Poems (Denver)/The Burial in the Wilderness
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THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS.
Sadly they came, sadly as those who bore
The precious burden they had treasured long
In their heart's love, unto another home
Reluctantly!
Reluctant to yield up
Her, who had been to them a bud of hope,
Springing above the worn and barren soil
Of desolation—breathing life to those,
Who, with worn spirit and with stricken frame,
Had sought the desert to lie down and die.
The precious burden they had treasured long
In their heart's love, unto another home
Reluctantly!
Reluctant to yield up
Her, who had been to them a bud of hope,
Springing above the worn and barren soil
Of desolation—breathing life to those,
Who, with worn spirit and with stricken frame,
Had sought the desert to lie down and die.
A meek yet faithful sentinel she stood,
With those of sterner mould and stronger frame,
Upon the watch-tower—and her hope ne'er failed—
No fears, no terrors shook her soul, for she
Had asked with suppliant voice, and earnest heart,
For strength from heaven, and 'twas denied her not.
With those of sterner mould and stronger frame,
Upon the watch-tower—and her hope ne'er failed—
No fears, no terrors shook her soul, for she
Had asked with suppliant voice, and earnest heart,
For strength from heaven, and 'twas denied her not.
To those of fearful heart, she was afar,
The bearer of good tidings—and at home
A well of consolation, flowing up,
Holy, and pure, and calm, and full of life,
Even to the brim.—And every thirsty soul
That like the prostrate desert-flowers, lacked
Enduring vigor to resist the heat
And burden of the day, might come and ask,
And have—and still that stream of love would flow
Unceasingly, and never know decay.
The bearer of good tidings—and at home
A well of consolation, flowing up,
Holy, and pure, and calm, and full of life,
Even to the brim.—And every thirsty soul
That like the prostrate desert-flowers, lacked
Enduring vigor to resist the heat
And burden of the day, might come and ask,
And have—and still that stream of love would flow
Unceasingly, and never know decay.
And as a fountain lifteth up its voice
In the still midnight hour, she too would send
Her spirit's voice abroad o'er all the earth,
Borne on the wings of ever-watchful prayer,
Until it filled the mighty wilderness,
With the vast greatness of undying faith.
And reached even unto heaven.
What brought her there.
To that dark wilderness?—she on whose brow
The light of many a balmy eve had set
In far-off England;—she o'er whose young life,
And glorious beauty, and exalted mind,
Fond eyes had watched, and kindred bosoms beat
In exultation?
Lovely, in truth, she was,
And full of gentleness—whether beside
The sportive fountain, listening to its voice,
And sending back an echo with her own,
Or twining wild-flowers in her raven hair,
Found in her own green woodlands, for she loved
Those sweet and trusting children of the earth,
And oft would lay them on her heart and bind
Them round her temples—for they ever taught
A lesson to her beautiful and pure,
That when her bread was on the waters cast,
After full many a day it would return
To her again.
Or 'midst the lofty throng
Of England's noblest ones—'mongst whom she stood
An equal—listening to the fervid tone
Of high imagination; or the voice
Of matchless eloquence; or yielding praise,
Where praise was justly due, heedless of that
Bestowed upon herself; or bending o'er
The couch of stricken poverty and woe,
Breathing the heart's best comfort, sympathy,
She was the same, all gentleness and love,
AH patience and all sweetness.
Wherefore then,
From hearts that worshiped, and from throngs that bowed
Before her as she passed, and from the voice
Of many blessings showered upon her path,
Rich incense to her spirit—from the tears
Of kindred eyes, and from her father's halls,
Wandered she hither, fearless of the wide
And mighty ocean, of the empty soil,
The frowning wilderness, and midnight foe?
Why came she from all these, to find the grave
After whole years of pain and suffering,
Of toil and of privation, in the gloom
Of the dark wilderness, where never eye
Of kindred might weep o'er it—where no hand
Would plant the flowers she ever loved in life,
Above her grave?
Had England's wide-spread realm
No grave for her fair daughter? Had the white
And marble tombs that stood long centuries,
Near her ancestral halls, many and wide,
No space remaining for her father's child?
In the still midnight hour, she too would send
Her spirit's voice abroad o'er all the earth,
Borne on the wings of ever-watchful prayer,
Until it filled the mighty wilderness,
With the vast greatness of undying faith.
