Be gain unspeakable to those we mourn,
How selfish ’tis to grieve! O, is it thus
We show our love? Besides, ye sad forlorn!
They are not lost who from your arms are torn,
They’ve only sooner reach’d their blissful rest!
’Tis sweet to end a wearisome sojourn,
And reach a wish’d-for home--and they are blest
Whose friends are safely housed where nothing can molest.
XII.
In those delightful realms of perfect bliss,
The raptured spirit finds an endless home;
And is it well to break your hearts for this?
O, could to earth the sainted spirit come,
’Twould chide the mourner weeping o’er the tomb
As though the _soul_ were chained in prison there!
’Twould bid him lay aside his look of gloom,
And in its place the smile of triumph wear;
’Twould bid him hush the sigh, and wipe the starting tear!
XIII.
’Twas not with stoical philosophy,
She bore her double grief. Forgetfulness
Was not its antidote. Nor could it be
Despair that sat upon her peaceful face.
O, no! her soul was made of tenderness;
Nor could her heart forget the joyous past;
Nor did despair her tranquil mind possess;
What could it be that o’er her features cast
A sweet expressive look, that seem’d too calm to last?
XIV.
The truly pious are most sensitive
To the delights of dear domestic love;
It is religion’s high prerogative,
The tend’rest feelings of the heart to move
To delicate sensations, far above
The gross, impure affections, cherish’d oft
In earthly love. A double tie is wove
For those whose hearts together soar aloft;
’Tis God who makes the heart pure, delicate, and soft.
XV.
What was it, then, that spread a peaceful glow.
Upon that lonely mourner’s countenance--
She, who had loved her child and husband so,
And lived but in their smiles? A cheerful glance
She gave to each intruder, who, by chance,
Stray’d into that lone room. She’d call them near,
And tell them of a bright inheritance,
And that she knew her darling ones were there;
’Twas this had sov’reign power the mourner’s heart to cheer.
XVI.
’Twas confidence in Heaven--for there she turn’d
When “friend and lover” failed her, and that God
Who never yet the broken hearted spurn’d,
Supported her beneath the chast’ning rod,
And sooth’d her in her childless widowhood!
All glory to his name, who sweetly spoke,
And still’d the raging of affliction’s flood!
O, sad it is to bear Jehovah’s stroke
Like bullocks unaccustom’d to the galling yoke.
XVII.
It well becomes frail man to acquiesce
In God’s most wise and holy providence;
Yea, though he bow his head in sore distress,
Borne down to earth by sufferings intense,
Still let him trust in God, his sure defence
Against the rushing tide; for sorrow’s flood
Can soon be stay’d by kind omnipotence.
Whene’er on us descends th’ afflictive rod,
Weak hearted though we be, our strength is found in God.
XVIII.
God leads his children with a gentle hand,
Though often through a gloomy, rugged road,
But if they reach at last the promised land,
What matter if the paths their feet have trod--
Those thorny paths--be moistened with their blood?
How gloriously they end their sad career!
Their blood stain’d feet are wash’d in Jordan’s flood,
Before the throne all spotless they appear,
And hush’d is every groan, and dried is every tear.
XIX.
So thought the mourner, watching o’er her dead:
What glorious visions cheer’d her solitude!
What heavenly scenes their peaceful influence shed,
As there she sat in calm and pensive mood!
The glories of the upper world she view’d;
Away from earth on faith’s glad wings she sped,
And saw in many a bright beatitude,
The shining mansions of the sainted dead;
And, deep in silent thought, thus to herself she said:
XX.
“If never more the blessed sun should rise--
If moon and stars in blackest gloom were seal’d--
Though nature in the gloom should sympathize--
Though winds and waves their utmost power reveal’d,
And to the heart in hollow groans appeal’d--
Though all my friends were laid beneath the sod--
Though icy death my blood had all congealed--
Still would I trust in thee, my Father God!
And bless thee most of all for thy chastising rod.
