Early Writing in Canada
14th Dec 2014Posted in: Early Writing in Canada 0
Miscellaneous Poems

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Lydia Ann Appleton


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Many volumes of Poetry, written by authors whose talents are the honor and ornament of their country, are already before the public. With such productions, however, though this little volume cannot compete, being the production of early years, the Authoress hopes the friends of Canada generally, but especially the daughters of Canada, will receive them favourably.

These Poems have been subjected to the examination of several persons of respectability and education, on whose judgement reliance is place, and whose favourable opinion has led to their publication.

Several of these pieces being addressed to persons who may see them in print, it is hoped they will consider them (as they really are) tokens of esteem still entertained for them. Being of a moral and religious character, it is the earnest wish of the Authoress that they may both profit and please.

Confidently expecting, at least a share of kind consideration, this little volume is placed before the public. Whitchurch, May 1850. [unnumbered page]


In the humble expectation that even in the absence of any claim to high talents or great genius, this youthful effort will prove interesting and instructive; and hoping that the time may not be very far distant, when Canada shall be distinguished by the elevated genius, the high literary attainments, the pure morality and the sound religious principles both of her Sons and Daughters:―this little Work is respectfully dedicated by

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Ask of me, and I will give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession. ―Psalm ii, verse 8.
In this day shall the righteous flourish, and abundance of peace as long as the moon endureth; he shall have dominion from sea to sea; and from the rivers unto the ends of the earth. ―Psalm lxxii, verse 8.
And they shall teach no more every man his neighbor, and every man his brother, saying, know the Lord; for they shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them. ―Jeremiah xxxi, verse 34.
For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea. ―Habbak. ii, verse 14.
And I saw another angel fly in the midst of Heaven, having the everlasting Gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue and people. ―Rev. xiv, verse 6.

ETERNAL Being! fountain of all good,
At whose command creation’s fabric stood
In the first beauty of created light,
An emblem of thy goodness, wisdom, might:
O! let me praise thee tho’ in humble strain,
And own my labors for my Saviour’s name:
Thou know’st it is thy glory that I view,
Oh! keep me close to truth and nature too.
Save me from trusting, save in God alone,
Who bought my ransom with his dying groan; [unnumbered page]
To whom alone is praise, and honor due,
For thou alone art holy, just and true.
O! let me praise thee, let thy glory be
Declar’d to earth, tho’ even Lord by me.
Tho’ oft thy children have proclaim’d thy name
And shown thy glory in far nobler strain:
Yet still how lovely, excellent, the theme
To praise the God in goodness, power, supreme.
From the first man that drew on earth his breath
To the last creature that must yield to death―
And more than this, will be of truth, the Head,
When all creation is to ruin sped;
When on the clouds thou com’st the just to claim,
Bear from corruption to adore thy name―
To cast before the throne each starry crown,
To string their harps and tell of Christ’s renown;
Of all his sufferings in this world of shame,
Of all the mercy the enshrines his name
Of all the devious paths he led them through
Until he brought them to the fountain true:
That gently show’d their eyes the blessed road,
Till by his pow’r they mounted up to God;
And the sweet anthem of the angel’s song
Shall fill the chorus of the grateful throng;
Of all they mercy none on earth can tell,
It is more boundless than the ocean’s swell―
Eternity can only suit the theme,
Eternity will be renew the stream
Of mercy through eternal ages shed
On all the Saviour’s ransom’d children’s head.
Yet I would praise thee for the high command
Entrusted to thy faithful angel’s hand― [page 6]
The Gospel’s truth, to all the world unfold,
That heathen nations may with joy behold
Upon their hills the messengers of peace,
With power from heaven, bidding error cease:
Holding a dying Saviour to their view,
Mighty to save, and to his promise true;
And willing all the ills of life to bear,
That they with Jesus may his kingdom share;
And bring his blood-bought purchase to the home
Prepar’d for them in realms to us unknown.
Yet thou hast told us in thy word of light
That they are pure and free from sin and night:
That no corrupted thing can enter in,
Or touch the shores of the eternal King.
