The calm contentment of humility!
There never was a plainer truth than this;
“Peu connue, peu troublée.”[12] I long to be
Unnoticed and unknown; my actions free--
Untrammel’d by proud fashion’s stern decrees.
O, this is life! to bow the willing knee
Alone to God, and, with a mind at ease,
To catch the gales of Heaven in every passing breeze.
XXIII.
I hate “that solemn vice of greatness--pride!”[13]
’Tis like an angel to be truly great,
Yet truly humble. He who seeks to hide
His virtuous deeds, shall sweetly meditate
In lonely hours, and thus anticipate
The peace of Heaven. The man of noble mind,
Whom earth’s loud praises never can elate,
Has fix’d his anchor where no storms unkind
Can shake his steadfast soul, to every storm resign’d.
XXIV.
But whither have I wander’d? ’Tis my fault
T’ assume an attitude belligerent,
And with a wordy war my foes t’ assault!
My words are harmless, let me give them vent,
Nor in my bosom harbor discontent;
Things, and not persons, are my enemies.
And if I stay to pluck a flower, and paint
Its unpretending beauties to your eyes,
O, follow for awhile my restless vagaries.
XXV.
My brother left us soon. His heart was sad,
And all were sad around him. Who could say
What was before us? Hearts one moment clad
In robes of joy, another moment may
Be dress’d in sorrow’s sables. Happy they,
Who in the bosom of the Savior dwell,
And find a refuge there in grief’s dark day.
The parting came--how did each bosom swell,
When, with a silent kiss, he told us all farewell!
XXVI.
And as he turn’d he dash’d a tear away;
For he must feel a pang who says “farewell;”
Yet ’tis a word that all have had to say.
To me it ever seems a mournful knell;
And, when I hear it, tides of sorrow swell
My heart, and busy mem’ry brings to me
Full many a by-gone hour, whose potent spell
Returns with all its weight of agony.
O, parting scenes! too vividly ye come to me!
XXVII.
He left us. ’Twas a blessing soon to hear
That he had comforted his aching heart
By the sweet power of love. O, what can cheer
Man’s heart, like woman’s love? What can impart
Such healing balm? What else remove the dart
Still rankling in the bosom? Thou hast proved,
O, gentle Love! full well thy healing art!--
One of Virginia’s fairest daughters loved
Our stricken one, and thus the deadly dart remov’d.
XXVIII.
O, Love! thy presence sweetens all below!
Thou art the sunshine of life’s dreary road;
Or, ’mid the storm, thou art the cheering bow
Held up before us by the hand of God!
He who has long life’s devious pathway trod,
And knows that sorrow is man’s certain doom,
Needs one to help him bear each heavy load.
In search of bliss man never ought to roam,
When lovely woman is the polar star of home.
XXIX.
Love timid flies the busy haunts of men;
The dear domestic altar is his throne;
One word unkind may break his blissful reign;
He goes where willing hearts his empire own,
And takes alarm at one disloyal tone.
And if he spread his ever active wings,
O, sue for pardon quick--or he is gone!
And as he flies, this farewell truth he sings,
Experience oft too late, a sad repentance brings.
XXX.
My brother loved, and was beloved again.
The peerless maid whose love his heart did bless,
Held his affections by a golden chain,
All unalloy’d. Much in her artless grace,
And in her soul-subduing gentleness,
Did she resemble her who was in Heaven--
Our sainted sister; and her sweet fair face,
So like to hers, seem’d a dear token given
To comfort all our hearts, so deeply sorrow-riven.
XXXI.
He led her to the altar, where their hands,
Those willing hands, by one who lately died[14]
Were join’d with Hymen’s life-enduring bands;
Their hearts were one before. The fair young bride--
The lily of Virginia, by the side
Of Carolina’s son stood modestly,
While on them gazed fond parents in their pride.
It is a sight that all must love to see--
A youthful pair thus join’d by Heaven’s most kind decree!
XXXII.