And reached even unto heaven.
What brought her there.
To that dark wilderness?—she on whose brow
The light of many a balmy eve had set
In far-off England;—she o'er whose young life,
And glorious beauty, and exalted mind,
Fond eyes had watched, and kindred bosoms beat
In exultation?
Lovely, in truth, she was,
And full of gentleness—whether beside
The sportive fountain, listening to its voice,
And sending back an echo with her own,
Or twining wild-flowers in her raven hair,
Found in her own green woodlands, for she loved
Those sweet and trusting children of the earth,
And oft would lay them on her heart and bind
Them round her temples—for they ever taught
A lesson to her beautiful and pure,
That when her bread was on the waters cast,
After full many a day it would return
To her again.
Or 'midst the lofty throng
Of England's noblest ones—'mongst whom she stood
An equal—listening to the fervid tone
Of high imagination; or the voice
Of matchless eloquence; or yielding praise,
Where praise was justly due, heedless of that
Bestowed upon herself; or bending o'er
The couch of stricken poverty and woe,
Breathing the heart's best comfort, sympathy,
She was the same, all gentleness and love,
AH patience and all sweetness.
Wherefore then,
From hearts that worshiped, and from throngs that bowed
Before her as she passed, and from the voice
Of many blessings showered upon her path,
Rich incense to her spirit—from the tears
Of kindred eyes, and from her father's halls,
Wandered she hither, fearless of the wide
And mighty ocean, of the empty soil,
The frowning wilderness, and midnight foe?
Why came she from all these, to find the grave
After whole years of pain and suffering,
Of toil and of privation, in the gloom
Of the dark wilderness, where never eye
Of kindred might weep o'er it—where no hand
Would plant the flowers she ever loved in life,
Above her grave?
Had England's wide-spread realm
No grave for her fair daughter? Had the white
And marble tombs that stood long centuries,
Near her ancestral halls, many and wide,
No space remaining for her father's child?
Aye, there was room enough, full space they had,
Full beyond measure, for her fragile form,
And kindred dust—but when she sought to kneel,
As she would do on many a starry eve,
Beside the graves of her dead ancestors,
And pray the spirits of the mighty dead
To act as ministering angels to her heart,
And guard her from the ills that hovered round
The weakest of her race—at such a time,
A shadowy hand would beckon her away,
And in her startled ear a solemn voice,
Solemn, yet most distinct would whisper "Go!"
And from the secret chambers of her soul,
The mandate was sent forth—and from the vales,
The giant mountains and the lofty hills,
The mighty rivers, the ennobling streams,
There came a voice, that rose and swelled, until
No other sound was heard in all the earth.
And she did go!
+>But where?
A shout arose,
And the huge ocean spread her billowy arms,
Covered with foam, and panting like a steed,
Just recent from the battle, to receive
And bear her onward to the destined shore;
And from the vast and gloomy wilderness,
A voice said "Come," and perishing hearts said "Come,"
And fainting souls—and o'er that forest-land,
Religion hovered, with a fluttering wing,
Half scared and half triumphant—for the hearts
That braved oppression in their native land,
That left their homes, and left their fathers graves,
To cross the toiling ocean, and to dare
The dangers of the forest, could not yield
Their courage up entirely—they had placed
Their trust in Him who never would forsake,—
The God of their true worship.
So she came
Unto an unknown and a barren shore
Unfaltering.—With meek and placid brow,
And tranquil eye, and ever-prayerful heart,
Soothing the weary and afflicted one,
With words of gentlest balm, and lifting up
Her voice to heaven to bear her firmly on.
Even to the end.
Her task on earth was done.
Fully accomplished, and she bowed her head,
And rendered back her spirit to the hands
Of Him who gave it, pure as when it first
Was sent from its primeval heaven to fill
A tenement of clay, and do the will
Of the Most High.
Her task was done, and she
Died peacefully, and full of hope, as those
Who die in Christ, to live with him again
Beyond the resurrection; and the hands
That ministered unto her dying wants,
Now bore her to her final resting place.
Full beyond measure, for her fragile form,
And kindred dust—but when she sought to kneel,
As she would do on many a starry eve,
Beside the graves of her dead ancestors,
And pray the spirits of the mighty dead
To act as ministering angels to her heart,
And guard her from the ills that hovered round
The weakest of her race—at such a time,
A shadowy hand would beckon her away,
And in her startled ear a solemn voice,
Solemn, yet most distinct would whisper "Go!"
