affords would well repay

The labor needed, if I spent the day.

Behold that holy man who, strong in faith,

Lends an obedient ear to what God saith.

See, when the Lord his strength of faith would test,

How quickly he obeys the high behest.

The task indeed was great, but he, possessed

Of peace of mind, was always quite at rest.

Yes, though his Isaac dear was doomed to die,

No murmuring escaped his lips, and why?

He knew that God had promised him to bless

With numerous progeny, and nothing less.

He felt assured that from this very seed--

His darling son--ere long was to proceed

So vast a host that if the stars but could

By man be numbered, then his offspring would.

And forth from them was Christ the Lord to come,

The Refuge of his Saints, to lead them home.

And Abraham knowing this ne'er sought release

From God's sweet service, and his end was peace.

Now mark his son. He in the shining track

His father trode, sincerely walked; no lack

Had he of the great blessings which from thee

Flow in such rich profusion, but did see

By eye of Inspiration what God said

Was soon to be fulfilled. Then he was laid

Beside his father, and his end was peace.

Jacob, his youngest son, Supplanter named,

Parent of Patriarchs so greatly famed,

Found too that peace of mind was always sweet

When he sojourned with Laban in retreat.

What was it, I would ask, which made him bear

The heat by day and midnight's frosty air?

The loss of cattle stolen from his hands?

Such churlish conduct, and such harsh commands?

With loss of sleep, and wages changed ten times,

And twenty rigorous years in wasting climes?

What was it then, I ask, but peace of mind

Arising from the thought that God was kind

And ever faithful, and would soon fulfill

His promise made, to be his Guardian still!

He had sore trials, yet with great avail

He wrestled with his God and did prevail.

Joseph, his son, beloved above the rest,

Felt soothing peace within his youthful breast.

His is an history that as a child

I loved to ponder, and to mark how mild

And affable his conduct, yet how great.

The bitterest envy joined, with fiercest hate,

The brethren hare toward the godly youth

Who trode the path of rectitude and truth,

That they in spite of his prophetic dreams,

Disposed of him, and, as they thought, the themes

His soul dwelt much upon, by banishment.

Straitway to distant Egypt he was sent,

While they, with strange feigned tale, now homeward came,

And vainly thought to clear themselves from blame

By falsehood foul and black hypocricy

Before their unsuspecting father. He

Their lies believed and mourned his much-loved son

In tears of anguish, whom he though undone.

Meanwhile the youth, directed by his God,

In journey with the Ishmaelites did plod

His weary way to Egypt. He arrived

Possessed of peace of mind, nor could be bribed

To part with this, his only treasure left

Save sweet reflection, when he was bereft

By his hard brethren of the sweets of home,

And banished forth a wanderer to roam.

Say now, O Muse, what was the cause why he

Enjoyed a state of mind completely free

From all the sad effects which freely flow

In tasting long accumulated woe?

'Twas having peace, that best of all reward

To those--and none beside--who Truth regard.

And long as Joseph did in Egypt live,

The record of his life this truth did give.

Behold him when in his first master's house,

Who placed beneath his care all but his spouse,

How nobly he withstood temptation great,

How suitable his conduct to his state.

Behold him when his mistress tried so hard

To tempt him into sin. Did he regard

Her strong entreaties or her flowing tears?

_Those_ fell like emptiness upon his ears,

And _these_ but more impressed his tender mind

With wish to better serve his master kind.

He gave this answer: "Oh, how can I do

This wickedness so great and sin with you

Against that God who hath my feet preserved

In holy paths from which I never swerved?"

But oh, what poor return did he receive!

A dungeon followed next, nor did he grieve,

But cheerfully endured the heavy cross,

And found his gain where others saw but loss.

And he who was his trust did not forsake

His much loved child when Truth seemed all at stake,

But brought him through these trials manifold,

And, still preserved that peace of mind which gold

Could ne'er have purchased, and much less secured;

But having which, he patiently endured.

Now mark the steps by which he did ascend

To that high pitch of honor, when did bend

The knees of Egypt's sons at King's command

As he went forth in state to view the land.

It was not flatt'ry, nor vain compromise

With Egypt's many gods no, he was wise

With wisdom from above, and well he knew

That the predictions he had given were true,

And that ere long both heaven and earth would see

His youthful dreams fulfilled were sure to be.

Even so they were. His brethren did bow down

Their faces to the earth 'fore him unknown,

When they were sent by Jacob to obtain

For him and his the necessary grain.

It was a time of famine, and the dearth

Had then extended over all the earth

But Joseph was raised up by gracious heaven,

And unto him for this was wisdom given.

Now when his feelings he could not restrain,

He formed a scheme by which he might detain

The brethren, who a second time had come

To purchase food, for those they left at home.

The scheme was tried and it succeeded well;

But O, how Joseph burned to break the spell

Which hitherto had bound them! He made known

That he was Joseph to whom they had shown

Such cruel usage, but their deed forgave,

And told how God had raised him up to save

Them with their offspring and great Pharoah's land.

The news now reached the King, who gave command,

"Joseph, let all thy relatives appear

Before my face; they nothing have to fear.

Lade all their beasts and bid them haste away;

Take wagons from my hand, make no delay.

Inform your father and let him come down;

The best of my dominions is his own.

Bring all your progeny, not once regard

Your household goods, if they your speed retard."

I'll now take leave of all that passed between,

And come at once to that affecting scene--

The meeting of the father with the son.

Poor Jacob saw what glory he had won

By perseverance in the "narrow path,"

And having seen it, wished to meet his death.

Mark now the truth of what I wish to sing,

This interview to Jacob peace did bring.

He said: "In bitterness I will descend

Into my grave and meet my latter end."

But God in mercy and rich love decreed

That he should see both Joseph and his seed.