But he was call’d to leave her for awhile,
To seek a home in a more genial clime,
Far in the south, where nature seems to smile
The livelong year. Her soft blue eye grew dim
With pearly tears, that gather’d to the brim,
And overflow’d their fountain, when she heard
That he must leave her. Who could comfort him
As she could? Yet ’twas winter; and he fear’d
T’ expose his precious one, till all was well prepared.
XXXIII.
They parted--full of hope--yet griev’d to part;
Nor knew they that a worm was at the core
Of that young husband’s rich confiding heart;
Our mother saw her son not long before,
And her prophetic eye discover’d more
In his wan cheek, than other eyes could see;
She heard his “trifling” cough, and o’er and o’er,
She caution’d him to watch it. Only she
Could see his danger, who had nurs’d his infancy!
XXXIV.
But yet she dream’d not he would die so soon,
Nor dream’d of death at all; save that her fear--
A mother’s fear for her own precious one--
Was ever whisp’ring in her anxious ear,
That death might come again. He had come near,
And stricken from her arms so oft before
Her dearest treasures, that his lifted spear
Afar off gleaming, would alarm her more
Than hosts of other foes, with all their threaten’d power.
XXXV.
My brother never saw his love again.
He journey’d to a distant land--to die!
I must not speak of this--the throbbing pain
That settles at my heart--the tearful eye--
The trembling hand--the thrill of agony--
All warn me to forsake the mournful theme.
We heard that ere he breathed his parting sigh,
He said his parents soon would follow him,
But that his “dear young wife”--and here his eyes grew dim,
XXXVI.
And faintness seized upon him. ’Twas a thought
So full of deep, heart rending agony,
It quickly overcame him; and he sought
On heavenly scenes to fix his failing eye,
And thus with Christian fortitude to die!
An outstretched arm, omnipotent to save,
Was near him when his last great enemy
Closed for the mortal struggle. Then he gave
His parting soul to Him who triumph’d o’er the grave.
XXXVII.
His parents, ignorant of his dying state,
Were in the great south western city,[15] when
A letter came. Twas not of recent date,
For it had sought them long, and sought in vain.
At length it reach’d them, and it brought new pain
To their still aching hearts. It told a tale
Of sadness; that the threat’ning rod again
Hung over them. Here let me draw a veil;
To tell their feelings now, all words would sadly fail.
XXXVIII.
But I, who ever hope, hoped even now;
For I was with them when the letter came,
And though some sadness settled on my brow,
With specious words I strove to comfort them.
I could not feel that he would die--the same
Delusive flatt’rer, Hope, who oft before
Had lighted in my breast a glowing flame
When all had else been darkness, now once more
Beguiled my willing heart with too successful power.
XXXIX.
Swift on affection’s never tiring wings,
Our parents flew to see their only son;
And I was left behind; for many things
Concurr’d to keep me from the dying one.
But, in my grief, I was not left alone,
For they were with me who were all to me,
My noble husband, and my darling son!
With them, how could I ever lonely be?
O, to each other we _were_ all in all--we three!
XL.
My parents reach’d at length the distant spot:
Borne to the earth by grief and sad suspense.
O, God! O, God! they found that “HE was not,”
For thou had’st taken him! thy providence
So order’d it in kind benevolence!
He breath’d his last before the wish’d-for day
When he expected them--he knew not whence
They had to come, nor what a devious way
The white wing’d messenger that bore the news would stray.
XLI.
Urania, goddess of the sacred lay!
Come, touch my languid lips with holy fire,
Brought from divine Parnassus--or convey
The heart’s deep feelings to my sounding lyre!
’Tis vain--’tis vain--such feelings must retire
From mortal view! Again I draw the veil
Over these parents’ hearts. It would require
A more than mortal tongue to tell the tale
Of all their high wrought feelings--mortal speech would fail.
XLII.
’Tis sad when those we love cannot be near
Our dying bed; and yet it saves much pain.
The last farewell that falls upon the ear--
The tears that mourners seek to hide, in vain--
The bursting sobs they cannot quite restrain--
These wring the heart. Now, when we truly know
That friends were near, a sympathizing train,
Who sooth’d our dying one, when faint and low,
O, surely in our hearts sweet gratitude must glow!
XLIII.