XXI.
No--I will not repine. It were not well
To mourn for thee, my darling! Not for thee!
No--thou hast gone ’mid perfect love to dwell,
And ‘death is swallow’d up in victory!’
I wish thee joy--from pain and sorrow free,
While on thy mother earth reclines thy head!
All soft and peaceful may thy slumbers be,
Till the last trump shall sound, when time has fled,
To wake the sleeping pulses of the silent dead!
XXII.
I almost envy thee, my sainted love,
Enjoying Heaven’s sweet society!
O, that I had the pinions of a dove!
How would my eager spirit fly to thee,
And joyful share thy blest eternity!
Thou, who hast seen the Savior as he is,
Art thou not filled with perfect ecstasy?
Explain’d are all thy life’s dark mysteries,
Thy fears, thy woes, thy pains, thy heart’s deep agonies.
XXIII.
Thou art at rest, my husband! on thy head
No more the storm shall beat. Thou art of those
Whose works do follow them--the blessed dead!
O how I long to share thy soft repose--
To know that I am safe from inward foes,
And foes without! My heavy laden breast
Shall bear no longer then its weight of woes,
And I shall be no more with cares oppress’d;
Welcome the blissful hour, when I shall be at rest!
XXIV.
They say that woman bringeth happiness
To him she loves. I do believe it true;
I know, my own! that I could ever bless
Thy heart, when to my fond embrace it flew.
Yes--yes--it gives me comfort to review
The few short years we’ve spent together here;
Each hour was fraught with gladness ever new;
’Tis sweet, my love! beside thine early bier,
To think thy noble heart ’twas ever mine to cheer.
XXV.
But hearts like thine are seldom truly known;
Some things too lofty are for mortal ken,
Till the dim eye, to earthly prospects prone,
Learns to look far above this misty fen,
Where earth’s rank vapors blind the eyes of men.
The truly noble ones are all too few,
Nor can they breathe in earth’s polluted den;
They, like the eagle, oft escape from view,
And soar aloft ’mid Heaven’s deep and tranquil blue.
XXVI.
I joy to think, my dear, my only love!
Thou’st laid aside thy load of cumbrous clay,
And wing’d thy joyful flight to realms above,
To pure celestial worlds--away! away!
I see around thy head bright glories play!
I see thee clothed in robes of innocence!
I see the hosts of Heaven in white array!
And can I wish to call thy spirit thence,
Inhabitant of Heaven? thou pure intelligence?
XXVII.
O, Charles! ‘thy love to me was wonderful,
Passing the love of woman.’ In thine eyes--
Those dark blue eyes--those mirrors of thy soul,
Were pictured feelings words would but disguise--
Pure, tender, soul subduing sympathies!
Should ever slander, with its poison’d tooth,
Or malice, double tongued, against me rise,
I’ll think of thee, whose kindness bless’d my youth;
I’ll think of all thy love, thy tenderness, thy truth.
XXVIII.
I’ll plant the grave of all my early joy
With seeds of mem’ry, and enrich the soil
With precious tears, and then I will employ
My heart as gard’ner, caring not for toil;
And thus the gloomy grave I will despoil
Of all its gloom, and raise bright flowers there,
To cheer me ’mid life’s wearisome turmoil;
And so when sad and overcharged with care,
To cull sweet mem’ry’s flowers I will oft repair.
XXIX.
I bless thee, husband! for thy tender love,
For all th’ ecstatic bliss ’twas mine to know;
I nestled in thy breast, a timid dove,
While my fond heart to thine did firmly grow.
I saw upon thy cheek love’s ardent glow,
And felt that I was more than others blest,
When such a rich pure heart was mine; but, O!
I did not dream that warm and throbbing breast
So soon would cease to beat--so soon would be at rest!
XXX.