Then, holy, holy, are the seats of day
Where Jesu’s presence doth for ever stay;
His presence makes the glory of the free,
Where Jesus smiles, there every cloud must flee;
And angels of his presence love to tell,
As they in rapture his high praises swell;
When souls that now bow to an idol’s sway
Shall see by faith the kindlings of thy day;
Shall learn to kneel before thy holy shrine,
And worship thee and let thee make them thine;
Then they will praise thee for the high command
And their heart’s off’ring in thy view shall stand
Besprinkled with the blood for sin that flow’d
Through it acceptable to thee, O God!
Nought is acceptable in thy pure eyes,
If offer’d not through Jesu’s sacrifice;
Him sacrific’d thy word unfolds to view;
Himself thy word, how beautifully true. [page 7]
Admid’st the radiant bands that throng thy throne,
Could’st thou have chosen a more faithful one?
For lo! the ready angel willing flies
At thy command to earth’s remotest isles.
O’er ocean’s depths, with fearless wings he speed
To India’s lands, where many an off’ring bleed
Upon the Altar, which they call their God’s,
And die in triumph for their idol lords.
Where Gages rolls his living stream along,
Behold! assembled there a mighty throng―
The sick, the lame, the blind, the halt, are there
To touch that flood, and of its blessings share;
They fondly think that in that sacred wave
Abides the pow’r to purify and save;
And with that hope in all its maniac light
They plunge into a dark and mysterious night.
But that delusion see thy Gospel chase,
True glory showing to the fallen race;
Captive to sin and mis’ry’s bitter thrall,
But strong art thou to bear above them all;
And see the Christian Hindoo bow at thine,
Where once he worshipp’d at the idol’s shrine;
That idol-god no longer is his part,
Thy brighter image stamping on his heart;
Still brighter shining till the Gospel’s ray,
His ransom’d nature mantles in its way.
How glorious that nature when the stain
Of guilt and shame, yields to the Saviour’s reign;
When holy purity awakes the blind,
And dwells once more in man’s immortal mind.
Immortal mind! can make the thought define?
Unfold the essence of the soul divine? [page 8]
With mind can he disclose what is the mind?
That restless source of thought for nobler aims design’d
Than those that wrap so many deathless souls
Within their glittering, false destructive folds?
But wherefore man? whose mind was made to soar
When death has freed, to heaven’s celestial door;
With next to angel powers endu’d, to trace
The wonders of Almighty truth and grace:
With revelation’s light divinely pure,
To lead him to the fount of bliss secure;
And as God’s glory bursts upon his view
To pour that strain to him forever new;
And bring all glory to the spotless name,
The Lamb of God from earth’s foundation slain―
Still sink debas’d; and make the creature God
Instead of Him, who only should be Lord
And spring, of ev’ry word and deed and thought,
Each deep affection to God’s altar brought
To be refin’d by faith’s deep searching fire
That purifies the soul and bids it dross expire.
Go search the sacred page of truth divine,
’Tis written there, unchang’d, untouch’d by time;
Tho’ wreck’d by rushing years, the works of man,
And turn’d to foolishness his brightest plan.
Our parents’ fall, the ruin of their race,
By disobedience lost their Maker’s face;
The darken’d heart, the sin beclouded mind,
The cause of shame and mis’ry to mankind.
As is the fountain so the stream will flow,
’Tis strongly prov’d by human crime and woe.
In vain has reason with unaided light. [page 9]
Oft strove to set her votaries right.
The erring judgement still would lead astray,
‘Tis God alone makes clear the rightful way:
In that bright pathway have the prophets trod,
And all the holy ones who liv’d to God
Have gain’d a true, and justly great renown,
And through the fiery trail won the crown.
Yet noble Socrates, by reason’s might
In him, almost illumed by heaven’s pure light,
Has shown the spirit that the Saviour taught―
Submission, goodness, purity of thought:
Not on himself for happiness he stay’d,
Tho’ bound in error was the plan he laid
To free the soul from error and from crime―
Oh great Immanuel! be the glory thine
That thou demandest not what is unknown,
Through what thou givest is thy justice shewn.
And many an heathen at that trumpet’s sound
Will rise to thee, nor fear the ruin round;
Join with thy host to sound thy mercy free,
And shout in triumph, it was shewn to me.
How dark the cloud of sin that veils mankind!