God’s providence had led his footsteps, where
He found the kindest friends. A stranger he,
Yet taken to their bosoms! Far and near,
My father’s children find his name a key
Unlocking many hearts. I’d rather be
The child of such a father, than of one
Who’d leave the wealth of India to me!
They heard my brother’s name, and there were none
Who open’d not their doors to my dear father’s son.
XLIV.
God bless them evermore! and he will bless
With all the choice expressions of his love,
Those who befriend the stranger in distress.
There _is_ a God in Heaven, whose bowels move
With gentle pity; and he must approve,
Whene’er his creatures pity and relieve
The way-worn sufferer! Then from above
Our God will smile on those who thus did give
Their tender love to one who had not long to live.
XLV.
Now, when th’ afflicted parents weeping came,
Those noble friends shed with them tear for tear,
And thus most kindly did their love proclaim
For him whom they had laid upon his bier
With aching hearts. O, many a fervent prayer,
While with most tender tears my cheeks are wet,
Ascends to Heaven for them. May Jesus hear!
And may my heart within me cease to beat,
If ever I their love to one I loved forget!
CHARLESTON, _July 12, 1841_.
FOOTNOTES
[11] My brother, ISAAC STOCKTON KEITH PALMER, died in Havana, Green
County, Alabama, February 10, 1839, aged 26 years.
“Thy brother shall rise again.”--JOHN xi. 23.
[12] Motto of Hortense Beauharnais.
[13] Ben Jonson.
[14] The late Rev. George A. Baxter, D. D.
[15] New Orleans.
PASSING UNDER THE ROD.
“It was the custom of the Jews to select the tenth of their sheep
after this manner. The lambs were separated from their dams, and
enclosed in a sheepcote, with only one narrow way out: the dams
were at the entrance. On opening the gate, the lambs hastened
to join their dams, and a man placed at the entrance with a rod
dipped in ochre, touched every tenth lamb, and so marked it with
his rod, saying--‘LET THIS BE HOLY.’”
“And I will cause you to pass under the rod, and I will bring you
into the bond of the covenant.”--EZK. xx: 37.
I saw the young bride, in her beauty and pride,
Bedeck’d in her snowy array;
And the bright flush of joy mantled high on her cheek,
And the future look’d blooming and gay:
And with woman’s devotion she laid her fond heart
At the shrine of idolatrous love,
And she anchor’d her hopes to this perishing earth,
By the chain which her tenderness wove.
But I saw when those heartstrings were bleeding and torn,
And the chain had been sever’d in two,
She had changed her white robes for the sables of grief,
And her bloom for the paleness of wo!
But the Healer was there, pouring balm on her heart,
And wiping the tears from her eyes,
And he strengthened the chain he had broken in twain,
And fasten’d it firm to the skies!
There had whisper’d a voice--twas the voice of her God,
“I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod_!”
I saw the young mother in tenderness bend
O’er the couch of her slumbering boy,
And she kissed the soft lips as they murmur’d her name,
While the dreamer lay smiling in joy.
O, sweet as a rose bud encircled with dew,
When its fragrance is flung on the air,
So fresh and so bright to that mother he seem’d,
As he lay in his innocence there.
But I saw when she gazed on the same lovely form,
Pale as marble, and silent, and cold,
But paler and colder her beautiful boy,
And the tale of her sorrow was told!
But the Healer was there who had stricken her heart,
And taken her treasure away,
To allure her to Heaven he has placed it on high,
And the mourner will sweetly obey.
There had whisper’d a voice--’twas the voice of her God,
“I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod_!”
I saw the fond brother, with glances of love,
Gazing down on a gentle young girl,
And she hung on his arm, and breath’d soft in his ear,
As he play’d with each graceful curl.
O, he loved the sweet tones of her silvery voice,
Let her use it in sadness or glee;
And he’d clasp his brave arms round her delicate form,
As she sat on her brother’s knee.
But I saw when he gazed on her death-stricken face,
And she breath’d not a word in his ear;
And he clasp’d his brave arms round an icy cold form,
And he moisten’d her cheek with a tear.