Ere long the time arrived when Jacob's age

Gave proof he too must soon leave this world's stage.

Therefore he gathered round him, near his bed,

His twelve dear children, unto whom he said,

"List now, ye sons of Jacob, hearken well

To Israel your father. I foretell

What shall befall you in your latter days.

O then, my sons, take heed unto your ways."

He ended not till all received the share

Which God allotted them, when with due care

The Prophet drew his feet into the bed,

And in sweet Peace his spirit softly fled.

Now, when the last sad rites had been performed

O'er Israel's corse, the brethren, now reformed

By God's just dealings, soon began to fear

That Joseph would their enemy appear;

So sent a message, fell before his face,

Confessed their sin, and wished he would erase

Out from his mind remembrance of their deed.

He gave soft answers, hence they all were freed

From ills expected, and were now agreed.

A few short years saw each of them removed

By peaceful death, and so my point is proved.

STANZAS.

SUGGESTED BY A FUNERAL, ON SEEING ONE PASS WITH MANY

ATTENDANTS, WHEN JUST RECOVERING FROM A LONG SICKNESS, 1841.

For me there'll be no great display,

No turning out of people,

When I do quit my house of clay,

Nor tolling from the steeple

Of yon tower with its tin capped dome,

Whose bell the time is telling,

When some lone wanderer reaches home--

His narrow churchyard dwelling.

Nor yet will pompous equipage,

Or such like things sublun'ral,

Nor music sweet with charms engage

Those who attend my funeral.

Nor will I care if but my death

Take place while friends are tending;

And I can see with eye of faith

My blessed Saviour bending

Down upon me a gracious eye,

And bid my spirit enter

Into her rest. O, then I'd fly

And cleave to Him---the Center

Of those sweet joys which do abound

In yon bright world of Glory,

Where I shall hear the blissful sound

Of that delightful Story,

How Jesus did our cause engage,

When he left Heaven's portal,

And stooped to conquer hellish rage,

In weakness like a mortal.

How he fulfilled in its demands

The Law that we had broken;

How God exacted at his hands

The strongest, clearest token

Of matchless Love, so that He gave

His life's blood for transgression,

And left the confines of the grave

In glorious Resurrection.

ACROSTICS.

I.----TO MR. J. P----N, IN THE STATE OF MISSOURI,

1841.

The dolorous cry, from far was heard

How groaned poor Afric's sable sons.

Our hearts with pity moved, we feared

Much evil by the monster done.

Ask ye his name? 'Tis slavery dire,

So big with crime, so red with gore.

Could Christians feel his dreadful ire

Oh how they'd wish he was no more.

Would they not send to Heaven this prayer?

Hear thou on high, O God of love;

Ere time be long thine arm make bare.

Rend him with judgment from above;

Down from his seat hurl him to dwell.

Built round with walls of fire in hell.

Raise thy strong arm and fix him deep.

Add this: in anguish make him weep.

Now hell, make room in thy domains,

This dreadful foe will soon no more

Firm bind poor slaves in galling chains,

Or lash their backs till flows their gore.

Remorseless still, he cares not for their fate,

Doom speedy, therefore, should on him await.

II.--TO MY ELDEST SON, IN SEVERE SICKNESS.

Thou sweetest, loveliest babe--my first born son;

I low great has been thy sufferings from disease!

Oh, my poor soul doth, ever and anon,

Make prayer to God, that he would give thee ease.

Ah, dearest babe! from this thy case, I read

Sad, yet true lessons of imputed sin.

Can we conceive that thou indeed art freed--

O, thought most strange--from guilt by man brought in?

Would we but read, mark, learn, and still digest

His word, who gave at first to man his being,

Error would vanish, and His will expressed,

Respecting this, we could not fail from seeing.

Doubt would remove, and so would murmur, too;

Justice would still be seen most clearly such;

Unquestionable, this fact would stand to view,

No one is free from Sin's defiling touch!

I see thy pale, emaciated face,

Once decked with bloom of health's most ruddy glow!

Regard for man would lead me still to trace--

Bent on the truth--whence all these evils flow.

Rich in possession of the Book Divine,

All I desire is that the Lord would give

Needful instruction, while I scan the line--

The line of truth, on which my soul must live.

For there I read--though Death hath ever reigned

O'er every one of Adam's sinful race--

Righteousness of Christ, by Faith unfeigned,

Delivers from its sting: all of free Grace!

Cease then, my soul, to murmur or complain,

And place thy trust upon the God of Love.

Now look to him who lose from th' grave again,

And reascended to the realms above.

Dread not the stroke, though great may be the pain,

And hard to bear, for it will work thy gain!

III.--A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN DENT.

[Who lost his life by an accident in raising a barn.]

1843.

A task so painful, yet so justly due

To thee, my dear, my much respected Brother,

Rightly devolves on me whose heart beats true

In Zion's cause; yet, would it were another!

But as it is, my Muse, though rude, shall sing--

Used as she is to such a mournful strain--

That I may cause true sympathy to spring

Ere long, for those who feel for thee most pain.

'Tis scarce a week since thou, in manhood's prime,

Of things quite dear to both hadst spoke with me!

'Tis now my lot to tell, in mournful rhyme,

How short a space there was 'twixt Death and thee.

Ere thou wert well aware the fatal dart

Met thee amongst thy fellows, shot by Death;

Ev'n now I feel that dread from friends to part

Methinks thou felt, though thou wast strong in faith.

O, that I could but paint in language strong,

Regarding truth, thy sufferings so severe;

Yes, then I'd sing, in pure and holy song,

Of Him whose presence cheered thee much while here.

"Fear not," saith God, to all his people dear;

Just then thy heart responded, "Fear ye not!"

O, what a precious truth our hearts to cheer!

How sure to reconcile us to our lot.