How poor proud man, how deaf and dumb and blind,
To rush like maniacs on the rocks of sin,
To check the monitor that warns within!
To slight the truths, God’s changeless words declare
And all the wrath of slighted mercy dare
For threescore years; in phantoms seek for joy,
And grasp each bubble as it glitters by;
And heave the sigh of deep, yet vain regret,
As disappointment in life’s path is met;
And yield at last, to death’s unyielding grasp, [page 10]
With not one treasure left of all the past;
Then view their glitt’ring crown neglected, lost,
Whilst on the waves of endless anguish toss’d;
Yet that high power that could protect from all,
They fly; and triumph in their nature’s thrall.
Oh great Omnipotence! Jehovah, God!
Whate’er thy name, be thou our only Lord;
O’er ev’ry passion of our soul preside,
And in thy temple Lord, wilt thou abide;
And stamp the brightness of thine image there,
And love’s perfection, bid thy children bear;
Thy gift of faith save from the rocky coast;
And Jesus crucified be all our boast.
O! who can know thy mercy’s mighty strength,
Whilst bound to earth; or sin’s dread fearful length;
Its blackness, windings, that thy truth abhorr’d,
That only blood divine could melt the rod
Of strictest justice, raise above our head,
Beneath whose stroke the strongest shrink and dread.
O mercy! wonderful, mysterious, deep,
Our God drink agony! our Maker weep!
He sought the cross, he bow’d his head, he died,
He bled, he groan’d, our sea of guilt to hide;
He burst the grave―he rose death’s conquering Lord―
And captive led captivity to God;
At God’s command behold the spirit comes
To guide his chosen, faithful, tempted ones;
Whilst he in heaven prepares a place of light,
And crowns of glory, glitt’ring pure and bright;
With joys immortal, joys untold, unknown, [page 11]
By Jesus purchas’d to adorn his own.
And as each conq’ring warrior quits the field,
And throws aside his helmet and his shield;
Firm to his word of holy, changeless truth.
He bears his foll’wers to immortal youth.
The glitt’ring crown upon each head is plac’d
And on each brow the perfect image trac’d,
Of God-like pow’rs, once ruin’d by the fall,
Through Christ restor’d―then his the glory all.
Mercy mysterious! that the hosts of light
Who stand the foremost in perfection’s height;
In mystery vers’d, and heaven’s majestic lore―
With awe-struck wonder view its ocean o’er;
Or with new strength immortal, from the throne
Th’ unfathom’d theme in burning praises own.
But if this mercy cannot fathom’d be,
Where? where will end fair mercy’s boundless sea?
What new displays shall meet the ravish’d sight
Of Cherub, Seraph, Angel, saint of light!
What songs of rapture yet unpour’d shall roll!
What heights and depths! and never reach’d the goal.
Man cannot reach nor even angel-sense
Can grasp, or comprehend Omnipotence.
Tho’ high the pow’rs of heaven in knowledge rise,
God rises higher, is still greater wise.
All other wisdom held in wisdom’s hand,
All other power beneath God’s high command,
And all true glory only bid to burn
By him who all Eternity doth turn. [page 12]


IN power supreme, God weighs the works of man;
The noblest perish at his high command
When sin, and guilt, have risen to their height,
Un-own’d his power, un-owned his awful right
Of glory, nations owe to him whose reign
Protects the grandeur of their wide domain.
The nations sank that sought in blood for fame,
With clouds of infamy around their name;
The noblest once, and once the mightiest ceas’d.
When honor fail’d and infamy increas’d;
When luxury unstrung the high ton’d mind
That Liberty and Virtue once enshrin’d.
Earth trembled when the awful mandate came
To purge her guilt and wash away her stain;
The heavens were open’d and the deeps were heav’d
Then the first proud man in wild despair believ’d
That God spoke truth: tho’ unbeliev’d and scorn’d,
And scorn’d the man, by whom his mercy warn’d.
The power of man, the glory and the pride,
What were they then enlisted on his side?
Could arms of brass the tempests force engage?
Could music then Jehovah’s wrath assuage?
Could shrieks of fear, and heaven directed eyes
Avert the moment of the sacrifice?
