Works of James O'Connor, the deaf poet, with a biographical sketch of the author ..
'■ ■'■ ^ 1^ $}(^>%t vvXvNv J f* iiiiift!!: ' 1 <»tiiiini»!ni'ii'yjPjHi"iiiiKH»!'uii iKH'ji"k'uw'M<""'!y*'^1l" "y""*S # WW i f ^ ^VORKS James O'Connor DEAF POET, A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. j3 Good books are treasures we should have in store. Rich is the man whose mind is rich in lore — That gold, which glitters to allure mankind. Gives no such lustre to the human mind. 51 -^h..2.9.£A New Yokk: INT. TIBB.A.11,S <Sc SOJN-S 37 PARK ROW. 1879. 75 2.4^^ Copyright 1879, By James O'Connor. h' Bedication. TO MY FAITHFUL AND DEVOTED \\^FE, WHO HAS SPENT MANY WEAKY HOURS IN COLLECTING AND COPYING THESE POEMS, AS WELL AS TO MY MANY GENEROUS AND SYMPATHIZING PATRONS, WHOSE LIBERALITY HAS INDUCED THEIR PUBLICA- TION, THESE PAGES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. PREFACE In presenting this small collection of Poems to the public, the author feels inchned to make but few apol- ogies for the many imperfections with which they abound. No man can claim perfection for himself, nor should he expect it from others. There is none perfect. Solomon, with all his wisdom, did many fool- ish things; King David, a man after God's own heart, did many wicked things; and, although it is hard to understand how an All-wise Creator, perfect in wisdom and foreknowledge, could do any thing he should be sorry for, yet, in Genesis vi. 6, we read, "that it repented him that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart.'' Gleaners in the best cultivated fields of literature discover many brambles and tares. If the husbandman wishes pure wheat he must separate it from the straw and chaff with which it is connected. A literary production may sometimes sparkle with gems of thought, but there is no sand so rich with gold but that it needs to be sifted. vi PREFACE. If the literary assa3^er (the reading pubUc), after carefully examining this rough specimen of mine, should fail to discover any real grains of gold, and should pronounce the ore worthless, then I shall be compelled to acknowledge that I have wasted much time and labor in working up an unprofitable lode, that is found to be rich only in "fool's gold" at last. Laboring under my present physical disabilities, but few persons would be foolhardy enough to make even the slightest pretensions to authorship. My hear- ing began to fail me before I had acquired the first rudiments of an education, and for some time past I have been entirely deaf. The little education I have acquired, has been acquired with great difficulty, and, for that reason, the offence should be all the more par- donable, if its value should appear to be over-estimated by its possessor. From early childhood I have had to rely on exces- sive manual labor as a means of support, and conse- quently, have had but limited opportunities for mental culture. It was not my fortune to be " born with a silver spoon in my mouth"; nor w^as I ever one of those youthful prodigies that ''lis'p in numlers^\' and whether T am truly entitled to the appellation of Poet, or not, I leave for a just and discriminating public to deter- mine. I once read a small volume of poems that had been written by Fry, and as the volume was small, the author must have been '' small fry y But he said there PREFACE, VI 1 were three qualifications esential for a Poet: empty pockets, worn-out elbows, and disappointed love. To the two first qualifications I plead guilty. Of the third and last I am innocent. Many of my pieces have been composed while hold- ing the plough, or engaged in other field labor, and are the unpolished productions of one who entertains but feeble hopes of ever acquiring even the slightest celeb- rity in the difficult and uncertain fields of literature; and what success I shall meet with as an author, I am unable to foretell. Better and wiser men have failed, and it is possible that as great or even greater fools may have succeeded. I shall endeavor to make the best use of the few talents given me, and leave it for others to write better in proportion as God has given them the natural abihties, and fortune has favored them with greater opportunities of acquiring knowledge. James O'Connor. CONTENTS. Biographical Sketch xi Celestial Light 1 Pakatakan 33 The Great Unseen 40 Sober Keflections — Part I 47 Sober Reflections — Part II 57 Light and Shade 68 The Teacher's Calling 86 The Journey of Life 100 The Way of the Transgressor is Hard 103 The Dying Year 105 The Rich and Poor 107 The Mountain Oak 110 Nature's Ramparts 112 The Dignity of Honest Labor 115 Storm and Sunshine of Boyhood 121 AYealth and Wisdom 124 An Address to Union College 138 A True Friend 140 Ontario 141 The Gathering Storm 143 The Voyage of Life 145 Beauty and Friendship 147 X CONTENTS. The Voice of Nature 140 Our Banner 151 My Country I Love 152 First and Second Birth of Columbia 155 The Grave of Washington 167 The Flag of our Union 169 The Last Great Empire 175 American Liberty 183 It Takes all Sorts of Folks to Make a World . . .185 A Ramble 199 Hard Times of 1858 202 True Pat-riot-ism 207 Paddy's Exposition, or Hypocrisy Reproved 209 Brother Jonathan's Gunpowder Wedding 211 The Picnic 225 Reward of Merit 231 The Green and the Blue 233 Correspondence for the Offering 240 The Social 244 Motto for the Everlasting Visitors 246 Lines 247 The Bible 250 A Reminiscence of the Past 251 Did You Ever? 256 The Ploughholders Ride in the Bondholder's Wake . . 