But the Healer was there, and he said to him thus--
“Grieve not for thy sister’s short life,”
And he gave to his arms still another fair girl,
And he made her his own cherish’d wife!
There had whisper’d a voice--’twas the voice of his God,
“I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod_!”
I saw where a father and mother had lean’d
On the arms of a dear gifted son,
And the star in the future grew bright to their gaze,
As they saw the proud place he had won:
And the fast coming evening of life promis’d fair,
And its pathway grew smooth to their feet,
And the starlight of love glimmer’d bright at the end,
And the whispers of fancy were sweet.
But I saw when they stood, bending low o’er the grave,
Where their hearts’ dearest hope had been laid,
And the star had gone down in the darkness of night,
And the joy from their bosoms had fled.
But the Healer was there, and his arms were around,
And he led them with tenderest care;
And he show’d them a star in a bright upper world,
’Twas _their star_ shining brilliantly there!
They had each heard a voice--’twas the voice of their God,
“I love thee--I love thee--_pass under the rod_!”
CHARLESTON, _July 6, 1840_.
THE JOY OF THE CHRISTIAN.
There is a joy my spirit feels,
A holy calm that o’er me steals,
A lighting up within the soul
Of glowing flames that upward roll;
A springing of th’ immortal mind
Away from earth, to joys refined.
Not all the joys of wedded bliss
One moment can compare with this;
Though kindling eyes with rapture sweet,
In beaming glances often meet,
And burning lips with ardor tell
How love and joy together dwell.
Not all the thrilling happiness
A mother’s heart alone can bless,
When, all her pain and anguish done,
Her eye beholds her first born son,
And sees the father standing by,
With smiles of love, and kindling eye,
And prints the first maternal kiss
On lips unconscious of the bliss,
And, full of gladness unexpress’d,
Close clasps him to her swelling breast,
Where springs a fountain rich and free--
The food of helpless infancy!
These are not lasting. I can say,
How joys like these may pass away;
And leave, where all was love and light,
An aching heart--a gloomy night--
A memory of pleasures gone--
A sorrow to be left alone.
But often in the darkest night
Springs up a pure and brilliant light;
And even in the coldest day,
There comes a warm reviving ray;
The light to faith’s quick vision given--
The beaming ray that shines from Heaven.
O, when the soul is dark and drear,
Full well I know that sun can cheer;
In those full beams with deep delight
I chase away the gloomy night,
And bask in those unclouded rays,
The glorious sun’s meridian blaze.
I nestle in my Savior’s breast,
O, ’tis a place of glorious rest!
He holds me near his bleeding side,
O, ever may I thus abide!
His lovely countenance I see,
With smiles of love he looks on me.
O, give me joys that will not die--
The joys that point above the sky!
The only change that comes to them,
Is when they glow with brighter beam;
Like early morn’s delightful ray,
That brightens into perfect day!
JANUARY 13, 1840.
THE PRAYER OF THE WIDOW.
O, thou Almighty God, the widow’s friend!
Where lonely ones are weeping, comfort send!
Thou never wilt refuse thy tender aid,
Where thine own hand the crushing weight has laid.
When, sick at heart, and sad, and desolate,
The widow comes to weep her mournful fate,
And comes to THEE--thy Spirit, holy Dove!
Flies swiftly from the Heaven of purest love;
And O, blest Comforter! thy wings are spread,
To shield from every storm her fainting head;
And, brooding o’er the darkness of her soul,
Where, swelling high, the waves of anguish roll,
Thy sov’reign power from its chaos brings
Pure peaceful joy, and ever-healing springs.
Then may the solitary sing for joy;
For hours like these taste not of earth’s alloy;
Affliction’s fire the gold has purified,
And blest are they whose hopes may thus be tried.
O, God! while tears unbidden freely start,
Here would I lay my crush’d and bleeding heart;
I bless thee that thine own soft hands are here,
To staunch the wounds, and still each throbbing fear.
The human heart, sore wounded oft in vain,
Grows callous, and insensible to pain,
All cicatrized, it hardens with the blow
Which lays its fairest hopes and prospects low;
But softer grows the heart whose wounds are heal’d
By Gilead’s balm, sweet cure from Heaven reveal’d.