Ah no! the haughty and the trembling sleep
Beneath the surges of the mighty deep.
Cities and forests crush’d amid the strife,
Beast, bird, and man, gasp’d, agoniz’d for life.
But vain the struggle when God’s thunder spoke,
And on man’s head Jehovah’s vengeance broke; [page 13]
When the loud thunder’s peal more deeply peal’d!
When the wild waste the lightning’s light reveal’d!
When the dark wave the mountain’s side assail’d!
When the white foam above its heights prevail’d!
The righteous then alone escap’d the wave,
Sav’d by the arm Omnipotent to save:
When deeps assembled sought the deeps again,
Destroying waters hurried from the plain;
The radiant bow the arch of heaven adorn’d,
On the blue vault in blending colors form’d;
Drawn in the cloud, a token rais’d on high,
That floods should never more the earth destroy.
Evening beheld it on the eastern day,
And morning hail’d it on the western spray;
Above the torrent was its glory cast,
Truth’s lovely emblem, as it smil’d and past:
And still it smiles when darkly on the sky,
The clouds of evening and of morn sweep by;
Still o’er the torrent’s troubled foaming stream
The bow of peace in beauty forms serene:
They tell the soul of everlasting love, 
The dark wild wave and cov’nant bow above.
How chang’d the earth from its primeval state!
Yet still how lovely, good, and fair and great
The gentle breathing of the Zephyr’s song!
The wintry tempest as it speeds along!
The tow’ring mountain and the desert plains;
Where the fierce Siroc blast unconquer’d reigns!
The mighty torrent rushing to the main!
The rolling river sweeping through the plain!
The far-off realms where winter holds his throne!
The gem-like islands of the burning zone! [page 14]
The vast unfathom’d fountains of the deep
Where the once wearied, long-lost sailors sleep!
That hide the treasures of the rich and proud
And heedless; wind them in one common shroud!
The stately forests of unnumber’d years
That in the grandeur of its prime appears!
The lowly flowrets, shrinking from the sight,
Bright in the beauty of their gentle light,
That tell the soul if it would learn of flowers
The changeless fleetness of life’s passing hours;
Give the first impress of mysterious thought
So peaceful, sweet; yet once unknown, unsought;
Bidding the soul its richest treasures find
In the rich banquet of a spotless mind:
Low, deep, they teach that virtue’s noblest grace
Dwells where Immanuel only sees its trace.
All great, or fair, yet death is mark’d on all,
Man’s daring crimes have doom’d them all to fall.
They perish, yet their blended voice will say
God’s works are perfect even in decay.
And high o’er all his providence extends,
And perfect till his law in justice ends―
Till finish’d the redemption he ordain’d,
When Eden’s beauty by sin was stain’d:
Our parents driven from their native spot
In pain to toil, their hard yet well-earn’d lot;
No longer trusted in the sacred bowers
Where pass’d their being’s new created hours;
When innocence was their’s and holy joy,
And hope’s fair dreams, that knew not of alloy.
Shall not the Gospel’s tree of freedom stand
Until its fragrance spreads through every land―[page 15]
Until the olive boughs of peace shall wave
In holy beauty o’er the truly brave?
If Satan’s kingdom over all had sway,
Save the blest few who chose Immanuel’s way,―
Shall not Jehovah’s kingdom spread afar
Till kings and nations bow to Bethlehem’s star?
Till one high theme the ransom’d world shall fill,
And through the darkness of her nature thrill,
CREATOR and REDEEMER of mankind,
The noblest theme for an immortal mind.
It shall be done: the fervent thought that burns,
The prayer of faith that for salvation yearns;
The Seraph love that smiles at pain and loss,
The Cherub knowledge that surrounds the cross,
The faith and hope that claim a nobler aim
Than that which circles Alexander’s name,―
Proclaim Immanuel’s kingdom yet shall be
From shore to shore, from sea to utmost sea.
How strange! of time the change, that from the clime
Once wrapt in darkest ignorance of time,
The Gospel heralds, rais’d to bless mankind,
Of diff’rent manners, but the same in mind
As those who first the flood of error stemm’d,
Whose holy zeal but with their lives could end―
Bear back the tidings whence it first arose
And dauntless bid the Mosque of Omar close;
And make the beast to tremble on his throne
And feel God’s mandate tho’ he will not own.