They tell me love has wings--I know it well;
But there’s a love implanted in the heart,
Which cruel death can never thence expel;
’Tis Christian love. Death may a moment part
Two faithful ones, and cause sad tears to start;
But hope beyond this darksome world can see,
And, by the magic of her soothing art,
A most effectual comforter can be;
So Hope and Memory by turns shall comfort me.
XXXI.
For Hope and Memory twin sisters are,
Born in a moment ’mid the present gloom,
Bringing their soft illusions from afar,
And cheering e’en the darkness of the tomb.
Come to my heart, ye lovely sisters, come!
And so my wond’ring senses all entrance
With pictures of my past and future home,
That I may take one life-enduring glance,
Nor cease till I have gain’d my blest inheritance!
XXXII.
I thank thee, holy Father! that I am
Immortal. ’Tis a cure for all my woes,
That soon they will be followed by the calm
Of Heavens’s tranquil and secure repose,
When this poor life has reach’d its blessed close.
There may be many sorrows more for me,
There may arise stern unrelenting foes;
But I will trust in Heaven, and thither flee,
When I am writhing ’neath opinion’s tyranny.
XXXIII.
Who wrongs the widow, will be judged by One
Who makes the widow his peculiar care;
O, wretched, wretched man! whose setting sun
Shall sink amid the clouds of dark despair!
In God’s own book the words of truth declare
That man accurs’d. Thou, who hast e’er oppress’d
The fatherless or widow, canst thou bear
To die with such a stain upon thy breast,
And hear thy Maker say, ‘Thou shalt not see my rest?’
XXXIV.
My Father! all my times are in thy hand!
Though floods arise, thou’lt bear me safely through,
And though thy ways I cannot understand,
Whatever pleases thee, shall please me too.
Though thou with thorns shalt all my pathway strew,
I’ll sweetly rest when life’s short day is o’er,
And bless the hand which me to Heaven drew;
Then far above this weary world I’ll soar,
And through eternity I’ll triumph and adore.
XXXV.
When nights of weariness do come to me,
They are appointed by my sov’reign friend,
To cure me of this world’s idolatry,
And thus to Heaven my aspirations send,
And with my tears sweet expectations blend.
So when I lie and long for morning’s dawn,
And vainly wish the painful night would end,
And sadly cry, with many a plaintive moan,
‘O, when shall I arise, and this sad night be gone?’--
XXXVI.
I’ll think of Heaven, where night shall be no more,
Where not one tear shall gather in mine eye,
Where weariness and pain shall all be o’er,
And I, with seraph wings, shall swiftly fly
With willing speed, my God to glorify,
And execute his blessed sovereign will.
Welcome the joyful hour when I shall die!
Die? No! I then shall live. On Zion’s hill
I shall forever dwell, and fear no future ill.
XXXVII.
My rest will come ere long. O, when I sleep
My last long sleep beneath the cold damp sod,
Parents and friends! I pray ye not to weep
For one whose feet a thorny path have trod,
Then shelter’d in the bosom of her God!
I’ve had sore trial of each tender limb,
In such a rough and thorn-besprinkled road;
O, then, to weep for me would be a crime,
When I have safely fled beyond the bounds of time!
XXXVIII.
Till then I’ll patient be. It is not best
To bosom sorrow, or to nourish grief;
No! let me bear my heavy laden breast
Where only suff’ring hearts can find relief--
To Him who was of sufferers the chief!
He numbers every hair upon my head,
He clothes the flower, he notes the falling leaf;
And will he, now my dearest ones are dead,
Leave me in sorrow’s night my burning tears to shed?
XXXIX.
No--no--it cannot be. He shows his power,
And who can hinder him? He takes away
Man’s glory and his pride in one short hour,
And, when he chooses, hides each cheering ray
Of earthly joy, that o’er his path did play.
But while his hand thus smites, his heart is love;
He sends the cloudy, wintry, stormy day,
To make us pause awhile, and look above,
And by adversity, the suff’rer’s heart to prove.
XL.
How sweet the names my heavenly Father bears!
‘God of all comfort!’ O, the soothing sound!
