An Elegy on Edith

Place o’er her tomb a simple cross, The emblem of Redemptive love, To bid us hope, amidst our loss, And trace her flight to realms above.

She lies not there—the feeble frame Alone reposes ’neath the sod; But her bright soul, that vital flame Now shines before the throne of God.

Her eye so dark, will glance no more, Her raven hair in ringlets wave; The music of her voice is o’er, And her light step is in the grave.

No more will mortal eye behold That form so lovely, soft, and fair; Now blending with the earth’s damp mould, Or scattered through the realms of air.

Her tears are dried, but she hath left To us a legacy of tears; To be of her sweet love bereft Must dim the eye through future years!

But ah! much deeper grief will wring And anguish tear that mother’s breast, Where she in infancy did cling And slumbered in a holy rest.

But I forbear—and seek to calm All earthly grief with heavenly hope, And aided by its healing balm Give not my hidden sorrow scope.

Then let us raise our thoughts on high, And trace her spirit’s glorious flight From sorrow, pain, and agony To peace and joy in worlds of light.

Is she afar? ah! thin the veil That hides the spirit-land from view; Such thoughts instinctively prevail, And my fond heart believes them true.

The angels’ is an inner world, Not distant, but in life more high; Though now in fleshly vestments furled To us are kindred spirits nigh.

And I can think that when I quit This “earthly house” for glory bright, Me first her angel-smile will greet, And her hand lead through realms of light.