Ye Christian lands who claim to worship heaven
With all the power by earnest genius given,
With all the gather’d energy of years
Roll back the torrent of a Saviour’s tears: [page 16]
Till Greece, and Rome, and Spain, and Canann, be
From ignorance, delusion, terror, free.
A glorious privilege have those who stand
Commission’d, charter’d, by divine command,
To bear the tidings o’er Pacific’s flood,
Where garden islands wait the law of God:
And pour the balm, the wounds of death to heal
With life’s last fleeting breath their labors seal.
A glorious bed was that where William bled,
Tho’ stain’d Err’manga, with the blood it shed;
What, tho’ for love he oft met hatred, strife,
His holy zeal but ended with his life:
In his lov’d Master’s cause was life laid down,
And gems from southern seas adorn his crown.
The Gospel’s feast spread on Columbia’s plains,
And on her hills where wildest grandeur reigns
Bid all her sons, whatever clime they roam,
Till all her forest children find their home―
Still spread the feast that gathers home to God
All nations, kindreds, tongues, to own him Lord:
This simple truth that lifts the soul to heaven,
To ev’ry deathless soul with speed be given.
’Tis not by pardon, that man’s hand bestows,
’Tis not by all our share of tears, and woes;
’Tis not by deed, of earthly glorious fame,
’Tis not by penance, we the crown can claim
’Tis not by learning’s deeply-gather’d store,
But faith in Jesus takes us safely o’er. [page 17]


1. Pleasing associations of childhood.
2. The passing moments leaving no vestige of the Past, but memory.
3. The lesson to be learned from this.
4. The importance of parental influence―instance of it.
5. The responsibility of good examples harmonizing with our words.
7. Reflections on past time, and a remedy prescribed for our fears and anxieties.

 CHILDHOOD, how deeply doth its mem’ry twine
Around each heart, each bosom its shrine!
The scenes of other years may pass forgot,
But Childhood’s mem’ry never will depart―
Tho’ peace and happiness attend on life,
Tho’ worn the heart with anguish, care and strife;
And even he, whose childhood knew most tears,
Can claim some bright spot on its troubled years,
On which awaken’d memory loves to dwell,
As mix’d emotions, painful, pleasing, swell.
A child-like nature can be free and gay,
Each is a comrade, if he will but play
And tell no tales, and join each sport with glee,
From pride’s distinctions then the heart is free.
The tiny boat in little eyes so brave,
The joyful shout as it o’ertopp’d the wave―
The kite erected on the air to float,
All mark its progress, every wav’ring note; [page 18]
A cry of triumph as it sweeps along,
Steady, and sure, bursts from the eager throng;
But, if too soon, it sinks upon the ground,
Keen disappointment fills each bosom round.
All share a comrade’s woe; around him see
The little flock, with childish sympathy:
And pure and artless is the falling tear,
No affection―childhood is sincere.
Or, if within some lone sequester’d spot,
Kind Providence has plac’d thy early lot;
How oft will memory recal the scene,
Where thou hast with thy brothers, sisters, been.
The gather’d flowers, beneath the forest shade,
The shading tree, where thou has with them play’d:
And the grave visit to a sister’s home,
Whilst telling all the while that thou would’st come;
The resolution made to talk no more
Until thou stood’st within thy neighbour’s door;
But soon forgot the long, long way between,
Thy flow’rets praising and thy branches green.
And even yet dost thou not think with pain
Upon some bird by cruel owlet slain,
Some wildling that thy grandshire found and gave,
And did’st thou not its pretty feathers save:
And e’en forgive it though it wish’d to stray,
And from thy care would rather be away;
Thy little brother wept to see it fly,
And much thou fear’d it in the snow would die;
And when regain’d, the pretty restless thing
How closely guarded was its silken wing.
A dog was thine, that shar’d each youthful glee, [page 19]
One in thy sport, and who so gay as he?
For o’er the field he’d court thy nimble feet,
Fast thou didst run, but faster his retreat.
A fawn was thine, bright spotted, and so tame,
How much thy care to give a favorite name;
How quickly did it know thy fost’ring hand,
And how confiding by thee it would stand,
And rove with thee, and crop the flow’rets gay;
Forget its liberty and forest play.