‘Father of mercies!’ Yes! I’ll dry my tears,
And go where comfort--mercy--can be found.
What though my love lies cold beneath the ground?
’Tis but his mortal part. His deathless soul
Lives and rejoices where pure joys abound;
He ran his race, and reach’d th’ immortal goal,
And ne’er shall sorrow more, while countless ages roll.
XLI.
Husband, sweet husband! where, O, where art thou?
Art thou not near me, whispering peaceful things?
Do I not hear thy spirit-accents now,
And feel the waving of thy spirit-wings,
Cooling my burning heart, where sorrow’s stings
Would rankle, were it not for Heaven and thee?
It must be so. My eager spirit springs
To meet thee, love! ’Tis thy sweet task to be
A ministering angel, sent to comfort me!”
XLII.
’Twas thus the mourner mused from hour to hour,
Beside her loved one laid upon his bier;
She strew’d his corse with many a fragrant flower,
And kiss’d his cheek, and stroked his glossy hair.
You would have thought her love was sleeping there,
And she was watching o’er him--such a smile
Sat on his lip, and wreathed his forehead fair;
But he is dead--and in a little while
The damp and teeming earth that forehead must defile!
CHARLESTON, _June 22, 1841_.
THE SECOND BURIAL.
All-conqu’ring Love!
Thou mak’st the heart of gentle woman strong!
All-cheering Faith! thou hast a magic power
To win the soul away from haggard grief!
On the pure surface of the calm blue sky,
Thou paintest Heaven’s glories with a touch
Surpassing mortal genius, and with art
Most wonderful, dost lure the tearful eye
Away from the attractions of the tomb,
Where earthly hopes and joys lie sepulchred.
What sweet amazement seizes on the soul,
When these celestial visions greet the eye!
The ambient air seems full of harmony,
As though ten thousand angel visitors
Were hov’ring round th’ afflicted one, to cheer
With Heaven’s softest, sweetest melodies,
Her mourning heart.
The evening hour had thrown
Dark length’ning shadows on the verdant earth,
And men had gather’d to the burial.
Women were there, with hearts of sympathy
For the bereaved; and rosy children too
Gazed up into the mourner’s marble face,
With troubled looks of awe, and wonder’d why
She was alone, and where the lovely boy
Whom they had ever seen beside her--was.
The mother brought her babe, and when it cried,
Alarm’d at her unwonted gravity,
She press’d it closer to her swelling breast,
And hush’d its plaintive voice--or stole away,
Fearing ’twould wring the stricken mother’s heart
To hear a baby cry. So delicate
And tender hearted is true sympathy!
But she was dead to every earthly sound;
Her senses were in Heaven. Her last long look,
A mournful look of thrilling tenderness,
She had just taken of the silent form
Of him she loved; and now her eyes were fix’d
On that same form reanimate in Heaven,
Cloth’d in celestial splendors. Anxiously
Th’ assembled crowd gazed on the mourner’s face,
And look’d to see her hang her fainting head,
Whene’er they closed the coffin lid--but, ah!
They did not know the superhuman power
That was at work within her. It was strange,
But it was true, that she was seen to smile
When she was ask’d if she would look once more
Upon her husband’s corse, ere it was hid
Forever from her view. Yes, she did smile
A strange unearthly smile, and softly said,
“I will not look again.” Then did they place
The envious cover o’er that noble form,
And screw it firmly down. Yet still she sat
And gently rock’d her in the cushion’d chair,
And her closed eyes did shed no tear. Her hands
All peacefully were clasped upon her knee,
Nor did the fingers tremble.
All was still
Within that solemn chamber of the dead.
They waited for the minister of God,
To do the last sad offices of earth;
And yet he came not. Moments pass’d away,
Until an hour had mark’d its silent flight,
With longer, darker shadows on the ground.
’Twas time they had convey’d, with solemn tread,
The body to its home, ere night should draw
Her curtain round the world. Where linger’d he
Who should be at the burial of the dead?