Now is the time to glorify our God,

Depending on His gracious arm to keep

Each footstep treading in the narrow road.

Nor let us murmur, though constrained to weep

The while o'er those who now in Jesus sleep.

IMPROMPTU.

TO MY FRIEND, J. W----T.

When troubles arise, my friend, lift thine eyes

To that Being who died on the cross!--

Rest assured of this: the Mansions of Bliss

Ne'er were reached without _some seeming_ loss!

AN ADDRESS TO BRANTFORD.

1853.

Hail, truly pleasant, fast increasing Town!

Thee I address, in rude but earnest strains.

My own adopted place! Some sixteen years

Have rolled fast o'er my head since first my eyes

Got sight of thee, from off yon Eastern hill.

How welcome was the sight! O, how cheering,

Grand and beautiful, to a mind like mine!

I oft had heard of thee before I came--

Had heard the name thy beauteous river bears;

As oft had wondered if I e'er should live

To cross the broad Atlantic's deep blue waves,

And reach the shores of that vast Continent,

Whose many wonders, in my boyish days,

I tried to sing, and still longed much to see.

As often tried to picture, in my mind,

The appearance thou presented to the view;

I fancied thee much less than what thou wert--

Consisting of a few small, straggling huts,

Both rude in shape, and ruder far in things

Which make home, what it always ought to be,

_The dearest place that men possess on earth!_

I next would paint thy river deep and broad

As great "Saint Lawrence," or the giant streams

That everywhere abound throughout this land!

In this I was deceived; its name misled

My loving fancy; for I surely thought

It must be great, indeed, beyond compare,

In such a country to receive such name.

[Footnote: The "Grand River."]

This great mistake corrected; I have found

Some wonders rare, though of a different kind;

And often have I wandered on the banks

Of thee, sweet River! where maple, elm or oak

Have spread their boughs and verdant foliage,

And have felt the cool, refreshing breezes

Which blew from off thy stream in Summer's heat.

There I would indulge, awhile, my fancy;

Give her the reins, and let her soar aloft

Into the vast infinitude of space,

Or try to tie her down to earthly things;

Make her portray what now the prospects were,

That this fair Town had placed before her view.

Would she soon rise to eminent estate?

Or would she struggle vainly, for a while,

To reach to greatness, and so just remain--

A monument of ruin and decay?

As I have stood upon the pleasant hills

By which thou art encircled, I have cast

My eye from East to West, from North to South,

And often marked the vast extent of ground

Which thou may'st fill; laid out by God's own hand

To be a glorious city--and that soon!

Then "put thy shoulder to the wheel!" Arise,

In all thy might, and let thy hardy sons

Put forth united efforts in the work.

Deepen thy Canal; let thy Railroads make

Both quick and certain progress; and neglect

No proper means to push the town ahead!

But, while thou strivest thus in temporal things,

Oh, forget not things of greater moment!

Strive to purge away all that's offensive

To true Virtue. Let the _groggeries_ cease

To deal out liquid fire to kill thy sons!

Strengthen the hands of those who would maintain

Good wholesome laws. Give adequate support

To those who minister in holy things,

That they, unfettered, may aloud proclaim

Christ's great Salvation to a ruined World!

Let all true Christians in thy midst unite,

In holy efforts and God's strength, to stem

The torrent great of foul Iniquity.

Yes, fellow Christians, let our lives be such

As many commend the Truth which we believe,

Unto the consciences of all around.

Let those of us, especially, who claim

A parent's honored name, now boldly stand,

And show in bonds conjugal, faithfulness;

Still manifesting love and tenderness

Unto our partners; always aim to make

Our homes the scenes of happiness and peace!

Then will our children rise and call us blessed;

And generations yet unborn will tell--

That Brantford was determined to be great

In every thing which is both wise and good!

STANZAS.

WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER SEEING THE "HURON" LOCOMOTIVE, FOR THE FIRST

TIME, AT CAINSVILLE, JANUARY 6, 1854.

[Footnote: This piece was the second that was printed in a Brantford

paper, I would here take the opportunity to say that Henry Lemmon,

Esq., of the _Courier_, though differing from me in politics, was

exceedingly courteous in giving my rhymes free admission into his

journal. The same testimony I also willingly hear to the late

_Herald_, and the _Expositor_, still flourishing.]

The Iron Horse has reached at last Cayuga's heights so near;

Look out, ye men of Brantford, now, for soon he will be here!

He brings with him a weighty load, his way before him feels,

As slowly o'er the new-laid track he moves his ponderous wheels.

Mechanics, use your utmost skill, and ply each brawny arm,

Let sight of yon huge iron steed your very heart's-blood warm;

Nor let cold Winter's raging storms your progress now retard,

But quickly get the bridges built; nor doubt a rich reward.

Be steady, men! the hammers lift, send home the sturdy nails;

Make every fixture quite secure, and solid lay the rails;

'Tis done right well! and now, again, the Monster moves along,

But cautiously, for fear the work should not prove very strong.

He does resemble very much the mighty Elephant,

That let our new-made wooden bridge his courage sadly daunt;

Who, when he came to cross the stream which flows right through our

town,

Did fancy his great clumsy foot would break the fabric down.

So slowly moves this horse along, but soon his speed he'll quicken--

Nor care a straw though Winter's snow right in his track may thicken;

For when the works are finished well, he'll seem to snuff the breeze,

And fly at such a rapid rate as may his masters please.

Look out, ye men of Brantford, now! See, he has reached your doors;

He heaves and pants, he snorts and looks to sweat through all his

pores;

And yet he stands in harness trim, not cares a fig for rest,

But is quite ready still to move, and waits but your behest.

And now, above his whistle shrill, is heard a deafening noise--

The people all, in loud hurrahs, give vent to heartfelt joys;

The cannon roars, while all around is vigorous effort made

To make this Celebration throw all others in the shade!