E’er yet its spotted coat grew brown, it died;
Didst thou not mourn it, as thou stood’st beside?
And buried it, that none its limbs might tear:
Thy fav’rite torn! the thought thou couldst not bear.
The scene is chang’d, a few more years have pass’d―
Regain’d again thy childhood home at last;
Thy youngest brother bids thee welcome home,
O’er hill and dale, he urges thee to roam;
The wood is fell’d, once with wild flow’rets strown;
Points to the scenes of well remembered play,
And with him, ev’ry where would have thee stray.
Tho’ few the years since last with garlands dress’d,
Yet changeless is the change within thy breast;
Thou canst no more in nature’s flowers array,
Tho’ ‘midst her brightest wildlings bid to stray.
This truth made clear implant it in thy heart,
The scenes of childhood shortly must depart.
One Childhood only given is to man,
A mem’ry ling’ring through the longest span;
And but in mem’ry: soon will claim the worm
Yon aged vet’ran, tott’ring o’er the tomb;
Gone is his childhood, pass’d his days of youth, [page 20]
Wither’d his prime―start thou not from the truth!
He soon must sleep beneath his native clay,
The speedy hours, for him will not delay;
They bear him to the grave, they bear thee too,
Thy years like his, must perish from thy view.
E’er ‘tis too late, then make this lesson thine,
To catch each moment of thy fleeting time;
And rise in virtue with thy growing years,
Thy glorious privilege, a balm for tears;
That on thy early years may lie no stain,
In after years to wring thy heart with pain.
No friend, by word or guilty deed of thine
Encourag’d, harden’d in his nature’s crime.
Tho’ thou’ repentest, thou canst not erase
Again the principles thou help’st to trace.
When Newton,* wearied out by sin and crime,
Turn’d to the Lord, that God may be thine―
He met with one, whom once in sin he knew,
Unnumber’d yet with, Christ’s selected few,
Much did he strive the principle to change
He help’d to trace: he pray’d and strove in vain.
A mother’s influence, to form the mind,
Reigns deep and lasting throughout all mankind.
The Spartan grew in courage at her word,
Life yielded to the glory of the sword;
For his lov’d country bade to fight and die,
Return no more, except with victory’s cry.
A mother’s influence, first taught Alfred’s heart,
To choose fair virtue for his better part:
With no ambition, but his country’s good,
Her brightest ornament and guard he stood.

*Rev. John Newton. [page 21]

Columbia’s mothers―self-denying band, 
Stood firm supporters of their native land; 
The son went forth to battle, proudly strong, 
Join’d with delight, fair freedom’s mighty throng; 
His mother’s hand had arm’d him for the fight, 
Her word made Liberty appear more bright; 
To gain that gem his ev’ry nerve was rous’d, 
And ev’ry passion to the deep one bow’d 
Of Liberty, implanted in his heart, 
And cherish’d there, with all a mother’s art. 
Paul’s fav’rite grew beneath a mother’s eye, 
To grace the Gospel, and attain the sky. 
A pious mother’s prayers are heard on high, 
And register’d above her ev’ry sigh; 
Her voice remember’d’midst the scenes of sin, 
Has waken’d oft the monitor within. 
God through her word has bid the light arise, 
That arms the soul to struggle for the skies; 
The Bible too her last, her best bequest, 
Has led at last the wanderer to rest. 
That Book neglected long, then higher prized, 
Than all the treasures of the earth beside. 
A pious parent’s toils God smiles to see, 
And blesses―blesses through Eternity. 
Perhaps had Byron known a mother’s care, 
Who early taught his lips the holy prayer― 
How bright his daring genius might have shone, 
Fresh laurels gathering the farther known: 
Had holiness adorn’d his glowing page, 
New stars had grac’d it throughout ev’ry age. 
Though many faults are thrown ‘round Byron’s name, 
Yet Greece, thy gratitude that name must claim; [page 22]
And when thy heroes claim thy notes of fire, 
Sound Byron’s praise, upon thy noblest Lyre. 
