Poems (Denver)/The Burial in the Wilderness
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! 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.
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.
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?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. 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. 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.
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.
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 graveForever. 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!
"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!
"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!
"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!
"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!
"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.
"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!"