He comes not--and they fear he will not come.
Then one who knew and loved the dear deceas’d,
An elder in the church of which he was
A member, forward came, and with a voice
All tremulous from deep emotion, read
A chapter from the holy word of God.
Twas from Corinthians, where th’ apostle Paul
Speaks of the resurrection from the dead,
In language borrowed from the court of Heaven.
The solemn deep toned voice of him who read,
Reach’d every ear, and thrill’d to every heart.
These were the words: “And how say some of you
There is no resurrection of the dead?
For if there be no resurrection, then
Is Christ not ris’n; and if Christ be not ris’n,
Then is our preaching vain,--and faith is vain;
And we are found false witnesses of God,
Because that we have testified of God,
That he did raise up Christ;--whom if the dead
Rise not, he raised not up. For if the dead
Rise not, Christ is not raised; and if Christ be not raised,
Your faith is vain, and ye are in your sins.
And also they which are asleep in Christ
Are perish’d. If in this sad life alone
We have a hope in Christ, we are of all
Most miserable men. But now the Lord
Is risen from the dead, and has become
First fruits of them that slept. For since by man
Came death, by man has also come
The resurrection of the dead. For as
In Adam all men die, even so in Christ
Shall all be made alive. But every man
In his own order; Christ the earliest fruits,
And afterwards they that belong to Christ,
At his lastcoming. And then comes the end,
When he shall have deliver’d up to God
The kingdom--when all rule, and power,
And all authority, he shall put down.
For he must reign till all his enemies
Under his feet are laid. The enemy
That last of all shall be destroy’d, is Death.
* * * * *
All flesh is not the same. There is one kind
Of flesh, of men; another flesh of beasts;
Another flesh of fishes; and of birds:
There are celestial bodies; and there are
Terrestrial; but their glories are not one:
There also is one glory of the sun;
One glory of the moon; one of the stars;
For one star diff’reth from another star.
So is the resurrection of the dead;
’Tis in corruption sown, but it is raised
In incorruption; in dishonor sown,
’Tis raised in glory; ’tis in weakness sown,
’Tis raised in power; a body natural
’Tis sown, ’tis raised a spiritual one.
For it is written thus; Adam, the first,
Was made a living soul; Adam, the last,
Was made a quick’ning spirit. Of the earth
Earthy, the first man is; the second man,
He is the Lord from Heaven. As we have borne
The image of the earthly, we shall bear
The image of the heavenly. Now, behold!
A mystery I show; all shall not sleep;
But we shall all be chang’d, at the last trump,
In a moment--in the twinkling of an eye.
The trump shall sound--the dead shall all be rais’d.
_Then_ incorruptible; and we shall all
Be quickly changed. For this corruptible
Must put on incorruption, and this mortal
Put on immortality. So when
Corruptible has put on incorruption--
And mortal put on immortality,
Then what is written shall be brought to pass,
That death is swallow’d up in victory.
O, Death! where is thy sting? O, Grave! where is
Thy victory? The sting of death is sin;
The strength of sin, the law; but unto God
Be thanks, who giveth us the victory,
Through Jesus Christ our Lord!” Amen! Amen!
What glorious words are these! The Bible speaks
To souls that are afflicted with a force
And emphasis unknown before. The wax
When duly soften’d, will receive and keep
The beautiful impression--and the heart
Tried in affliction’s furnace, will be made
To picture the refiner’s countenance,
Reflected sweetly there.
The mourner heard
These things, with joy unspeakable, and peace
That passeth understanding. Every word
Was music to her ear, and healing balm
To her poor bleeding heart. The drowning man
Will grasp for life at every floating straw;
And so the mourner, of all joy bereft,
Will catch at every hope the gospel gives.