Man longs for fame, but softer would be sleep, 
Unknown, forgotten, in the mighty deep 
Of dark oblivion’s stream, than leave a name, 
That tho’ it glitters on the field of fame, 
Yet leaves no influence to raise the soul, 
And point it upwards to its native goal. 
Cowper was gifted, and his themes were wise, 
“The son of parents pass’d into the skies.” 
Did he disgrace them in his long career? 
Or, have his pages ever caused a tear? 
If they have rais’d one, it was feeling’s gem 
More dear to Heaven, than brightest diadem; 
From virtue’s path he never leads astray, 
But points the glory of her heavenly way. 
How plain at first must be instruction kind, 
To plant the principle that forms the mind; 
The first instructions sink into the breast, 
More deeply buried there than all the rest. 
The principle well rooted, that our days 
Were never given for wild folly’s maze; 
But that the total of our being’s aim, 
To glorify the Father through the Son― 
Rise to that happiness, man longs to know, 
Yet seeks in fountains whence it cannot flow― 
Will never change; too fix’d, too deep, to move, 
Though Atheists laugh―and Infidels reprove. 
‘Tis true the lips may learn to smile at sin, 
But outrag’d conscience still will cry within; 
The anxious sigh will wring the tortur’d heart, 
O’er scenes of peace departed, not forgot. [page 23]
It is the parent’s charge to form the mind, 
To all that’s gentle, virtuous and kind; 
Teach under God the war with sin to wage, 
And raise more Wesley’s for the future age. 
How beautiful in childhood is the deed 
Of kindness done, tho’ but a bird should need, 
When winter puts his cold bright mantle on, 
A crumb, or shelter from the bursting storm; 
Unto the child who early learn’d to spare 
The wild bird’s nest, and not the plunder share, 
Tho’ others dar’d to take the sacred prize, 
How dark the deed! how odious in his eyes! 
Fearless he points, the trembling parent nigh 
And boldly warns that Jesus hears their cry. 
Yet still more lovely in the infant mind, 
The fervent wish to be both good and kind; 
The simple prayers from infant lips that rise, 
That God so great, so holy, good, and wise, 
Would please to send the Gospel’s tidings far, 
That all the world might know the Saviour’s star; 
And weep, and pity, when the wretched sigh, 
And strive, and long to soothe their misery. 
More might be Howard’s, if they would but strive, 
In all the works of holiness to rise: 
‘Tis deeds of kindness that enlarge the soul, 
Until its love extends from pole to pole, 
When childhood’s ignorance hath passed away, 
And growing reason ushers in her day: 
‘Tis then our influence begins to spread, 
Nor ceases till we rest among the dead. 
Does it rest then? if we on earth could see 
Its lasting weight throughout Eternity― [page 24]
Would not the deepness of our trust of time, 
Rouse ev’ry soul to bow at Jesu’s shrine; 
Yet, ‘tis as real, as if our deeds should rise 
Wish all their influence before our eyes: 
And known this truth, is it not time to spread 
The truth to others, who, to truth are dead? 
And in the image of our risen Lord, 
Firmly decided in the cause of God― 
Unmov’d through life, perform our rightful part 
To spread the Gospel’s truth to ev’ry heart. 
God gives us life, that we may gain his rest, 
He lengthens it that other may be blest; 
He spares the aged, whilst the young decline, 
As pious Newell did in life’s best prime; 
But done her task, she shunn’d no toil for him 
The conqueror of death, and hell and sin; 
Triumphant victor o’er the conquer’d grave, 
She glorified her Saviour’s power to save. 
‘Tis fearless courage in the cause of truth, 
With meekness join’d the ornament of youth; 
‘Tis faith, love, meekness, that no foe can quell 
If life be God’s, then life or death is well. 
Childhood departs, and youth is quickly gone, 
Moment by moment months and years roll on; 
Yet death is swifter than the course of time, 
Age follows youth yet may be never thine. 
Hast thou not seen the young and fair decay, 
Tho’ beautiful, forbid on earth to stay? 
The dearest cherish’d, tempt the darts of death, 
Yet, tends he watchful over ev’ry breath; 
If such the case, and death must be our doom; 
And all alike are destin’d to the tomb; [page 25]
Is it not time to rise and work to-day, 
And rise triumphant o’er life’s rugged way? 