259 Home in the Heart 267 Lines to John F. Wagenen, Esq 270 Lines to Family of Late Richard E. Van Wagenen . .275 The Vanity of Earthly Glory (An Essay) 279 Biographical Sketch of the Author, BY A. B. DOUGLAS. Having been informed that James O'Connor, the *'Deaf Poet," had, through the solicitations of friends, consented to publish a volume of his poems and essays, I consider it a pleas- ant duty to write a short sketch of his life as an introduction to the public and his volume. As his name indicates, he came of Irish ancestry. His great, great grand-father, Edward O'Connor, came from Ireland before the French and Indian wars in this country. He settled near Albany. The country at the time was a howling wilderness. His great-grand-father, Francis O'Connor, was born there. He was a boat builder by occupa- tion, and during the Revolutionary War built gun-boats on the lakes for the Americans. He thus assisted at the birth of our infant navy. Though young, he remembered well the burning of Schenectady by the Indians, and would recount with marked indiornation the stories of their massacres, and the murder of Miss Jane McRea. He married Mary Kidder, of Albany, who was born in Holland. His grand-father, Francis O'Connor, was born at Heidleburg, near Albany. He married Fanny Caulder, who was born at Catskill. Her parents were from the High- lands of Scotland, and were the original settlers of the Thomas Farm at the mouth of Rose's Brook, in Stamford, Delaware County, New York. His grand-father's family was among the first settlers of Bloomville, New York, and they were after- wards among the first settlers of Bovina, moving to that town XII. BIOGRAFHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. in the year 1803. His father, Francis O'Connor, was born at Bloomville, in the year 1801. His mother, Prudence Faulkner, was of a family of Connecticut Yankees, and, as her name indi- cates, she A\^as of Scotch descent. His parents settled in the town of Andes, Delaware County, New York, where they still reside. The ancestors of James O'Connor were alway true to the interests and cause of America. He came from a race of patriotic, noble, honest, hard-working men and women, who were engaged in many of the fields of industry that the new country presented ; but most of them were farmers and farmers' wives. James O'Connor, the subject of this sketch, was born in Andes, New York, January 26, 1835. He was always an apt scholar, full of study and full of fun, with a smattering of mischief, which occasionally created, as it is said of our late war, " a slight unpleasantness " between the teacher and the taught. Although he justly prides himself up- on his Irish ancestry, it must be confessed that he generally came off second best in the settlement of these incom-Pa^ible and conflicting interests. Often in arranging these matters, con- trary to his views and protests, by an arbitrary appeal to the stripes he has actually been made to see stars. He thus had a feeling regard for his national emblem early in life. Notwithstanding these occasional misunderstandings with the autocrat of the rod, he became what may justly be called a first- class common-school scholar. Few persons that have not made war the profession of their lives have encountered greater dangers, or had more hair- breadth escapes. A few of them will only be mentioned. While engaged in " bark-peeling " in the hemlock woods, he was completely covered from sight, by the top of a large tree, which some choppers had fallen upon him. He found himself between two of its largest limbs, his body being but a few inches from each ; if either had struck him he would have been instantly killed. Providence preserved him, and he came out from that tree-toj) unhurt. At another time, a large log came rolling down a hill toward him. It was so near that it was impossible to get out of its BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. xiii. way, near by was a small hollow in the side hill, and, with re- markable presence of mind, he rushed to it, and threw himself down into it. The log passed directly over him and he was un- hurt. Upon two occasions he was nearly drowned. He has been run over three times with wagons. Upon one occasion he fell before a loaded wagon, which passed over him, fracturing both of his legs. When he was fourteen years of age, upon a very cold night in winter, as he was returning from school, he ventured upon a pond to have a slide ; the ice was " too thin," the con- sequence Avas he caught a fearful ducking and a fearful cold, which resulted in inflammation of the brain. His hearing became impaired. This aflliction continued to increase, until for a num- ber of years he has been entirely deaf. Mr. O'Connor was a close student all his life. The improve- ment of his mind was the chief object of his life. He was not satisfied with the education to be acquired in the common- schools. He prepared himself, and entered Union College, and graduated! honorable in the Class of 1858. He chose the Law for a pro- fesslon, and began its study ; but, on account of his growing deafness, he was forced to abandon his long-cherished hopes. He then turned his attention to the art of printing, which he learned in Oswego, New York. He followed the occupation of printer for some years. On the 1 5th of October, 1863, he mar- ried Miss Mary J. Dickson, of Lumberville, New York. He then turned his attention from the printer's to the more busy and stirring life of a farmer. Of late years he has suffered so much from disease of the heart that he has been compelled to abandon almost entirely the independent life of the tiller of the soil. For several years he has devoted a large share of his leisure time to the composition of poetry ; his thoughts seem to flow as freely under the direction of the muses as they do in the sterner vein of prose. His poems, as far as they have frequently appeared in the public press, have been very favorably re- ceived by an appreciative public. For a long time many of his friends, and admirers of his poetic genius, have been trying to influence him to publish a volume of his poems, and it is with feelings of pleasure, that XIV. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. they are assured that he has complied with their request, and now presents to the public his first offering, in the form of a book. Several of these Poems were delivered before Literary Associations, Church and Social gatherings. Teachers' Institutes, &c. ; but most of them were written as the expression of his personal views and thoughts on themes, without a view to their publication or public delivery. These poems speak for them- selves. We have heard some of them delivered by the author, and many of them we have read ; and, from knov/ledge thus acquired, we believe that the poems are laid upon the broa<l foundation of common-sense and poetic genius. Many of them sparkle with wit and humor, while some of them are truly pathetic. Mr. O'Connor merits the thanks of his fellow-citizens for the work he has accomplished, and we hope they will indicate their gratitude by their general and generous subscription for the volume he now presents to them. Brooklyn, N. T., January 4, 1879. CELESTIAL LIGHT. "Let there be Light!" Light Terrestrial — Light Intellectual — Light Spiritual. A WORLD in embryo, through ages unnumbered, In primitive darkness and chaos had slumbered, Dark shadows eternal around her still hovered. Her waters untra versed, her shores undiscovered;^ Her bright hills and green vales, by us mortals now trod, Preconceived in the mind of Omnipotent God, Still alloyed with the atmosphere, ocean, and sky,. Were as yet only seen by the all-seeing eye. Not a sun, moon, or star, not a pale asteroid Shed one flickering ray o'er this fathomless void; Thus neglected of God, in the absence of light, All things slept, as it were, in perpetual night. Until God, in the spirit, moved forth o'er the deep,. And a world sprung, at once, from millennial sleep. The first works of his hand bore the impress of might,. With the voice of command, God said: "Let there- be hght." 2 CELESTIAL LIGHT. The glad edict resounded o'er heaven's bright plain, While ten thousand bright angels caught up the re- frain ; The strong flood-gates of heaven asunder were hurled, Her deep rivers of light were let in on the world. His vicegerents on high, who have heard his command, Now behold the magnificent works of his hand, As Jehovah, at once, taking down the bright scroll, And the map of creation begins to unroll. And, as Time's coral reefs, and her islands of green, In the midst of the "eternal waters are seen. Loud hosannas peal forth from that heavenly shore. The glad anthems of praise unto God evermore. The whole angelic throng seem inspired with delight. With this endless, celestial diffusion of light. Through those numberless worlds most resplendent in hue, That bespangle creation's broad archway of blue. They rejoice as God's boundless dominions expand, They rejoice at the wonderful works of his hand, That those new annexations, of boundless domain. Must still further enhance his magnificent reign. That, in worlds yet unknown, as the legates of love, They should yet represent the tribunal above; CELESTIAL LIGHT. 3 That, from worlds, b}^ the angelic hosts never trod, Countless subjects should yet offer tribute to God. As the insect, when charmed by the presence of hght, Will flit round the bright blaze of the taper at night, So, those bright rolling orbs, that bespangle the sky, Revolve round the bright throne in that kingdom on high. One terrestrial orb, the great Author has blest With his infinite favors above all the rest, For this orb, we are told in his volume divine, The Creator intended all others should shine. To this earth they are sent as a convoy sublime, In her passage across the dark borders of time, And as long as the earth on her axis shall turn, Her bright watch-fires on high shall continue to burn. In creating this lovely, terrestial bower, God has amply displayed his great wisdom and power; He has, also, displayed his affection and zeal, As earth's lowliest subjects have reason to feel. On this earth has his presence forever been felt, And shall be until time and the elements melt. On this earth the Supreme in his glory once trod, Andi here man first appeared in the image of God. 4 CELESTIAL LIGHT, His revealed will, to man, was, here fully made known, Here has ripened the fruit of the seed he has sown, As the Lord of the harvest, through joys, and through tears, He has garnered the bountiful harvests of years. The true seed of his Church, brought to blossom and bear, Here, by Him, was transplanted, and tended with care. That celestial exotic still blooming afresh, Through the Spirit of God manifest in the flesh — Still, extending her blessings as she has been blest. To the weary soul offering shelter and rest, Till a Christianized world has acknowledged her worth, And her branches have fully encompassed the earth. His most wonderful works have been here multiplied, And his Only Begotten here suffered and died, In the anguish of spirit expired on the tree, That all earth's captive children, at last, might be free. Here the Bethlehem star, to the shepherds, betrayed The rude crib where the holy child Jesus was laid, — The bright fame of that star, like the glory of him, Shall remain when the light of all others are dim. This bright earth, in her loveliest garments attired. Was one that both God and the angels admired, CELESTIAL LIGHT. 5 As, with form of perfection, unequalled in grace, She moved on in. her orbit through regions of space. With her bright waters ebbing from mountains, and plains, The life-giving pulsations from natural veins, Bright arterial fountains still flowing apart, Still, through natural sources, returned to the heart. While at each respiration her oceans, and seas, Her liquid breasts heaving in anguish or ease. Gently swell with the zephyrs that over them play, Or convulse with the tempest and ruffle with spray. The whole earth teemed with riches, the waves of the deep Were entrusted with mountains of treasures to keep, Every flower a jewel, each dewdrop a gem, Such as never yet glistened in king's diadem. On her green mountain robes, her blue beds of the sea, Her bright spangles were sprinkled profusely and free, Thus the sun-gilded robes of pure azure and green, Draped the earth when the first man appeared on the scene. With his spirit enthroned in a body of clay, He was lord of creation with absolute sway. To his Maker alone, was allegiance given, While he basked in the soul-cheering sunlight of heaven. 