The reader closed the book, and sat him down;
And then the mourner call’d him to her side
With silent beckon. In her hand she held
A little volume--’twas the same sweet book
Had been her kind companion all the day;
It was the hymn book given her by him
Who now lay coffin’d there. She pointed out
A certain hymn, and begg’d it might be sung;
For at her darling sister’s distant grave,
In dear New Haven, it was sweetly sung
But two short years before. The young and fair,
The brave and beautiful, had chanted it
Around her early grave, with swelling hearts,
And many a falling tear. For she was loved
By all who knew her, and they knew her well
In sweet New Haven. ’Twas a favorite place
Where these two sisters loved to walk alone
And commune with the dead; for very near
The sacred spot where now her form was laid,
Two much loved friends were sleeping side by side--
The gifted Martha, and the lovely Jane.[5]
And he who once had led her ardent mind
In search of knowledge[6]--he too slept within
That peaceful grave yard. O, he was a man
Whose like is seldom seen on earth; all, all
Who ever knew him will his name revere,
Till they shall meet him in the realms of bliss,
Who ever sought to lead them to the skies.
Peace to the mem’ry of the holy man!
A father and a mother weeping stood
Beside her grave--one sister on a bed
Of sickness lay, not very far remote;
And one was at her distant southern home:
O, she had yet to hear the sad, sad news!
An only brother, very near in age,
Who loved her as himself--and more; he stood
With folded arms and drooping head, and saw
His darling sister hidden from his view
By the dark envious grave. But he has gone
To meet her in her everlasting home!
In distant Alabama’s friendly soil,
He found a grave! They were too pure for earth;
And ’tis not saying they were wholly pure,
To say thus much--for when th’ immortal soul
Has bathed itself so freely in the blood
Of Jesus, that its stains of sin grow pale,
God always calls the spirit to himself,
To take its station near his own bright throne.
It could not breathe the atmosphere of earth
When it is purified and fit for Heaven.
But while it lives on earth ’tis human still,
And therefore sinful.
Round the open grave
Of her who died so far away from home,
How grateful to the mourning bosoms there,
The friendly sympathy of old and young!
Cold hearted and unfriendly call ye these--
The natives of the north? It is not so;
My fellow Southrons! If the hand of God
Shall ever lay you low, when far from home,
Among your breth’ren of the frozen north,
I know, dear friends! I know ye’ll see them shed
With the dejected mourner, tear for tear.
Sweetly the voices round that young girl’s grave,
Peal’d forth a solemn dirge. Now swell’d it high
In lofty strains; and now in cadence soft,
It seem’d to die away upon the ear;
Then would it swell again, and reach the skies,
And seem to mingle with the music there.
Now where the Mississippi proudly roll’d
Its world of waters to the distant sea,
That dirge was sung again. The words were these:
“Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb!
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room
To slumber in the silent dust.
No pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear
Invades thy bounds; no mortal woes
Can reach the lowly sleeper here,
While angels watch the soft repose.
So Jesus slept; God’s dying Son
Pass’d through the grave, and bless’d the bed:
Rest here, blest saint! till from his throne
The morning break, and pierce the shade.
Break from his throne, illustrious morn!
Attend, O, earth, his sov’reign word;
Restore thy trust; a glorious form
Shall then arise to meet the Lord.”
Again that childless widow raised her voice,
And sang the funeral song. The strength she had:
Was not her own--it came from God himself.
For like a vine deprived of its support,
She shot new tendrils forth, and clasp’d them round
Th’ almighty arm of God, reach’d down from Heaven.
For her relief; and that almighty arm
Rais’d her above the troubles of the earth.
They little know what solid comfort is,
Who ne’er have turn’d to Heaven in sorrow’s hour!
Thrice happy man, corrected of the Lord!
Whose roots are torn from earth’s most wretched soil,
Whene’er they shoot their clinging fibres down.
O, let me ever be uprooted thus!
If I be watered with the dews of Heaven,
I still shall flourish in celestial green,
And bear the blessed fruits of holiness.
Yes--with unfalt’ring voice the mourner sang,
While others gazed in pure astonishment,
And thought ’twas “passing strange.”