Processions form, the banners wave; now mark those hardy Bands--

The Fire Brigade--who well deserve much honor at our hands;

For they in war-like deeds excel, yet not in bloody fight--

The battle with destroying fire, by day as well as night!

These form, with others in their rear, a very numerous host;

The Marshal gives command, and now each company takes its post;

The drums are beat, sweet music fills the ear with much delight,

And splendid Fireworks are prepared to grace the coming night.

O, ye who have the management of this most glorious _fete_,

My Muse would your attention crave, and earnestly entreat,

That you would not forget the poor, but give to them a share

Of all your choicest eatables, as much as you can spare.

And let them have a good supply of tea and coffee, too;

They well deserve as rich a treat as either I or you;

For do they not, with constant toil, such works as this complete?

Then welcome them unto the board, and bid them freely eat.

Now I will close my hasty rhyme, with earnest wish expressed,

That all our town would well behave to each and every guest;

Let all our conduct on that day be orderly and quiet,

And none lay out a single cent in drunkenness and riot.

THE YOUNG MOTHER'S VISION

1854.

I saw a fair young mother sitting,

With a babe upon her knee;

Fast through 'er mind sweet thoughts were flitting--

So it did appeal to me.

Her eyes with fondest smiles were beaming

On that infant's lovely face;

She seemed upon the future dreaming,

And I tried her dream to trace.

While her face with love was glowing,

As her babe looked up and smiled;

Thus I sketched her numbers flowing

Freely forth unto her child:

"Charming boy, in beauty vieing

With the fairest rose I see;

This I need not be denying,

That thou dearer art to me.

"Whilst thou slept, I fell to musing

On thy present happy lot;

And thy future for thee choosing,

Soon all other thoughts forgot.

"Thus I chose at first to paint thee--

Growing up toward thy teens;

No corruption near to taint thee

Passing through thy boyish scenes.

"Then I traced out all the labor

Which I would bestow on thee,

That thou mightest grow in favor

With the Lord, as well as me.

"Next I viewed thy mind expanding,

With the best of knowledge stored:

Light divine, and understanding

Gained from God's most holy Word.

"Years flew by; thou wert approaching

Very near to man's estate,

And, to those, around, wert broaching

Thy deep thoughts, with soul elate!

"Again I saw thee; thou wert coming

To the heights of world-wide fame;

My fears arose, I saw ills looming,

And bid thee guard thy spotless name.

"I looked again, and found thee wooing

Damsel modest, rich and fair;

And wicked men sought thy undoing,

Ere thou wert the least aware.

"But, thanks to God! He did preserve thee--

Gave thee, too, a lovely wife;

For duty this afresh did nerve thee,

Struggling with the ills of life.

"Again the vision passed before me,

But some years had fled away;

Thou hadst been sick, the Lord restored thee--

Children were around at play.

"I saw thy wife and thee were growing

In sweetest chaste conjugal love;

To things of God attention showing,

Fitting you for bliss above.

"The curtain drops: thy smiles recall me

To discharge my duties right;

Rich mercies I enjoy console me

For the loss of Vision bright."

STANZAS.

TO THE AUTHOR OF "LITTLE RAGGED NED, AN ORPHAN."

1854.

Friend, I've read thy touching verses

Poured from gentle, loving heart,

Glad that sense of thy own mercies

Gives thee-zeal to act thy part

In bringing sweet, poetic art

To bear upon the orphan's case,

And show as by a sunbeam's trace

How such as he are made to smart.

Would I had thy skill in writing;

I would give thee tribute meet,

Showing those too fond of slighting

Th' orphan's cause, that it is sweet,

Pure modest worth with love to greet,

Though that worth may not appear

In form bedecked in gorgeous gear,

But one in tattered garb complete.

Well indeed hast thou depicted

What the ragged boy endured;

How his soul with grief afflicted

Could alone by One be cured.

O, would that such could be allured

At once to fly to Jesus' arms--

To prove how great are all his charms;

And thus have peace of mind ensured.

Poor dear ragged orphan, weep not;

There is one thy Friend above.

Know then that this Friend will sleep not

But watch over thee in love.

He will thy foes in wrath reprove.

For this he strongly pledged his word,

Which should true comfort thee afford

Till death all thy sad woes remove.

Did thy mother die confiding

In the Saviour's precious blood?

'Neath that covert be thou hiding,

If thy soul would seek its good.

Yes, dearest child, have faith in God,

Then the rich blessings he can give

Will all be thine while thou dost live;

As from the Word is understood.

I would join this friend and others.

Who have hearts and feelings right,

To acknowledge for our brothers

Such as thou; though foulest spite

May be displayed in earnest quite,

By those who are so fond of self

That they cant spare a little pelf

To make your saddened faces bright.

I SAW A YOUTHFUL MOTHER LIE

I saw a youthful mother lie

Upon the bed of death.

No bitter tears bedimmed her eye

Though parents, spouse, and friends were nigh,

Expecting her last breath.

And when a little daughter came

To see her mother dear,

She did not call her child by name,

But, quite composed, appeared the same

As if she were not near.

I asked myself what made her act

In this way to her kin?

Was her poor frame with torture racked,

Or was it consciousness she lacked,

Or dreadful fears within?

I well divine 'twas none of these

Concerned this mother's mind.

'Tis true her cough gave her no ease,

That she was sinking from disease,

And was to all resigned.

O, was it the dear Saviour's call

That she was listening to?

It was, and rapture filled her soul,

Feeling content to leave them all,

With heaven in her view.

And then, by some strong impulse led,

She wished us next to sing.

We sang the praise of him who bled

On Calvary in the sinner's stead,

That he to us might bring

Salvation from both sin and hell,

A song she much admitted,

And one on which she loved to dwell;

One suited to her case so well

That of true joy inspired.

