History of Thomas Brown

On a fine Sabbath morn, in the sweet month of May, When the hawthorn in blossom was seen; When perfumes filled the air, and all nature look’d gay, And the fields wore a livery of green:—

Thomas said to his wife, the morning is fine, Then let us walk out at our leisure; I have worked all the week, recreation we’ll seek, And the fields will afford us much pleasure.

Said his wife, “all our clothes are both dirty and torn, Which will set decent people a talking; I shall feel much ashamed, and we both shall be blamed By those we may meet as we’re walking.”

The birds and the cattle, says Thomas, you know, Dress all days alike, void of care; Let us follow their plan, be as blithe as we can, And not make things worse than they are.

“They can’t well be worse, for at home or abroad, We’ve nothing for dinner to-day; Our money’s all gone, and credit we’ve none, So e’en let us do as you say.”

They lock’d up their house, and their children they took, Unhappy at home or abroad; And away they all went, (’twas a Sabbath mispent) For the chance of the fields or the road.

Not long they had walked, when a neighbour they met, And they tried his attention to shun; But he saw them so plain, to escape him was vain, And thus to discourse he begun:

“Where have you been wandering about, Thomas Brown, In your jacket so out of repair?” A rambling I’ve been, o’er the meadows so green, And I work in the jacket I wear.

“But do you not hear the church bell, Thomas Brown? Oh! why not the Sabbath regard!” We a living must seek and we work all the week: If we can’t enjoy Sunday ’tis hard!

“But what could your work do for you, Thomas Brown, Were you not by your Maker befriended?” Why that I don’t know,—if to church we should go, Perhaps matters would not be much mended.

“What I say I intend for your good, Thomas Brown, And your friend am desirous to be!” Why that I suppose, or your time you’d not lose, To discourse with a poor man like me.

“This world is fast hasting away, Thomas Brown, And short are the pleasures of man;” Then there’s no time to spare, let us drive away care, And merrily live while we can.

“But what when this world you shall leave, Thomas Brown, If your soul in dread torments should lie?” Why that to be sure, would be hard to endure, But I cannot well help it, not I.

“Yet the wretch under sentence of death, Thomas Brown, Would be glad for a pardon to run!” Why, yes, so would I, if condemned to die; But I know not what harm I have done.

“The Bible will tell you your sins, Thomas Brown, And a Saviour will bring to your view:” The learn’d there may look, but I can’t read the book; It may, or it may not be true.

“Hie away to the church on the hill, Thomas Brown, For if you can’t read you can hear:” The man with the band I shall not understand; The rich and the wise may go there.

“The Gospel is preach’d to the poor, Thomas Brown, And would lighten your cares, do not doubt it.” You speak like a friend, but I do not intend To trouble myself much about it.

“Could I tell you where treasure is hid, Thomas Brown, You would spare neither labour nor pains.” In that you are right; I would dig day and night, And merrily live on my gains.

“But what, should you gain the whole world, Thomas Brown, And lose your own soul, at the last?” Why, my courage would cool; I should then prove a fool, And sorely repent of the past.

“Seek in time for the kingdom of God, Thomas Brown, And your pleasures will never decay.” I feel half inclined to become of your mind, And I hope I shall do as you say.

“May the God of all peace give you grace, Thomas Brown, In his fear and his favour to dwell;” Your wish is most kind, I shall bear it in mind; And so for the present farewell.