Throughout the strain a mournful sadness breathed, Yet mixed with elevated hope, and made All bosoms move in sympathy, and eyes Suffuse themselves with tears. But not of grief And sorrow unalloyed. For there are thoughts So lofty, elevated, pure and sweet, Linked with affection and devotion, warm In contemplating loved ones passed from earth, That the bright tears they strew upon the cheek Are more like dew-drops, ’neath some twilight sky All glad and rosy, than the chilling rain That falls from gloomy clouds. Now sacred thought Was kindled in each breast, and musings calm Which suited well the season and the hour; Then all spoke of retiring, for the time When the first star that shewed its feeble light, Whilst day was darkening, in the furthest east, Should have attained its highest point in heaven Had come, but oh how swiftly! Happy hours And peaceful had been spent, and every heart Was filled with gladness; and a holier love Warmed every bosom, such sweet fellowship Had reigned triumphant there. With cheerful looks And grateful, farewell greetings for the night To host and hostess, each delighted guest Went to the room warm hospitality Had set apart for him; yet with the hope, The glad and confident hope that day would bring— And many days succeeding—such pure joys And pleasures innocent, as o’er his heart Had softly flowed amid the recent hours Of social glee. The antique hall was soon By its gay crowd deserted. On the hearth The giant yule-log, lessened to a stick, Burnt with a crimson glow, but through a veil Of thin white wavering ash. The warmth it gave Is now diminished, and the keen frost-air Pierces the lonely room. Farewell old scene Of oft-remembered joys—to thee, good night! And now withdrawn to solitude, I may Let thought make free excursions, and review The recent hours of pleasure. There are times When we think inwardly, that is more deep Within our being, so that images Distinct and palpable, are scarcely seen To flit before the mental eye; yet thought Rolls on in fulness, like a mountain stream Deep, sweeping, vast, but ’neath the clouds of night Silent and unrevealed. Such most is felt When many persons, actions, words, and things Have passed before us quickly; then they crowd The mind too fully, to let each stand out In individual being; but they all Are lodged within the memory, and come forth So fresh and vital, during future days, And oft so unexpectedly, we start To see them rise again as from the grave. Oh wondrous is our being! every thing That e’er hath passed before us: every thought That flitted cloud-like o’er our realm of mind; And every feeling that hath urged the heart, E’en with a slight vibration, seems to leave A certain impress stamped upon the soul As with a seal eternal: sendeth forth A living substance, from the which is built Our being and identity; conjoins By mystic sympathies, and secret links, Our spirits unto others. Little knows Philosophy, though brightly on advance, About the inner world, the world of mind. The earth’s deep crust she pierced hath, and made Mankind astonished at its boundless age; Her outstretched hand has spanned the wilds of space, And shewn the distance infinite of stars; Her hawk-like glance hath downward looked, and seen Whole worlds of vital being in dim grains As small as summer dust. High are these truths, And mighty and ennobling; but still more And greater have to come, when she hath searched The world of matter more, till its known laws, And comprehended principles have given A greater strength, and more divining power To pierce far deeper mysteries, and scan The inner world of spirit. Newton learnt The law that binds the universe in one From a mere apple’s fall. If sages pore As thoughtfully on mind, may they not bring Some hidden things to light, that may reveal Great laws and simple, that shall elevate All science far beyond its present flight, Though eagle-like its wing now seems to reach The sun of Truth, so loftily it soars. How warm and pleasant is this curtained room Assigned for night’s repose. The cheerful fire, With its bright tongues of flame, illuminates The walls with fitful gleams, and ruddier light Than issues from the lamp. ’Twere sweet to sit And muse for some hours longer, but the night Is far advanced, and though the stillness round Invites to contemplation, yet the time And prudence too forbids. Before I give Myself to slumber let me draw aside The heavy curtain, o’er the window hung, Excluding cold and wind; and thence look forth Upon the landscape to behold the scene Arrayed in winter’s garb. Oh gorgeous sight, Unutterably grand! The morn was black And dark and dismal; through the middle day The storm’s white burden was cast down to earth With strange rapidity; and now the night Shines bright and glorious, beautiful and fair! Far o’er the head, so lofty that the eye Can scarce rise up to view her, glows the moon With keen intensity of silver light, And from her heavenly altitude pours down Such floods of radiance on the snow-clad earth As fills the heart with rapture. Scarce a star Can shew its beam amid the purple sky So rich her bright rays spread. The frosty air, Sharp, keen, and subtle, hath a delicate haze That beautifies all objects, giving them A softer aspect, a more lovely hue, A spirit-like appearance. On the trees, Leafless and verdureless, a foliage lies Of splendid whiteness. A strange stillness holds Their forms gigantic, and their stretching boughs, As if they slumbered in the midnight air. Short shadows cast they on the even ground, Night’s silver regent hath her throne so nigh The summit of heaven’s arch. Along the lawn How softly spreads the radiant plain of snow, More smooth and level than a temple floor Of alabaster framed. O’er all the beds And borders ranged for flowers, no smaller shrub Or plant can shew a branch; but buried deep Beneath a downy burden, mark their tombs By hemispheres of white. When looking far Across the landscape, every object gleams As it recedes by distance, more refined, More unsubstantial, till the veiling mist, Long ere the eye can reach th’ horizon’s bound, In softened beauty, blends the earth with heaven. Far to the left, some cottage roofs appear, Where lies the village, rearing chimneys tall, Now smokeless in the moonlight. Nigh the wood Which swells in highest grandeur, o’er the hill That rises to the westward, stands the church All pure and peaceful in the holy light. On its embattled tower the moonbeams fall, And seem to hallow it, so fair and calm It gleams within them. From its summit shoots The tall and taper spire, and high o’ertops The loftiest trees around, and stands alone Amid the ether, whilst its form sublime With emblematic finger points to heaven! When morn arises, from that ancient tower An anthem-peal will ring, a music rich And pregnant with deep thoughts. For centuries The selfsame tones have burst upon the air And made it thrill with harmony. It fell On ears that listen on this earth no more, And when we hear it, it will be a link Uniting us with them. Oh! mystical And wonderful is sound. A single note May call our past life up, and make it live All vivid in the present. Every thing Has its own voice, its sound. As once I passed— Not having passed it for a length of years— An old park-gate in manhood, which I oft Had entered when a boy, the simple click Of its loud latch, was recognised again In one brief moment, and it brought to sight All those companions who, in school-boy days, Had there surrounded me; and heavy thoughts Pressed on my spirit, for I knew that some Were carried to the grave; and some were gone I knew not whither; and the most, perhaps, I should behold no more! Then what deep thoughts, What thoughts of piety should Christmas bells Awake within the soul! Their mighty tones Teem