If purest joys must from affliction spring,
Then welcome grief, and lonely sorrowing!
A few brief years at most shall pass, before
Sorrow shall cease, and grief shall be no more.
I would not always live this dying life,
Where joys and sorrows keep perpetual strife;
But if I must a toil-worn pilgrim be,
O, Savior! give me tears--_then rest with thee_!
For if life’s path were only strew’d with flowers,
I should forget my own immortal powers,
And stoop to gather roses all my way,
And lose in trifling pleasures life’s short day.
The thorns that pierce my weary wand’ring feet,
But spur me onward to thy blissful seat,
And bring me sooner to my blood-bought home,
Where tearful ones must surely joy to come.
The bitter cup mix’d by my Father’s love,
A salutary medicine _must_ prove;
Not nectar nor ambrosia has so sweet
An after taste, the longing soul to greet.
And, holy Father! I will ne’er refuse
To drink the portion thou for me shalt choose;
Whate’er betides, thy blessed will be done,
And thou shalt judge for me, Almighty One!
Trials are mercy’s faithful harbingers;
Each stroke from God’s own hand a token bears;
O, let me heed the kind paternal blow,
Afflicted heart! _thy Father_ lays thee low.
There is a rock, raised high above the storms
Which lash life’s ocean; not the thousand forms
Or horrid shapes of woe can e’er ascend,
Where Jesus lives his fav’rites to defend.
Low at its base the raging billows dash,
And clouds grow dark, and angry lightning flash,
But firm the rock of ages ever stands,
Securely planted by almighty hands;
No gath’ring clouds can shade its precincts fair,
For everlasting sunshine settles there.
O, Sun of Righteousness! do thou impart
To the deep secret places of my heart,
Pure living rays, and bright effulgent beams,
To shed their light on life’s fast flowing streams.
My aspirations are to thee, bright Heaven!
Nor can I, will I from these flights be driven;
Fain would my wounded spirit soar away,
And lose all darkness in celestial day!
NEW YORK, _August 13, 1840_.
NEW HAVEN.
O, thou beautiful New Haven!
Do I greet thee once again?
Scenes upon my heart engraven,
I review with pleasing pain;
Sweet are mem’ry’s scenes at last,
Though I feel that they are past.
Yet--though gone, I will enjoy them,
Why should they be dead to me?
Why should not my heart employ them,
Savior! to attract to thee?
Those who shared my earthly pleasures,
Thou hast made my heavenly treasures.
Sweet New Haven! well known places,
Carpeted with brightest green,
Call back dear familiar faces,
Part of every mem’ried scene;
_Could_ I breathe thy classic air,
And my loved ones not be there?
Every murmur of the fountain,
Hidden ’neath the clustering shade;
Every rock and every mountain,
Every cool and verdant glade
Has its music--tuneful numbers,
Often heard in midnight slumbers.
There are green immortal bowers,
Where my dearest ones have gone!
Trees of life--unfading flowers,
Cooling shade, and verdant lawn.
Living fountains murmur there,
Flowing free, and sparkling clear.
Yes--thy beauties shall remind me
Of my peaceful home on high,
Nor to earth shall mem’ry bind me,
While I see with tearful eye
These loved scenes of dear New Haven,
Deeply on my heart engraven.
AUGUST 16, 1840.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE SAVIOR AND THE MOURNER.
MOURNER.
O, man of sorrows! who art thou,
With sadness painted on thy brow?
Why is thy lovely visage marr’d,
And why thy glorious forehead scarr’d?
SAVIOR.
O, Zion’s daughter! I am He
Who dwelt with God eternally;
But pity brought me here to die;
You see me wounded--this is why.
MOURNER.
Dear dying Savior! can it be,
That thou wert bruised for guilty me?
Art thou acquainted with my grief,
And canst thou give me sweet relief?
SAVIOR.
Afflicted one! I pierc’d thy heart;
From my own quiver sped the dart
Which brought thee, weeping, back to me;
The wounded to the Healer flee!
MOURNER.