6 CELESTIAL LIGHT. From this high elevation, he east himself down, By denying allegiance to kingdom and crown, Thus, he forfeits all claims to this lordly estate, And in open rebellion must now abdicate. The bright gates of the once royal gardens are passed, And the man has become a poor vagrant at last. The bright embers of love have expired on his hearth, And he wanders a vagabond over the earth. Overburdened with sins, and with sorrows oppressed. With the fangs of remorse sinking deep in his breast. As an outcast from Eden, thus, forced to depart, While the life-blood has almost congealed to his heart. Still, the same God in glory is ruling above ; The same heaven is displaying her banners of love ; The same generous earth, from her bountiful breast, Still offers him nourishment, raiment and rest. But the shadows of guilt, the huge mountains of sin Have so hedged him about, have so compassed him in, From the altar of love his cold heart is estranged. Till he fully believes that all nature has changed. As a criminal, fearing the force of the law. Self-arraigned — self-condemned — ever living in awe, He dreads the last summons, fain would shun the bright gates Where firm justice still tempered with mercy awaits. CELESTIAL LIGHT, 7 So depraved that he seeks darkness rather than hght, That his smfulness be not revealed to the sight, Like the midnight assassin, whose blood-streaming steel, The dark mantles of night shall assist to conceal. While the night lamps of Heaven the vast canopy crowd. The pale star of his fate remains under a cloud, When the day-god illumines the world with his smile, Sinful man remains groping in darkness the while. Yet, on lifers arid desert some oasis is found, Where the life-cheering waters of pleasure abound, Which the wanderer, over this desolate waste, Is forever in search of, and eager to taste. The great Author of life, ever mindful of man, As a light, and a guide to life's huge caravan. Points out the green isles, and the bright sparkling strand. That bestud, and beskirt this broad ocean of sand. As the earth has no desert that has not its green ; And no midnight so dark but the stars may be seen ; So, life, drear as the desert, and dark as the night, Still discloses the lingering traces of hght. 8 CELESTIAL LIGHT. By this sole attribute, man yet hopes to retrace His iniquitous steps to the threshold of grace ; When to ashes life's smouldering embers shall burn, To that haven of glory he hopes to return. On the billows of anguish his vessel may bound, While the tempest shall burst in its fury around, Though at times half submerged in the waters of grief, Or, but narrowly passing some dangerous reef, By this light, and this faith, he shall weather the gale, Never tacking about, never shifting a sail. By the murderous death-rocks, the treacherous shoals, Which Ufe's ocean conceals for the wrecking of souls. Not the trade-winds of woe, the siroccos of pain, Which so fiercely oppose him, or languish in vain, Nor the turbid inundating waters of sin, Can extinguish the light that is burning within. Seek the man, where you will, on the land, or the sea, In the hut of the slave, or the halls of the free. He still bears on his visage the impress divine, And the light in his soul still continues to shine. When the clouds of adversity darken his sky, And the storm-king is speeding his carnage on high. On the horizon, painted in colors serene, The bright bow of his promise remains to be seen. CELESTIAL LIGHT, 9 In the morning of life, when the soul's genial rays, Shall have set all the hill-tops of fancy ablaze ; When the pale robes of dawn seem too common and gray, And are cast off for something more lively and When, with pencil of youth, we sketch woodland and lawn, (Which our after years prove have been much over- drawn,) How delightful this fanciful vision appears. Unto eyes yet undimmed by the shadows of years. While on nature's broad canvas, thus deftly arrayed. The glad sunlight conceals all the traces of shade. If one cloud on the canvas our eyes may behold, It is painted with borders of silver and gold. In the well-defined colors this landscape is seen. There is azure above, and beneath there is green, While just in the beautiful background, somewhere, Our magnificent castles are built in the air. When at last we arrive at our zenith of years, Still more lovely the rich golden sunset appears. With what longings we turn to the beautiful west. The bright sundown of life, the sure haven of rest, 10 CELESTIAL LIGHT. A whole lifetime of fancies would seem to combine, In portraying those few closing years of decline, All the powers of the soul seem conspired to engage, And to comfort those last weary footsteps of age. On the borders of life, as we linger to cast The fond glances of love o'er the joys of the past. Through the twilight of age, from the hoar hills of time, To look back on youth's ever delectable clime. With what mingled emotions the bosom now fills. As we gaze from the top of time's frost-covered hills, Whose pale lengthening shadows, like spectres of woe. Are extending athwart the green valleys below. A few steps in advance lies that echoless shore, Where this life's fitful visions shall greet us no more. While just back in our wake lies that silent ravine, Beyond which, the still visible past may be seen. To life's soldier thus called to relinquish his breath, At the frowning, impregnable ramparts of death, In communion with self, on the eve of the strife. How deceptive appear the vain glories of life. As the mind wanders back o'er tlie battle-scarred plaiU; While reviewing his wearisome earthly campaign,- How his lost hopes appear like the phantoms of dread, As their skeletons bleach on the fields of the dead. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 11 By the slain, he can see where huge cohimns were formed, Where fierce charges were made, and strong works have been stormed. Where successful advance, or the fatal retreat, mm Have, by turns, led to triumph, or rout and defeat. He can see where the strong, in the battles of life, Have gone down in their strength in the midst of the strife ; He can see how the honors, attending the brave, Are neglected, and finally lost in the grave: While he thinks, as the scenes of the shadowy past. Are recalled to his memory painfully fast. That, perhaps in his striving for earthly renown. He has forfeited claims to a kingdom and crown. Can the pale wreath of fame, that encircles his crest. Still the many tumultuous doubts in his breast? Can the wages of sin — an unholy increase — Procure for his soul that triumphant release? Can his final reward be consistently large, When, through death, he obtains his eternal dis- charge ? With reflections like these — with misgivings and doubt, The grim soldiers of life shall be all mustered out. 12 CELESTIAL LIGHT. As the will-o'-the-wisp leads the wanderer of night On to danger, and death, by its treacherous light, So, Fame, fickle goddess, with courtesan wiles, mm Lures her votaries on with false favors and smiles. She weaves her bright chaplets from ivies that twine O'er the cot where the orphan and widow repine, She culls her gay colors from field, and from flood, Manured with corruption, or crimsoned with blood, Which, when highly perfumed by her poisonous breath, Are more fatal, by far, than, the simoon of death, "While she waves them aloft over fields that are red With the streaming life current of dying, and dead. Yet her eager aspirants, like demons of ire. Behold only the objects to which they aspire, Disregarding the welfare of body, and soul, They are only intent on obtaining the goal. If vain mortals who strive for the garlands of fame, Knew the cost, and the actual worth of the same, Her right ardent adherents would doubtless be few, And her garlands might wither on fields where they grew. Let the hero behold the alembic of gore Through all ages distilled from the ocean and shore, And the red rust might cover his death-dealing blade, When his heart and his hand had relinquished the trade. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 13 Let the monarchs of earth, in their clamor for gain, Only pause to consider the ages of pain — The vast armies of maimed, the huge mountains of slain, And the numberless treasuries emptied in vain. Their mailed hands would instinctively shrink from the grasp Of the sceptre as from the huge coil of an asp. The rich ermine of monarchs, the crown and the mace, Would be spurned, by the beggar, as things of dis- grace. Could the millions who throng on life's great thorough- fare. See at once all the burdens their shoulders must bear. The most valiant of heart might despair at the load, And the strongest of limb might sink down on the road. But that God who is able the tempest to calm, Who hath tempered the fierce wind to suit the shorn lamb, Hath endowed us with strength, and the courage to bear Our allotted amount of misfortune and care. And perhaps it is well that false lights should appear^ Giving birth to new hope, and dispelling vain fear. 14 CELESTIAL LIGHT. Never grieve for the future, but ponder and wait, For the trials of Hfe shall come never too late. Let us cease to lament over troubles in store, And dispel the dark shadows of care from the* door, Let us build our air castles, no matter how tall, For few mortals shall ever be crushed by their fall. If the hopes we have built on, at times disappear, Demolishing all the proud structures we rear. New hopes and new fancies we still have in store, To be used in the rapid construction of more. Shall it profit a man to sit down and complain. Over life's disappointments, temptations and pain? Take the world as it is, be it none of the best, Do your duty like men — trust in God for the rest. An eclipse of the soul may obscure all the rays That have gladdened our visions in happier days, Yet no soul should despond when with sorrows o'er- cast. The return of pure sunlight is certain at last. When occasional shadows have passed from the mind, Let no gloomy remembrances linger behind, From the sunshine of pleasure 'tis folly to cast On the world, one reflection for things of the past. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 15 We have loved her caresses, in seasons of yore, In her moments of grief we should love her the more, Her afflictions should cause us the keenest regret, And her foibles we all should forgive and forget. When the sun first came wooing this lovely young earth, So enraptured with maidenly beauty and worth, The fond-hearted, confiding young lover became, That his countenance seemed all aglow with the flame. Like a blushing young maid she received his advances, Her fair face reflecting reciprocal glances. If he kissed her 'twas bliss — if he toyed with her tresses She frowned not, but seemed to enjoy his caresses. Though artless and young, she was quick to discover Those traits she admired in her ardent young lover, She could read in his heart, she could see in his eyes, An affection that seemed to be born of the skies. Long ages have rolled since the days of their plighting, The earth has been prone to coquetting and slighting. Has allowed, it is said, other sparks to attend her, Echpsing, at times, the bright sun in his splendor. But the wanton young maid, the most beautiful flame. Becomes in her dotage a withered old dame ; And the earth, with the wrinkles of time on her face. May have lost much of maidenly beauty and grace. 