And from the secret chambers of her soul,
The mandate was sent forth—and from the vales,
The giant mountains and the lofty hills,
The mighty rivers, the ennobling streams,
There came a voice, that rose and swelled, until
No other sound was heard in all the earth.
And she did go!
+>But where?
A shout arose,
And the huge ocean spread her billowy arms,
Covered with foam, and panting like a steed,
Just recent from the battle, to receive
And bear her onward to the destined shore;
And from the vast and gloomy wilderness,
A voice said "Come," and perishing hearts said "Come,"
And fainting souls—and o'er that forest-land,
Religion hovered, with a fluttering wing,
Half scared and half triumphant—for the hearts
That braved oppression in their native land,
That left their homes, and left their fathers graves,
To cross the toiling ocean, and to dare
The dangers of the forest, could not yield
Their courage up entirely—they had placed
Their trust in Him who never would forsake,—
The God of their true worship.
So she came
Unto an unknown and a barren shore
Unfaltering.—With meek and placid brow,
And tranquil eye, and ever-prayerful heart,
Soothing the weary and afflicted one,
With words of gentlest balm, and lifting up
Her voice to heaven to bear her firmly on.
Even to the end.
Her task on earth was done.
Fully accomplished, and she bowed her head,
And rendered back her spirit to the hands
Of Him who gave it, pure as when it first
Was sent from its primeval heaven to fill
A tenement of clay, and do the will
Of the Most High.
Her task was done, and she
Died peacefully, and full of hope, as those
Who die in Christ, to live with him again
Beyond the resurrection; and the hands
That ministered unto her dying wants,
Now bore her to her final resting place.
Moonlight lay on the forest like a shroud
Wrapping its huge limbs in a last embrace;
And the young stars looked softly on the flowers
Which their fond gaze returned, with earnest eyes,
Rich with deep language—and the sighing breeze,
Mourned brokenly, and at short intervals,
Among the lofty branches, as it, too,
Sang a last requiem o'er departed worth.
Wrapping its huge limbs in a last embrace;
And the young stars looked softly on the flowers
Which their fond gaze returned, with earnest eyes,
Rich with deep language—and the sighing breeze,
Mourned brokenly, and at short intervals,
Among the lofty branches, as it, too,
Sang a last requiem o'er departed worth.
Slowly they came!
Slowly and heavily, as those who bore
Their burden in deep sorrow! and they laid
Her, where the moonlight shed its brightest beams,
And where the stars might look upon her grave
Forever. And they raised their voices high,
And swelled a solemn chant of lowliest love
And meek submission and reliance strong,
Unto the pitying Chastener of their hearts,
Until the bosom of the forest thrilled
With the high anthem.
Slowly and heavily, as those who bore
Their burden in deep sorrow! and they laid
Her, where the moonlight shed its brightest beams,
And where the stars might look upon her grave
Forever. And they raised their voices high,
And swelled a solemn chant of lowliest love
And meek submission and reliance strong,
Unto the pitying Chastener of their hearts,
Until the bosom of the forest thrilled
With the high anthem.
"O, Mightiest! from thy throne
Look down upon Thy mourning children here;
We come to render back to Thee Thine own,
To yield a spirit that we held most dear!
Bend from Thy throne, Holiest! to receive
The offering we bring unto Thee now;
Nothing more pure, more lovely, could we give—
Nothing more precious had we to bestow.
Lord, take her! she is Thine;
O, twine
A living laurel round her fadeless brow!
Look down upon Thy mourning children here;
We come to render back to Thee Thine own,
To yield a spirit that we held most dear!
Bend from Thy throne, Holiest! to receive
The offering we bring unto Thee now;
Nothing more pure, more lovely, could we give—
Nothing more precious had we to bestow.
Lord, take her! she is Thine;
O, twine
A living laurel round her fadeless brow!
"Earth! open wide thy arms,
To fold in thine embrace the loveliest child
That ever sought thy bosom!—from the storms
That quiver o'er thy breast in terrors wild,
Protect her well! for she was kind and meek,
And loved the simplest flowers that perfume shed
Upon the morning breeze, and oft would seek
Their balmy breath to ease her dying head!