Cast in our mite to call the wanderers home, 
Who far astray, yet blinded farther roam? 
Display the light and from despair and shame 
Bring back the drunkard to his rightful name? 
If man would mark them, countless are the ways 
On him bestow’d to spread Immanuel’s praise. 
But oft the tongue alone performs the deed 
And words the only balm for hearts that bleed. 
Will words alone the test of justice stand? 
Will they fulfil the Gospel’s high command? 
No: let thy thoughts be pure, thy actions right, 
With these essentials let thy words unite 
In holy harmony, by faith upheld, 
Till all thy foes by conq’ring grace are quell’d; 
Till all the Saviour’s beauty is thine own, 
His robe of righteousness around thee thrown: 
His perfect image stamp’d upon thy heart, 
His will; thy glory, his command thy part. 
Roll back thy mem’ry o’er thy early years, 
And scan its joys, its anguish and its tears; 
Doth not the heart its weight of sorrow know? 
O! none but God can measure human woe; 
How oft doth mis’ry shrink from ev’ry eye, 
Nor tell its presence even by a sigh; 
Whilst on the youthful heart is anguish thrown, 
And hope’s fair visions seem for ever flown; 
And then again the light of hope appears, 
And mem’ry scarcely keeps the transient tears; 
When once again the rays of pleasure beam, 
And all before looks tranquil and serene, [page 26]
Thy hope again will disappointment sweep
Away, and thou again art left to weep. 
Thus on from youth to prime and hoary age, 
“One by one our glorious visions fade.” 
Tho’ often crush’d, yet, if with vict’ry crown’d 
Thy hopes at last and thou by fame renown’d 
For wealth, and happiness, and worldly ease. 
And thou hast all that can thy fancy please. 
Have all thy pleasures been without alloy? 
Or is thy pathway ever crown’d with joy? 
No, is the answer, and must ever be, 
For thou hast griefs known but to God and thee. 
How is it that the aged with regret 
Look back to youth, and all its griefs forget? 
Whilst all its joys felt transient then and void, 
Are treasur’d up as pure and unalloy’d. 
How happy they, who have in early youth, 
Left the world’s shrine, and own’d the shrine of truth! 
Who humbly thankful for all heaven bestows,
When o’er their head appears the cloud of woes― 
Can look beyond, to where he reigns supreme, 
Who tasted once of misery’s deepest stream; 
And feel their refuge strong, their Saviour nigh, 
To bless each tear, and consecrate each sigh.
Go seek for holiness; if that be thine, 
Then thou mayst smile at all the storms of time; 
For lo! a refuge is for thee prepar’d, 
By all the ransom’d of Immanuel shar’d; 
A shield to guard thee when the storm is nigh, 
And all thy refuge seems to be, to die; 
Yet even death is welcom’d by the good, [page 27] 
For on its threshold once Immanuel stood; 
Once from its arms, triumphant rose on high, 
To gild the Christian’s pathway to the sky 
With wisdom’s holy and unerring light, 
That still directs, till faith is lost in sight. 
Where persecution’s songs of triumph sound, 
To raise the martyr’s faith, that light is found, 
In glory bright’ning to each faithful soul, 
Whose last high words through countless years shall roll; 
Embalm’d and written on each faithful heart, 
In thrilling beauty never to depart. 
If o’er thy head temptation’s waves have broke, 
And disappointment scatter’d ev’ry hope; 
If grief, and wrong, have bow’d thy soul and tried, 
Still in the counsels of thy God confide; if sin hath wearied, in that fountain’s wave 
That can enrich, and purify, and save―
Haste thou to plunge, till all thy sins are lost, 
And thou no more by nature’s tempest lost. 
Sorrows upon the cup of life are strewn, 
Oft on our purest joys is darkness thrown; 
For all is transitory and untrue, 
Except that refuge for which all may sue, 
And all may gain, by faith’s celestial fire, 
Through it may all to holiest joys aspire; 
In honour rise to that celestial mind 
That Jesus wills to stamp upon makind! 
And raise them to that glorious estate, 
Where all may own as refuge, high and great, 
Man’s great Redeemer; and the sure reward, 
Of all who own him as their risen Lord. [page 28]

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