16 CELESTIAL LIGHT. Yet deep in her heart, beyond mortal's discerning, The flames of affection are silently burning. Bright embers of love are aglow at the centre, Where freezing forgetfulness seeks not to enter. A halo of friendship around her still lingers, That Calumny's tongue, nor Oblivion's fingers. The malice of one, nor the craft of the other. Has ever been able to darken, or smother. Amid turmoils unceasing, through numberless years. Amid elements striving, 'mid jostUng of spheres. In the shades of reproach, or the glitter of fame. The warm glow of their friendship is always the same. Still, the bright orb of day, in his course through the skies, Warms the earth with the fire from his love-Hghted eyes. With a blush on her face, and with love in her breast, She still watches him out at the gate in the west. Tis the type of a union that worlds can not sever, The light of a love that endureth forever. And, how blest is the mortal who basks in that love, And that light everlasting, that comes from above. Since the receding shades of perpetual night First retreated before the great vanguard of light, And the visible shores of time's beacon-lit isle Were made glad by the mighty Discoverer's smile; CELESTIAL LIGHT. 17 Since the flag-ship of light, by celestial winds driven. And displaying the royal ensign of Heaven, In advance of the squadron, bore down on the shore Over waters no sail ever whitened before. In the offing, at anchor, that bright fleet has lain, In full view of the land, while afloat on the main. Where their binnacle lamps shall continue to burn, 'Till the Admiral orders their final return. Omnipresent, omniscient, omnipotent God, By thy light, and thy glory reflected abroad, That bright heavenly world with its visions of bliss. Have been clearly, successfully mirrored ia this. Inexhaustible source of perpetual light, Far transcending the bounds of our natural sight. Thou hast set all the works of creation ablaze With thy luminous presence, thy infinite rays. While above, or around us, wherever we turn. The bright beams of thy glory we clearly discern; Roam abroad as we will, o'er the land or tiie sea,. Still that light omnipresent bears- witness of thee. Go explore the dark caverns of mountain and glen^ Seek those desolate shores never trodden by men, There is Hght in the darkest and gloomiest spot, Though the darkness at times comprehendeth it not.. 18 ' CELESTIAL LIGHT. Intellectual light, the bright basis of joy, Though by man intermingled with basest alloy, With bright hands was extracted from primitive ore. Or was washed from the sands of that heavenly shore. As an unalloyed metal of infinite worth, Tis the medium, common, of heaven, and earth, 'Tis a component part of the creative plan, 'Tis an essence pertaining to Maker and man, 'Tis a fountain whose channel shall never run dry, Whose bright course may be traced' through the mead- ows on high ] Whose meandering waters incessantly flow To enliven these beautiful valleys below. 'Tis a reflected light from the mansions of love. By celestial hands set in the windows above, 'Tis the sun-burst of glory, the light of that throne, The grand centre of numberless worlds like our own. 'Tis the pure lamp of wisdom, whose rays may be found Interspersed through the darkness that gathers around, Where strict investigation has certainly shown. Every ray forms a separate light of its own. Trace each separate light to its source, and we find Them united in forming the light of the mind; CELESTIAL LIGHT. 19 And again disconnected, each ray will appear As complete, and distinct, in its separate sphere. There is one special light which we everywhere find Occupying a prominent place in the mind, It is memory's watch-fire, that time has not dimmed. That our fond recollection has guarded, and trimmed. As around this pale watch-fire we linger to gaze On the light of our earlier happier days, When the sun of the past has eternally set, Though his refracted rays may be visible yet, The bright scenes of the past, when that sun has declined, Like the auroral lights stream back over the mind, And with blissful emotions unequalled before, We enjoy their beatified presence once more. By these embers the wandering exile may doze, As, reheved for a time of life's burdens and woes. While his feet claim a respite, his fancies may roam All unbridled in quest of the pleasures of home. Life's tempestuous autumn, her winter of age. With her frosts, and her snows to congeal and assuage, Neither distance, nor time, can obscure or control That unquenchable home-light that shines in the soul. 20 CELESTIAL LIGHT. Though our eyes may grow dim, and our bodies decay, As we totter along down lifers wearisome way, mm Till these tenement windows no longer convey mm To our indwelling spirits the splendors of day; mm Though, from friends, home and kindred our lives may be past, Till we stand upon time's extreme borders at last, Though our hearts may grow cold, and our forrLs be- come bowed. As we wait the cold welcome of coffin and shroud; Yet, the wanderer stretched on a death-bed of pain, Will yearn for the home of his childhood again; The pale vision of age would appear to renew, As the mind wanders back from a final review. For the eye is still faithful, the heart is still young, Whenever those home-scenes are painted or sung, And the last tearful glances, the heart's latest throes, Will reveal the soul's sad separation from those. Well described in that bright constellation of youth, Are the fixed stars of Friendship, Love, Yirtue and Truth, In the orbit of home, and distinctly defined. They are plainly marked down on the map of the mind. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 21 There is one light, as all those who seek may discover, Wooes the spirit of man like a natural lover, 'Tis an impartial light which we justly may call The inherent, the God-given birthright of all. Without it in wealth the proud monarch may grovel, His throne more abject — less secure — than a hovel, With his head ill at ease though supporting a crown, And reclining at will upon pillows of down. With this light in his breast, though by charity fed, With the green earth beneath, the blue sky overhead. The rude, indigent, wandering beggar may own. And enjoy greater wealth than the king on his throne. Man inherits this light from his Maker divine, Through an infant baptism at liberty's shrine ; He has courted this light from the hour of his birth; He shall worship this star to the ends of the earth. 'Tis a heavenly light whose effulgence expands. It pervades every heart, it extends to all landsj Tis a fire that once kindled, and fanned to a flame, Will burn on undiminished forever the same. In the gloom of the dungeon whose stifling breath. May be freighted at times with the choke-damp of death. It is liberty's only specific for pains. That still glows in the heart of the captive in chains. 22 CELESTIAL LIGHT. God was pleased to bestow it, and earth never can Crush this undying hght from the spirit of man. Let her forge the strong Hnks — let her fasten the chain, There's a power that shall rend all her fetters in twain. Bind the body in chains, still the spirit will soar To the unclouded heights where it rested before, ' Till the soul and the body, united, receive From the strong arm of death, a triumphant reprieve. With the force of an earthquake, whose terrible shock Ever potent to fissure the primitive rock, We see liberty bursting, at times, from the ground Where no previous trace of her light had been found. Where, through numberless years of oppression, and night, She had waited the grand resurrection of light. For some omen of good to appear in the skies; And some guardian angel to bid her arise. Though this goddess of light for a time may expire, And her foes may rejoice round her funeral pyre, Her oppressors may trample her time-hallowed sod In derision to man — and insulting to God ! — Until through some upheaval of national strife, Her long slumbering ashes awake with new life, And political, volcanic turmoils of men. Shall have thrown her alive to the surface again. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 23 With this Hght in his breast, the lone sentry will tread The most wearisome beat on the field of the dead, The dark hours of the night will be seemingly brief. While he waits for the morning, and hopes for rehef. And the morning may break with the canopy red Looking down on a field of the dying and dead, While the black clouds of war fill the sulphurous air, And the elements join in a wail of despair. Yet he heeds not their wailings, beholds not the gloom, For he fears neither death nor a warrior's tomb, No sweet siren of peace his brave spirit can tame, While this heaven-born light shall his bosom inflame. The dread Angel of Death, in habiliments pale, May have spread her white wings on the boisterous gale. She may check his advance, she may hold him at bay, But the heart of the hero death can not dismay. While the pure light of liberty shines in the soul. The wild tempest may beat, and the war clouds may roll, In the front line of battle that hero will be, With his strong arm still raised in defence of the free. There is one peerless light in humanity's breast, With unlimited rays more admired than the rest; 'Tis a light that is earth-born, and still is divine, It arrives at'^no zenith, and knows no decline. 24 CELESTIAL LIGHT, Tis a light with no orbit, it rolls like the wave, And its limits are found in the cradle, and grave. « Though an undying light, like our natural breath It must stop on the banks of the river of death. Tis the pure light of Hope whose benevolent beams Lend enchantment to man's multifarious dreams ; 'Tis to keep off the goblins of sorrow and care. And to buoy up the spirit, when plunged in despair. 'Tis a lamp the Eternal keeps hung on the wall, While the night shades obscure this terrestrial ball; 'Tis the morning star seen in the twilight of gray, That shall herald the coming of eternal day. Though the turbulent waves of misfortune may roll Till their waters shall almost inundate the soul. That bright beacon of hope, from the shores of the blest, Shall conduct us at last to a harbor of rest. Although Hope be celestial, her limited powers Are still strictly confined to this planet of ours ; Though a light on the earth, and a joy to our eyes, Her bright rays never pierce the deep blue of the skies. There is no place for hope on those heavenly plains, In that kingdom where perfect reality reigns ; Where the spirits of light, with the angels acquire That perfection in bliss toward which mortals aspire. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 25 As the rainbow appears, to the natural eye, To be based on the mountains and spanning the sky, So, Hope, to the spirit confined in the clod, May appear to be based on the blue hills of God. Tis, alone, by us grovelling mortals of earth. That this light is considered of infinite worth, And to us, who in dangers and darkness must grope. How exquisitely sweet are the pleasures of Hope. When we search the etherial fields of the mind, With- the eyes of the spirit, we easily find That the diverging rays of that light we so love. Are as countless as stars in the blue fields above. Tis the light of the soul, in the port of the heart, While full vessels of life freight, arrive and depart; Like the pulse of the heart, with diminishing speed. The fond hopes of this life, still advance and recede. When bright hopes, whose reality seemed to be sure. By the clouds of misfortune, are rendered obscure, With serene resignation, with glances so fond, We view still brighter hopes in the clear sky beyond. It is thus with the uncertain lights of the earth. It is thus with our hopes that have natural birth, While they court our advances, and smile to deceive, They disdain our embraces, and leave us to grieve. ^6 CELESTIAL LIGHT. There's one light, and one hope, still unknown to decay, That shall last till the heavens and earth pass away; 'Tis the unfading hope of salvation through him Whose bright, redeeming glories shall never grow dim. 