And oh, methought were she but strong,

She would have raised her voice

To join us in that pleasing song,

And let it waft her soul along

To Him who was her choice.

Yet doubtless then her spirit sung,

Yea joined us too in prayer;

And now her golden harp is strung

Which will ne'er be "on willows hung,"

In weakness or despair.

FAMILY PIECES

TO MY BELOVED WIFE, DURING AFFLICTION, 1842.

Ann, we have lived in peace for three long years.

Much pleasure we have had, some crosses too;

Enough to show that in this Vale of Tears

Affliction's needed still to bring us through.

Why should it not be so? Our God is good;

He also wise, and better far doth know

What's best for us, and if we understood

Our interest well we should confess it so.

A man both wise and good did once aver--

"At th' hands of God we have received good;

And shall not we, who are so prone to err,

Receive our evil too, as best we should?"

My dearest Ann, let not your spirits down,

But with me kiss the rod that God hath sent

His promise is that he will not disown

Those dear to him, though by sore troubles bent.

O, that the sacred influence of truth

Which we profess may ever dwell within;

That we may bear the yoke now in our youth,

And always flee the devious paths of sin.

O, that the Holy Book which does contain

The greatest charter our kind God can grant,

May prove to be like precious heavenly rain

To nourish, strengthen, and keep us from want.

Then, hand in hand in unity and love,

In holiness we'll walk before our God,

And have affections fixed on things above,

Our feet with "gospel preparation shod."

And thus may we hold on Life's journey through;

Nor e'er forsake pure Wisdom's sacred path.

Still as we journey always keep in view

Those glorious things "the righteous nation" hath.

In sure and certain prospect, far beyond

In point of worth this world and all its toys,

Treasure in heaven, beside the blissful sound

Of Jesus' voice, with sweetest heavenly joys.

And may our children all likewise receive

The richest dews of heavenly blessing now.

O, may the Lord make each of them believe

The gospel pure, and to its teachings bow.

And then indeed should we be called to part

While in this world, we all shall meet above,

Where we with every power and all our heart

Will praise the Saviour's name and sing his love.

O, blest, blest thought! through vast Eternity

In purest bliss and holiness to dwell.

There our glad eyes shall Jesus ever see,

And hear the Saints his greatest wonders tell.

TO MY DAUGHTER MARY ANN, ASLEEP.

1842.

Sweetly asleep is Mary Ann,

In calmest infantile repose

Her lovely face no longer wan,

Seems lovelier still when in a doze.

Sleep on, my babe, I'll not disturb,

Thy silent rest I love to view;

For now thou needest not the curb

I use in trying to subdue

Thy peevish temper, which, I ween

Needs constant care from me, thy site,

While through thy childish ways are seen

Thy passions strong in wildest fire.

Sleep on, my child, some future day

May see thee walking in God's ways.

For this great blessing will I pray

Still guided by the Truth's clear rays.

Sleep on, my little girl, till morn,

And when awake pursue thy play;

Yet, when grown up, may'st thou adorn

The sphere in which thou mov'st by day.

Sleep on, my daughter, sleep in peace.

Thou has been toiling through the day.

Thy little tongue doth seldom cease

From talking much in thy own way.

Sleep on, sweet prattler, and may bright

Angelic Spirits guard thee round,

Till Sol with his resplendent light

Doth break thy slumbers quite profound.

Yes, sleep, my child, through every night,

As fast revolving years proceed.

By day enjoy the heavenly light,

Of which we in the Bible read.

But oh, sleep not when duties bid

My girl awake to run the race

Which Christians run, when thorns amid

May make her see her need of Grace.

And oh, sleep not in ways of sin,

For dangers lurk with serpent wiles;

And false security within,

Each unsuspecting mind beguiles.

And when the solemn time arrives

For thee to sleep in death at peace,

And thy pure spirit strongly strives

To gain her longed-for wished release,

O, may she mount to yon abode

Where God's blest Saints and Angels dwell;

And there rejoice in him who trode

The path to death to save from hell.

TO ELLEN AND WILLIE.

Ellen, my prattler dear,

Willie, my darling boy,

My children need not fear,

They shall my gift employ.

To you, by great neglect,

I have no rhyme addressed.

This you would scarce expect,

So much you've been caressed.

For it I now will try

To make amends quite ample,

And trust the time is nigh

When you can read this sample.

Ellen, I think I see

That thou resemblest mother;

Thou'rt not so much like me

As Willie, thy young brother.

One thing I wish you both,

That you in your behaviour

Like her, may not be loath

To follow Christ, the Saviour.

For never have I seen

One of a lovelier spirit;

No mortals do, I ween,

Such loveliness inherit.

She was of temper mild,

Was often smiling sweetly,

In malice was a child,

As a Christian walked discreetly.

To have this said of you

Would give your father pleasure.

It would be worth, if true,

To me a world of treasure.

So Ellen, prattler dear,

Willie, my darling boy,

While father's stay is here,

O, fill his heart with joy.

As soon as you can read,

Peruse the Bible's page,

And to your ways take heed

As you advance in age.

Then to the Savior fly,

Who, only, you can save

From woes that never die,

In death beyond the grave.

That we may meet at last

In Heaven, that happy place,

When every storm is past,

To view our Jesus' face.

TO MR. AND MRS. C. BATTY.

1847.

Parents-in-law, a Rhymer much in debt

Deems it full time to try his debts to pay;

And as some large arrears are standing yet,

To give this mite I will no more delay.

And if I cannot make a full discharge,

Perhaps I may induce you to forbear,

For though this portion is not very large,

'Tis quite as much as I can freely spare.

Preliminaries settled, I proceed

To seek the assistance of my humble Muse;

Well knowing that she will in time of need

Give forth such numbers as you'll not refuse.