with the memories of two thousand years Or nigh thereto. What wonderful events Since then have happened, how the world hath changed, And man hath been exalted, since the Words Divine of Christ were mingled with his lore! And who is he? “Emanuel, God with us!” O mighty name and nature, on his arm “The government shall rest!” In him we see Jehovah manifest! To us “a child Is born, a son is given,” and his name Is “Wonderful!” Oh wonderful indeed That he who ’habiteth eternity Should stand revealed in time; that he who dwells Far o’er the heavens, should yet descend to earth; That He, enthroned in “unapproached light” Should visit this world’s darkness! Many names And titles glorious, hath the Son of God, In whom we see the Father, one with Him So true and absolute, whoso beholds The Son beholds the Father. Search the Word And see if these things be so; let it tell The truth in its own language. “In Him dwells The fullness of the Godhead bodily.” He is “The true God and Eternal life.” In flesh Christ came, and he “is over all God blest For evermore.” Still further it reveals “God was in Christ,” and “reconciling” there “The world unto himself.” Jehovah says Times oft repeated in the elder Word He is the Saviour, and none else but He; He is Redeemer, and he will not give His glory to another. We should hold Exalted notions of that Saviour who Was born to David, and is “Christ the Lord.” Whom prophecy hath named “the Mighty God, The everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” What mighty words, and wonderful are these To waken thought within the humble mind And make it strive to apprehend and know The mystery sublime. But comprehend It never can, such lies not in the power Of finite mind, its feeble grasp can ne’er Include infinity. Then let us pause And ponder deeply, for the truth is not More difficult to hold, or to believe, Than that creation at the first sprang forth Beneath the fiat of Almighty Will, And finitude was born, and time began! Ring out ye bells! and with glad notes proclaim The glorious advent of the Prince of Peace. And let your melodies resound aloud Till every heart with pious joy is filled! Princes of war have desolated earth And ravaged nations, cities, homes, and hearths, Till men cried out in misery, and made The vaulted heaven re-echo to their cries. But wars shall cease, and men shall beat at length Their swords to ploughshares; and all peaceful arts Shall flourish on the earth. Then Truth shall shine With her own cheerful radiant light, and bless The kingdoms of the World, and Goodness dwell Enthroned in every heart. Then life shall run In one pure current, as a crystal stream, And every deed in excellence shall shine Like stars of heaven. A bond of holy love Shall make a glorious brotherhood of man, And heaven-descended charity shall link The nations into one. Then holy joy Shall elevate each heart, the song of praise Burst gladly from each lip, and men shall lift Their voice in anthems, whose ascending notes Shall fill the skies with harmony sublime. Oh! that the bright and happy hour were come When earth exulting shall behold the reign Of Christ the great Messiah! Once he came, In deep humility, to taste of death, In weakness and in weariness; but soon As prophecy foretells, he shall appear Revealed to men, in majesty and might. In spirit and in power, to build his church, His kingdom, on the earth, and stablish it In peace profound, in holiness secure, In truth unshaken, happiness supreme And rich with glory that shall know no end! Then shall Jerusalem lift up her voice In songs of gladness, when she is arrayed In garments fair of righteousness; her head Encrowned with wisdom’s sparkling diadem, And she rejoiced o’er as a beauteous bride By Him who framed her. Then her sun no more Shall set in darkness, or her moon withdraw, But God shall be her everlasting light, Her walls Salvation, her wide portals Praise, And her deep mourning cease for evermore! My meditations have ascended high, Yet are they fitting to the time; it brings Unnumbered thoughts like these! The human soul Created in God’s image seems to share In His infinity. Evolving thought, For ever growing, can within it dwell, And oft ascending and ascending still To higher points of elevated Truth, View things around it with extended glance, And with more god-like insight. What can fill Its vast capacity, or quench the thirst It bears for knowledge. It was born to rise For ever upward into brighter light! Lift high the banner of “Excelsior.” On! on! the watchword! Let us search for Truth With steadfast heart, and holy trust in God, Then never can we fail! Where shall we find The thing we look for? In the musty tomes Of darkening ages, in the harsh decrees Of priests king-ruling, in the twilight dim That settles on the past! Ah! no, not there Look to the future, to the morning light Appearing in the east! Three books are writ, Three books divine; their pages rightly conned Will blend their full triunity of Truth In one bright blaze of wisdom. Pierce within, And read the volume there, and it will tell Of something higher than the world around, More living, more substantial; look abroad, O’er the vast universe of worlds and suns, That border on infinitude; then turn Another page, and read inscribed thereon, A like infinitude, within the small And tiny measurements of living grains And vital atoms, all disposed by laws Sublime in their simplicity, that bind The great and little in one mighty whole. Lessons like these will fit the mind to see That in a written book, indeed divine, A like infinitude of Truth must dwell Concealed within the letter. Human minds That have enlodged themselves in books, leave there A record of their greatness. Learned men Have conned the documents, that sages writ, With care unceasing, and at last confessed They had not reached the ultimate of thought Embodied in them. What must be the depths, The vast profundities of pages penned From perfect inspiration? Christ hath said Flesh profits nothing, but the words I speak Are spirit and are life. The letter kills, The spirit giveth life, hath Paul announced. How shall we pierce this body to let forth The spirit of pure truth. From whence attain The “key of knowledge” to unlock the stores Of hidden wisdom in the word divine. The promise saith that brighter light shall come, And many hearts now need it! Thought, with them, Hath been enlarged by pure philosophy, From nature’s pregnant book. They yearn to see Its perfect harmony with truth divine, And find all streamlets from the Fount of Truth Blend in one lucid river. Let us wait In patience and humility the time Of this grand consummation! Let us up To the high mountain tops, from thence to watch The dawning sunlight of earth’s brighter day. Such day shall come, though it hath tarred long, And yet may tarry, for the certain harp Of sacred prophecy hath oft foretold Its glorious advent—let us watch, and wait! It is full time that I should now arrest Thought’s current in the midst. Though on a theme So full and teeming, it might swiftly run Its rapid course for ever. O’er the earth The cold increases, and the bitter frost Draws flowers upon each pane. I must retire From this unsullied prospect, fair and calm And eminently beautiful. The fire Burns low within the grate, and embers lie In darkness on the hearth, that but of late Were red and glowing. In the shade of sleep, And night’s oblivion, I must seek to quench The fire of thought, and for awhile forego A life of consciousness. Yet with a hope Of sweet refreshment, and with strength renewed, To spring up cheerful when the morning sun Makes bright the winter landscape, and enjoy That intellectual pleasure, pure delight, And social intercourse, that ever form The banquet rich of Christmas at the Hall!