'Tis the light of a Saviour, whose sanctified birth Has dispersed the dark clouds from a sin-stricken earth ; 'Tis the hope that has sprung from the blood that was shed On the cross, where a crucified Saviour has bled. 'Tis our Bethlehem star, w^ien our burdens of care, And our sins shall become too oppressive to bear ; The Golgotha where souls under sentence receive. Through unmerited grace, full and final reprieve. The true Christian afloat on life's perilous wave, With firm faith in his pilot, the dangers will brave, Far beyond these rough waters where angry winds cease. There is light for his soul in that harbor of peace. While the worldling, at times, will be greatly dismayed, If relying, for safety, on frail human aid. For his arm will be powerless, his courage will fail, And his unguided craft can not weather the gale. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 21 He may know of the gulf-streams of pleasure that flow Unmmgled across this broad ocean of woe — He may know of the trade-winds that constantly sweep Other portions of life's ever turbulent deep. He may know there is light, he may know there is rest, Still beyond these rough waves in that port of the blest; He may look to the compass, and study the chart, 'Till its lines are indelibly stamped on his heart. And yet, with no light — with no pilot on high. When the storms of this life gather dark in his sky. He may err in his reckoning — err in his log, He may founder at sea, or get lost in a fog. In one light there is safety — no safety beside. There is only one trustworthy Pilot to guide. And that trustworthy Pilot is able to keep His log-books correct with the chart of the deep ! How our natural minds will at times become stirred, As we read, and reflect, on that wonderful Word, For the shadows of doubt will at times be removed, And the soul's unbelief will be strongly reproved. Yet man's spirit, when left unsupported and lone, To distrusting, and doubting, by nature is prone; 28 CELESTIAL LIGHT. Fron conviction we see him still standing aloof, Though surrounded with light, and confronted with proof. It has ever been thus — it was even so when The true 'Word was made flesh and sojourned among men; They could witness his works, as he wandered about, On his mission of mercy, and yet, they could doubt. The poor Galilee fishermen, doubtless, could stand, And witness the miracles wrought by his hand ; They could see how vast numbers were raised from the dead. How the naked were clothed, and the hungry were fed. How the lepers were cleansed, and the lame made to walk, And the blind made to see, and the dumb made to talk, Even, yet, while they stood overcome with surprise. Doubt still dwelt in their hearts, and beclouded their eyes. Whether Gentile, or Jew, whether Hebrew, or Greek, Though the spirit was willing, the body was weak; Both the sinner and saint — the profane, the devout — Were at times overcome by the shadows of doubt. CELESTIAL LIGHT. 29 His own chosen disciples grew faint in the strife, Though supphed with the bread, and the waters of hfe; While they saw their Redeemer reviled, and betrayed, They were shaken in faith, amd were sorely afraid. As from Calvary's summit, so gory and red. With the sins of the world bearing down on his head. While they see his tried spirit in anguish depart, They are sorely afflicted, and heavy of heart. In the light of his presence they rested secure, While they fully believed their salvation was sure; When they saw the dread powers of the wicked prevail, Those most valiant in faith were the soonest to fail. When they saw how the sepulchre, false to its trust. Had been quick to surrender his sanctified dust, When they saw his cold limbs from the tree taken down. When they saw him ascend from the Cross to a Crown, Their tried spirits once niore with fresh hopes were imbued. And to him their allegiance again was renewed. In the fulness of joy they make haste to proclaim. Of the glories attached to his wonderful name. For the sins of the world he was ready to bleed. Which has shown him to be the Good Shepherd indeed; When they saw his exceeding regard for his flock. Their true faith in that Shepherd was firm as the rock. 30 CELESTIAL LIGHT. His accusers, it seems, had unwittingly sought. Through his death, to disgrace the rehgion he taught; They intended to prove him unable to save His own body, at least, from the power of the grave. From their own hearts, they suffered rebuke, when they found Persecution and death to his glory redound; When they saw the strong seal of the sepulchre burst, They could see their last error was worse than the first. Time rolls swiftly along in his course never stayed, And the blossoms of empire have bloomed and de- cayed; Generations of men, like the bubbles of spray. On those deep rolling waters, are passing away. The warm suns of full eighteen broad centuries bright, Have gone down in the shadows of eternal night; Still his angry accusers are loud in their wail; Still their false accusations are heard on the gale; Still the wicked are swift, with the scourge and the rod, Persecuting the Only Begotten of God; Still the tongue of derision is swift to revile That religion which calumny can not defile. CELESTIAL LIGHT. %\ Bj the penitent soul, the fierce rabble is heard, Still reproaching, and doubting the truth of that word. The inferior scope of our natural sight Can not measure those rays of superior hght. Tis alone the partakers of heavenly grace, Who, with soul unto soul, and with face unto face. Having shared, after seasons of anguish and loss, With a 'Saviour, the fruits of that death on the cross. Only those who have cast off the burdens of grief, Can enjoy the exquisite delights of relief ; Only those who withdraw from the world's wicked strife. Shall partake of the blessings of eternal life. 