Impelled by gratitute for kindness shown,

I bless my God I now so long have known

That sweet connection in which I have stood

With you and yours. Thoughts of it make the blood

Run freely through my veins; they cheer my mind,

Revive my spirits, make me leave behind

Vile carking cares, dispel my melancholy,

Fire my devotion with desires most holy,

Fill my sad soul! Thus am I drawn away,

And in imagination soar to-day

To those blest regions where my Ann has gone,

And feel that even now I'm not alone.

For her pure spirit is with mine

Holding fellowship divine.

Hark! she whispers in the skies,

"Let thy prayers to Heaven arise;

Let thy songs ascend above;

Sing evermore Redeeming Love;

For all those who here do enter

Cleave to Jesus as their Centre,

And we now on holy ground

Join in one unceasing round

Of purest pleasure, and do raise

Our voices in the Saviour's praise

And thus throughout Eternity

Dwell in sweetest harmony.

To all my kindred I would say.

Work while 'tis called 'to-day.'

Always listen to the voice

Of Jesus, and in him rejoice.

Make his righteousness your boast,

For without it you are lost.

Listen now, he calls to-day;

Flee, Oh, flee to him away!"

She ceased to speak, and back her spirit fled

To yon bright Mansions where her Saviour led;

And we are left confined in tents of clay,

To "groan, being burdened," for Redemption's day.

Oh, then, dear parents, let us not forget

The "still small voice" of Mercy's speaking yet.

Let us put on afresh our heavenly armor,

The Christian warfare is but growing warmer.

Should our weak courage fail, let us in meekness

Look still to him who gives us strength in weakness.

And thus supported, may our lives declare

How blest the portion which through grace we share.

TO MY INFANT ANNIE.

1847.

Motherless babe, I can't forbear to make

Some rhyme to thee for thy dear mother's sake.

Thy pleasant looks, thy smiles, thy temper mild

Do much surprise me in so young a child.

In thy sweet face I view in embryo

My lost wife's charms; it is, it must be so.

Quiet thy ways, and smiling oft through tears,

An earnest surely this for future years,

That the same lovely conduct may be shown

Which marked thy mother's life, as is well known.

Then as thou dost advance to womanhood,

May God's own Word by thee be understood.

Can I look forward to the time

When thou shalt reach a woman's prime?

When youth and beauty, linked with grace

May beam forth from thy smiling face?

Alas, the future, hid from sight

Of all but Him who dwells in light,

May see us numbered with the dead.

And knowing this may I be led

To train my children in the way

That leads to Heaven's eternal day.

STANZAS.

IN MEMORY OF ANNIE, DIED JULY 11, 1847.

Thou'rt gone, thou lovely gem, I trust

To grace the crown of Zion's King;

And we thy body to the dust

Commit with faith unwavering.

Thou wast just long enough with us

To charm our hearts and claim our low;

And now thou'rt gone. Why is it thus?

Did Jesus need thy soul above?

For twenty weeks thy lovely face,

Thy pleasing smiles, thy temper mild,

Have made thy father hope to trace

The mother in her darling child.

And yet thou hast for some time seemed

Too fair a flower to bloom below.

Thy death but proves our Father deemed

It best that thou in Heaven should'st grow.

And knowing, as I well may know

That this vain world is full of trial,

I would not say against the blow,

Though it may cause me self-denial.

Now, while I write, my thoughts ascend

More fleetly than the lightning's flame

To that blest place where lowly bend

God's saints, In worship of his name.

And there methinks I see thee join

With mother and a numerous throng.

In praise of Him who is Divine,

To whom all honor does belong.

Why should we grudge to part with thee?

Thou went our Heavenly father's own;

And he far better knows than we

What's best to do, as will be shown.

And yet it seems so hard to part--,

To part with those we love so dearly,

That, though the keenness of the smart

Is gone through Jesus' death most clearly,

We cannot help but mourn and weep

At losing for a time such treasure.

But we'll, rejoice that those who sleep

In Christ, shall, in unbounded measure,

Enjoy true happiness and peace

In yon fair World, where pain not tears.

Are either felt or seen; where cease

All sorrow and perplexing fears,

TO MRS. H. BATTSON.

1847.

To you, dear sister, I would now address

A rude production of my rhyming brain;

And if it does increase your happiness,

Of this intrusion you will not complain.

Margaret, nine years have nearly rolled away,

Since I first met on at your father's place.

Well I remember, to the very day,

My first glad glimpse of your young smiling face.

More, I remember for, almost forlorn,

I was received well 'neath that friendly roof,

And such pure kindness unto me was shown

As put my gratitude to strongest proof.

May I not hope that our dear Saviour took

As done to him what then was done for me?

If so, your names are written in his book,

As an assembled universe may see.

'Tis now, when one not only dear to me,

But to you all, has reached the World of Bliss,

That I am led more clearly still to see

The grandeur which in our Religion is.

May I not hope that in some small degree,

The exercise of my poor gifts did tend

To lead the youthful, loving sisters three

Beneath Christ's yoke their willing necks to bend?

And now what shall I say? You are a wife;

A mother's joys, I trust, will soon be ours.

O, may you still in blest conjugal life

Find that true grace which evermore endues.

And may you live for many years to come

That life which none but Christians true can live.

Press forward now to reach your heavenly home;

A sacrifice to God your being give.

And may the Lord give Grace to one and all,

That we may serve him while we stay below;

Then, in due time He will our spirits call

To share that bliss he can alone bestow.

TO MR. AND MRS. W. BATTY, OF PARIS.

1847.

Brother and sister dear, my stay I prolong here,

While an effusion can flow from my pen.

May it you gratify, your minds now satisfy,

That I may have courage to try it again.