O, kind Reprover! may I dare
To tell thee every anxious fear?
Then, Savior! hear my mournful cry,
I fear that _all_ I love may die.
SAVIOR.
Unkind! ungrateful! where am I?
Can God, thy Savior, ever die?
Though friend and lover leave thee, yet
I still am near, dost thou forget?
MOURNER.
Now woe is me--I hang my head,
And sad repenting tears I shed;
Dear Savior! canst thou me forgive,
And bid my sorrowing spirit live?
SAVIOR.
O, stricken mourner! cease thy fear,
More tender than a mother’s care
Are all my watchings over thee;
Then, lone one! softly walk with me.
SEPTEMBER 6, 1840.
CHASTENING, A PROOF OF LOVE.
“But thou hast been weary of me, O, Israel!”
I was weary of the Savior,
Turn’d my heart to other love;
Deeply griev’d at my behavior,
Soon he call’d me from above;
Drew me gently,
Bound me with the cords of love.
This delightful bondage breaking,
Soon my footsteps roam’d away;
He, in grief at my forsaking,
Follow’d me the livelong day;
Woo’d me sweetly,
Words of love I heard him say.
In his garden I was sleeping,
There he came to seek for me;
On his head night-dews were weeping,
Yet he called me tenderly,
“My beloved!
Come, my fair one! come to me!”
Yet I left this heavenly Lover,
Though his lips like lilies were;
Once again became a rover,
Turned away from one so fair;
Still he follow’d--
Watch’d me with untiring care.
Last of all he sent in sorrow,
Call’d my idols all away;
For the sake of bright to-morrow,
Darken’d all my joys to-day;
And he whisper’d,
“Come, my fair one! come away!
“I’m in all thy griefs a sharer,
Thy afflictions all are mine;
’Tis, my love! to draw thee nearer
To my heart, I’m breaking thine;
I have won thee,
Won thy heart by love divine!
“’Tis in mercy I have pain’d thee,
Wand’rer in a desert wild;
Now I know that I have gain’d thee,
O, my love! my undefiled!”
Thus he soothed me,
With his accents sweet and mild.
Now I follow where he leads me,
I am his, and he is mine;
With the richest love he feeds me,
While upon him I recline;
Gazing upward,
On his eyes I fasten mine!
FEBRUARY 2, 1840.
“TO DIE IS GAIN.”
Draw nigh, thou long expected hour!
O, come, and make me free!
My God! I would not always thus
A fetter’d pris’ner be!
My spirit longs to soar away,
But, ah! this mighty chain
From which I struggle to escape,
Binds me to earth again.
Time after time thy sov’reign power
Has some strong link removed,
And I have nearer seem’d to Heaven,
And more my Savior loved.
But still in weakness fetter’d thus,
How can I rise to thee?
Draw nigh, thou long expected hour,
And set the pris’ner free!
JUNE 6, 1840.
ON A FLOWER,
Plucked from the grave of Mrs. C---- B----, the wife of Lieut.
B----, and daughter of Col. V----, who died at Fort Towson, Ark.
Ter.
I saw a beauteous little flower,
Which grew upon a grave,
’Twas pluck’d from its own proud stem, which long’d
Its darling flower to save.
And a tiny bud was borne away
With the lovely parent flower;
But a careful hand that loved them well,
Has kept them till this hour.
The plant which lost them hung its head,
And droop’d for many a day;
But the gentle breeze and the beaming sun
Prevented its decay.
It would have died had not the friend
Who gave those beauteous flowers,
Water’d it oft with refreshing dew,
And gentle summer showers.
O, why didst thou droop and hang thy head,
Bereaved and desolate one?
Is not thy flower far more prized
Than when it was thine own?
When on thy stem it gaily grew,
It was admired and loved;
But many a rude and chilling blast
The trembling flow’ret moved.
Now it is kept with tender care,
And many a friendly eye
Has gazed at the beautiful sever’d branch,
With a tear of sympathy
For _thee_--bereav’d and drooping plant,
The tears were shed _for thee_!
They _would_ not weep for thy lovely flower,
In such kind custody.