Earth, take the gift we bring,
And fling
Thy sweetest flowers upon her lowly bed!
To fold in thine embrace the loveliest child
That ever sought thy bosom!—from the storms
That quiver o'er thy breast in terrors wild,
Protect her well! for she was kind and meek,
And loved the simplest flowers that perfume shed
Upon the morning breeze, and oft would seek
Their balmy breath to ease her dying head!
Earth, take the gift we bring,
And fling
Thy sweetest flowers upon her lowly bed!
"Ruler of heaven and earth!
Dispenser of all good! to Thee we come,
To yield a spirit of celestial birth.
Receive her to thy fold, her heavenly home!
She left a land of plenty, for the cold
And sterile wilderness, where she could bow
In freedom to thee, and sweet converse hold,
Fearless of haughty words and frowning brow!
Lord, take her! she is Thine;
O, twine
A living laurel round her fadeless brow!
Dispenser of all good! to Thee we come,
To yield a spirit of celestial birth.
Receive her to thy fold, her heavenly home!
She left a land of plenty, for the cold
And sterile wilderness, where she could bow
In freedom to thee, and sweet converse hold,
Fearless of haughty words and frowning brow!
Lord, take her! she is Thine;
O, twine
A living laurel round her fadeless brow!
"From her ancestral halls.
From England's princely palaces and domes,
She heard the voice of her Redeemer call,
And meek in faith she left her fathers' tombs,
To make her home in this vast wilderness,
To find a grave where love might never shed
One tributary tear,—might never bless
Her patient sufferings and her dying head!
Earth, take the gift we bring,
And fling
Thy choicest flowers upon her lowly bed!
From England's princely palaces and domes,
She heard the voice of her Redeemer call,
And meek in faith she left her fathers' tombs,
To make her home in this vast wilderness,
To find a grave where love might never shed
One tributary tear,—might never bless
Her patient sufferings and her dying head!
Earth, take the gift we bring,
And fling
Thy choicest flowers upon her lowly bed!
"O, from Thy great white throne,
Almighty! look upon our mourning band;
We miss from out its ranks the loveliest one!
Deign to withdraw from us Thy chastening hand;
Let Thine eye pity, and Thy patient love
Upon our hearts in streams of mercy flow,
And give us faith to meet with her above,
As to Thy will submissively we bow!
Lord, take her! she is Thine;
O, twine
A living laurel round her fadeless brow!
Almighty! look upon our mourning band;
We miss from out its ranks the loveliest one!
Deign to withdraw from us Thy chastening hand;
Let Thine eye pity, and Thy patient love
Upon our hearts in streams of mercy flow,
And give us faith to meet with her above,
As to Thy will submissively we bow!
Lord, take her! she is Thine;
O, twine
A living laurel round her fadeless brow!
"Dust, to thy earth return!
The temple thou didst form is desolate,
Its dweller hath departed! thou wast worn,
With sorrow, and no more couldst animate
The living soul within thee! she away
Hath sought a happier clime—there to remain
Until the great and resurrection day,
When the freed soul shall call for thee again!
Earth, take again thy dust
In trust;
Our present loss is her eternal gain.
The temple thou didst form is desolate,
Its dweller hath departed! thou wast worn,
With sorrow, and no more couldst animate
The living soul within thee! she away
Hath sought a happier clime—there to remain
Until the great and resurrection day,
When the freed soul shall call for thee again!
Earth, take again thy dust
In trust;
Our present loss is her eternal gain.
"Soul! to the God who gave
Thee being without end! whom thou didst find
Long-suffering, strong and infinite to save
The tottering step, the broken heart to bind!
Thou hast returned—thou couldst no longer stay;
Thy mission is accomplished! thou hast thrown
Aside the shackles of thy living clay,
And thy Redeemer hath resumed His own!
Soul, raise thy glad voice, raise
In praise,
With all God's angels round the Eternal Throne!"
Thee being without end! whom thou didst find
Long-suffering, strong and infinite to save
The tottering step, the broken heart to bind!
Thou hast returned—thou couldst no longer stay;
Thy mission is accomplished! thou hast thrown
Aside the shackles of thy living clay,
And thy Redeemer hath resumed His own!
Soul, raise thy glad voice, raise
In praise,
With all God's angels round the Eternal Throne!"