Do thou, my dear brother--for there is no other

Has a claim upon me if thou be denied--

Accept from me the lay I in gratitude pay

For services rendered when I was so tried.

When by great sickness low, I was some years ago,

Thy interest with mine was clearly as one.

For me thou wast striving, thyself wast depriving

Of needful repose when thy day's work was done.

In view then of thy strong affection

As shown to me, my feelings flow;

And, while I enjoy reflection,

I'll strive my gratitude to show.

I saw thy conduct with emotion,

Prayed my God to own and bless

What thou didst through love's devotion,

To increase my happiness.

'Twas then I sought thy soul's Salvation;

In prayer besought the Lord to make

What proved to me severe probation

A blessing to thee for Christ's' sake.

And now I see thee with thy wife,

Ranked amongst the heirs of Glory,

Partakers of Eternal Life

Through faith in sweet Redemption's Story.

A blessing this, which fleeting Time

Can not unfold in all its brightness,

As 'twill be seen when in Heaven's prime

We walk its streets in robes of whiteness.

Hail happy day! thy near approach

Inspires our hearts with joy and gladness,

Enables us to bear reproach,

Takes from our hearts much of their sadness.

Brother and sister dear, let us while we are here

Cling unto Jesus, our very best friend;

That when Death shall come we may soon reach our home,

And gain Felicity never to end.

FIRESIDE THOUGHTS OF ANN, MY FORMER WIFE.

Wrapt of late in solemn musing

On the checkered scenes of life,

Peace was o'er my mind diffusing

As I thought of Ann, my wife.

Pure in life and conversation,

Full of smiles and modest worth,

Showing calmest resignation

When sad trials called it forth.

Sweet and softly o'er me stealing,

Like a pleasant zephyr's breath,

Came pure faith, my sore heart healing

As I thought of Ann in death.

In her prime and beauty dying,

Full of love and heavenly joy,

Safe in Christ, stern Death, defying

Nothing could her peace destroy.

Faith and fancy both combining,

Blessings to me freely given,

Keep my soul from e'er repining,

As I think of Ann in Heaven.

TO MY BROTHER JAMES.

James, 'tis full time for me to write

Some rhymes to you in earnest quite.

I've promised long, and now I'll try

My promise to fulfill, and why?

Because you have a claim on me

Which, when paid off, will set me free,

To run awhile again in debt,

Which in its turn shall sure be met.

But this is trifling, you may say.

Perhaps it is, but trifles may

Effect some good; they often do,

And quite as often please us, too.

Who's free from trifling? I would ask.

To find out one would prove a task.

But then I candidly confess

That we should surely trifle less.

Well, let me see; can any theme

Be started? Yes, I had a dream [FOOTNOTE: Fact.]

The other night. Both you and I

Were standing on a hill so high,

And soon there came a mighty stream

Which did not leave of hope a gleam.

But suddenly a plank we found,

That brought us safely to dry ground.

Then I awoke devoid of fear,

And you the Moral true shall hear.

All mortals now are sailing down

The stream of time, as you must own;

And waters roar, and dash, and foam.

Then say--how shall we reach our home?

There is a plank, as we have seen,

And it is safe, most safe, I ween.

'Tis in the Gospel clearly shown,

'Tis by all Christians fully known.

We have its merits long since tried,

And glory in the Lamb who died.

Then let us prize it as we ought,

And serve him who our souls has bought.

For surely this our duty is

If we would reach eternal bliss.

TO MY DAUGHTER ELLEN, ON HER WEDDING DAY, MARCH 20,

1859.

Ellen, on this glad occasion

I address to you a rhyme,

And in tones of sweet persuasion

Would advise you at this time.

If full measure of enjoyment

You would seek in married life,

Make it daily your employment

To avoid what leads to strife.

Prize, O prize, both now and ever,

Joseph's confidence of love.

See that fits of temper never

Drive him forth from home to rove.

Should he show unlooked for weakness,

Hide the secret in your breast,

And expostulate with meekness

When you have God's Throne addressed.

Always aim to dress with neatness,

Though your clothes be e'er so plain;

Add to this your mother's sweetness,

If you would love's sway maintain.

Should yours prove a life of trial,

May you both still look above.

Exercise in self-denial

Strengthens pre-existing love.

I have found that constant blessing

Springs from troubles sanctified,

And when needs have been most pressing,

God himself those needs supplied.

To His care I therefore leave you,

Bid you lean upon his arm;

May naught soon arise to grieve you,

Naught to damp affection warm.

MURDER WILL OUT;

OR, THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE.

A tale of Jealousy and Revenge, by Bernard Gray.

Turned into a Ballad and some new Scenes added.

1854

[Footnote: I would not wish exactly to be held responsible for what the

reader may deem unchristian-like language or statements in this ballad,

as I have copied the original in such matters.]

Sullen sat in jealous mood,

A most brutal-looking man;

Purpose foul served him for food.

Against a maid he lately wooed

His dreadful purpose ran.

Long he sat with vacant stare,

Large his eyes, quite gray and full;

Fell in tangled locks his hair,

O'er his dirty forehead there,

Fit covering for such skull.

Stands in the room a crazy bed

And two wretched, worn-out chairs.

_That_ had rested limbs and head,

_These_ now served for _that_ instead;

Thus ill the villain fares.

Heard he on that gloomy night

Demon foul to urge the deed?

Would he tremble at the sight

If some horrid goblin sprite

Came his strong wrath to feed?

He would welcome as his friend

Ev'n proud Satan, prince of Hell,

If he would assistance lend

So that he could gain his end

In crime--so very fell.

She who thus had roused his ire,

Lived a little distance off.

With his jealous soul on fire

Cudgel stout suits his desire;

He has one stout and tough.

Soon he reached her shabby home,

Rapped aloud upon the door.

"Yes, John Bristol, you may come,"

Said a voice within that room

So high on the third floor.

Near the window, very sad,

Sat she, deeply wrapped in thought

And appeared but thinly clad.

Brown her hair, blue eyes she had

As e'en with love were fraught!

She asked the man to take a seat.

He "preferred to stand awhile,

Had been sitting much of late."

Now, as if impelled by fate,

He has recourse to guile.

Says she, "Glad I am you've come

For I thought you took offense."

Little dreams she of the doom

Hanging o'er her in that room,

Or she would flee from thence.

He her conduct now reproves,

She replies in innocence.

Softly he behind her moves,

Right behind the girl he loves,

In cowardly pretence.

Ere suspicion could arise

In the hapless victim's mind,

Up the sturdy cudgel flies,

Downward on its aim it flies,

And strikes her as designed.

Right upon her temples fair,

Murder foul has done its part.

Eyes assume a strange, fixed stare,

Flows the blood among her hair,

No longer throbs the heart.

Now the villain lifts her arm,

Now he finds the pulse has fled;

He can do no further harm;

Conscience sounds a loud alarm,

For surely she is dead.

Now he flees in haste away;

Shifts the scene again to her:

She is found by friends next day

Stiff and gory as she lay,

And they create a stir.

Quickly gathers round a mob,

Fleetly flies the horrid news,

Making hearts more strongly throb;

Women shriek, and cry, and sob

As each the body views.

Come the officers of law;

Cries are heard to let them pass.

Through, the crowd they forward go,

To behold the scene of woe;

Suspense now holds the mass.

Shifts the scene unto the sea,

Nears a port a stately sail;

Joyful seems the crew to be,

Dream they not of misery

From an approaching gale.

Swiftly comes--a dreadful storm;

Fast the rigging's torn away;

Broken masts the ship deform,

All is terror and alarm

Amidst the dashing spray.

Angry roars the foaming deep;

Death now stares them in the face;

There is found no time to sleep,

Nor would it avail to weep

In such a woeful case.

Lift they up a prayer to God;

Does He heat them in distress?

See, He waves his righteous Rod,

For they've on his precepts trod;

His might they now confess.

Two alone survive the rest,

These are clinging to a spar.

One with secret in his breast

Is by sense of guilt oppressed,

Which keeps his mind ajar.

Can the reader guess his name?

"Bristol?" yes, he was the one;

He a sailor soon became,

Nor felt any sense of shame

Till life had nearly gone.

Now Hell's terrors seize his soul;

Now he sees the murdered maid

In her blood before him fall;

Hears her for God's vengeance call,

And ask why it's delayed.

Feels the elements at war

Nothing to the strife within,

Therefore to his brother tar

His locked heart he does unbar,

To ease him of his sin.

Tells him how some months ago

He a harmless maiden slew.

Jealousy had wrought his woe,

Made him give the fatal blow;

'Twas very wrong he knew.

"Speak her name!" the other cries;

"Mary Markham," Bristol screams.

Rage gleams from that other's eyes,

As he at John Bristol flies,

To end his mortal dreams.

Soon he's by the murderer's side,

Now he fiercely drags him down.

"Here thou shalt no longer bide;

Sink, fiend! sink into the tide,

And all thy baseness drown!"

Loud and louder roars the wind;

The new murderer is alone

And has lost his peace of mind.

Will he seek a port to find

And there his sin atone?

Fellow sinner, think not hard

Of the poor remaining one.

He from proper light debarred,

Thought it duty to reward

Bristol for that deed done.

Why? He to the murdered maid

Was a brother by his birth.

His love for her did not fade,

And this journey home he made

In hopes to yield her mirth.

Shifts the gloomy scene once more,

To a narrow, crooked street;

In a wretched liquor store

Sits a man we've seen before,

Musing on things not sweet.

He might seem to view intent

Watered spirits in a glass,

For his eyes on that are bent,

But his thoughts are wandering sent

Alter that murdered lass.

In this street--the very same,

That most shocking act was done;

It had nearly lost its fame,

Yet remembered was the name

Of that pool maiden lone.

When her name was spoke 'tis said

Chilling honor seized the soul

Of both high and lowly bred;

All who heard were filled with dread

Which they could scarce control.

Seems the man irresolute

About the drink before him placed.

Now, his gestures are not mute,

Showing feelings most acute,

And such as might be traced.

Bodingly he shakes his head,

Deep-drawn lengthy sigh then heaves

His broad chest, for her now dead!

Bitter tears are freely shed

As he for sister grieves.

In plain sailor's clothes he's dressed,

Anchor blue is on his hand.

A woman's eyes now on him rest,

Who, with babe upon her breast,

Speaks him in accents bland.

"Does the liquor suit your taste?

Is there nothing else you need?"

From his seat he rose with haste,

On the floor his feet he braced;

"I'm thinking of that deed!"

Quickly swallows he the drink,

Then asks, "Is not this the street?"

"What street? Come, yourself bethink!"

"I will; yet from it I shrink.

Sweet girl, we ne'er shall meet!"

"Tell, good woman, if you can,

Where she "--Once again a pause.

Turns she now afresh to scan

The face of that most wretched man.

So very full of woes.

Anxious to relieve his mind,

Stays she still within the room;

Then says, "Man, what would you find?

I to serve you am inclined."

"Where met that girl her doom?"

Now she needs no other clue;

Says, "You'll see the place from here.

Fouler deed I never knew;

Was she anything to you?

Come, tell me without fear."

"Was my sister, that was all;"

Soft he said, then paid his bill.

Something seemed on him to call;

Speedily away he stole,

But not with ready will.

Radiant Sol is sinking low,

And Night coming on apace;

Roofs in the setting sunbeams glow,

And his purple tints they show,

Till he has run his race.