Instructions We will focus on Anne Bradstreet's poem, "Verses upon the Burning of Our House, July 10th, 1666." Write a response of 400-700 words that addresses the tension between Bradstreet's attachm

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A N N E B R A D ST R E E T

sweet bitter, or bitter sweet; woe be to me if I call that conversion unto God which is indeed subversion of the souls of millions in Christendom, from one false worship to another, and the profanation of the holy name of God, his holy Son and blessed ordinances. Amer i ca (as Eu rope and all nations) lies dead in sin and trespasses: It is not a suit of crimson satin will make a dead man live; take off and change his crimson into white he is dead still; off with that, and shift him into cloth of gold, and from that to cloth of diamonds, he is but a dead man still: For it is not a form, nor the change of one form into another, a finer, and a finer, and yet more fine, that makes a man a convert; I meane such a convert as is acceptable to God in Jesus Christ, according to the vis i ble rule of his last will and testament. * * *

* *
* * It must not be (it is not pos si ble it should be in truth) a conversion of people to the worship of the Lord Jesus by force of arms and swords of steel: So indeed did Nebuchadnezzer deal with all the world; Dan. 3. So doth his antitype and successor the beast deal with all the Earth; Rev. 13. &c.

But so did never the Lord Jesus bring any unto his most pure worship, for he abhors (as all men, yea, the very Indians do) an unwilling spouse, and to enter into a forced bed: The will in worship, if true, is like a free vote, nec cogit, nec cogitur:4 Jesus Christ compels by the mighty persuasions of his messengers to come in, but other wise with earthly weapons he never did compel nor can be compelled.

The not discerning of this truth hath let out the blood of thousands in civil combustions in all ages; and made the whore5 drunk & the Earth drunk with the blood of the saints, and witnesses of Jesus.

1645

4. Neither does he compel, nor is he compelled 5. The biblical whore of Babylon; here, the

(Latin). Roman Catholic Church.

ANNE BRADSTREET

c. 1612–1672

Anne Bradstreet produced the first sustained body of poetry in British North

Amer i ca. In Bradstreet’s day, many people wrote and read poetry for pleasure, and poems were often included in prose works. (Consider John Smith’s writ ings, Thomas Morton’s New En glish Canaan [1637], and Roger Williams’s A Key into the Language of Amer i ca [1643], which are excerpted above.) When Bradstreet’s The Tenth Muse appeared in London in 1650, it became the first published volume of poems in En glish written by a resident of Amer i ca. It was widely read in Eng land and the colonies, notably by the New Eng land minister- poet Edward Taylor, who had a copy of the second edition of Bradstreet’s poems (1678) in his library.

Bradstreet’s work continues to resonate with readers and writers. In the twentieth century, the American poets John Berryman, Susan Howe, and Adrienne Rich all wrote about Bradstreet and her work, inspired by her achievement. In her preface to the 1967 edition of Bradstreet’s writings, Rich captured the drama of Bradstreet’s life as a woman and a poet in the new British colonies: “To have written poems, the first good poems in Amer i ca, while rearing eight children, lying frequently sick, keeping house at the edge of wilderness, was to have managed a poet’s range and extension within confines as strict as any American poet has confronted.” These circumstances, Rich continued, “forced into concentration and permanence a gifted energy that might, in another context, have spent itself in other, less enduring, directions.”

Bradstreet’s social position helped mitigate the “confines” that Rich described, and her En glish education provided intellectual resources that fueled her achievement. Her father, Thomas Dudley, man ager of the country estate of the Puritan earl of Lincoln, enabled his daughter to receive an education superior to that of most young women of the time, including training in the classics. As a young girl, Bradstreet wrote poems to please her father. Her earliest surviving poems engage with such major literary works as Sir Walter Raleigh’s History of the World (1614), as well as the writings of the leading En glish poets Sir Philip Sidney and Edmund Spenser and the French Protestant poet Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas.

At sixteen she married Simon Bradstreet, a recent gradu ate of Cambridge University, who worked with Thomas Dudley. She continued to write poetry after their marriage. Simon assisted in preparing the Mas sa chu setts Bay Com pany for its departure for Amer i ca, and in 1630 the Bradstreets and the Dudleys sailed with John Winthrop’s fleet. Bradstreet writes that when she first “came into this country” she “found a new world and new manners,” at which her “heart rose” in re sistance. “But after I was convinced it was the way of God, I submitted to it and joined the church at Boston.”

Bradstreet’s new circumstances posed many challenges and physical trials. As a child, she had endured a bout of rheumatic fever, which led to recurrent periods of severe fatigue. Even so, she eventually bore eight children. Simon’s travels and her family’s prominence doubtless placed demands on her as well. Her father served several terms as the Bay colony’s governor and held other public offices. Her husband, who was secretary to the com pany and later governor of the colony, was involved in numerous diplomatic missions that took him away from home, including an extended trip to Eng land in 1661. The frequent absence of her husband was one challenge among many. In 1666, she lost most of her worldly possessions when her house burned. She may also have lost manuscripts in the fire.

Like any good Puritan, Bradstreet routinely examined her conscience and wrestled to make sense of events, such as the house fire, in relation to a divine plan. According to one of the “Meditations” Bradstreet wrote for her children, she was troubled many times about the truth of the Scriptures, she never saw any convincing miracles, and she always wondered if the miracles she read about “ were feigned.” Eventually she came to believe that her eyes gave her the best evidence of God’s existence. She is the first in a long line of American poets who took their consolation not from theology but from, as she wrote, the “wondrous works, that I see, the vast frame of the heaven and the earth, the order of all things, night and day, sum mer and winter, spring and autumn, the daily providing for this great house hold upon the earth, the preserving and directing of all to its proper end.”

Bradstreet’s poems circulated in manuscript until, without her knowledge, her brother- in- law John Woodbridge had them printed in London as The Tenth Muse, Lately Sprung Up in Amer i ca (1650). Bradstreet expressed her ambivalence about the print publication of her work in the poem “The Author to Her Book,” which she seems to have written in connection with a proposed second edition of The Tenth Muse. That volume was published posthumously, in Boston, as Several Poems Com-

T H E P R O LO G U E

piled with Great Wit and Learning (1678). This edition shows the growing influence of the Bay Psalm Book on Bradstreet’s prosody and diction, and it includes a number of new poems in a more lyrical or elegiac vein that contrasts with her early works on public and philosophical themes. The more intimate poems highlight her concern for her family and home and reveal the pleasures that she took in everyday life.

The following texts are from The Works of Anne Bradstreet (1967), edited by Jeannine Hensley.

The Prologue

To sing of wars, of captains, and of kings, Of cities founded, commonwealths begun, For my mean1 pen are too superior things: Or how they all, or each their dates have run
Let poets and historians set these forth, My obscure lines shall not so dim their worth. 2 But when my wond’ring eyes and envious heart Great Bartas’2 sugared lines do but read o’er, Fool I do grudge the Muses3 did not part
’Twixt him and me that overfluent store; A Bartas can do what a Bartas will But simple I according to my skill. 3 From schoolboy’s tongue no rhet’ric we expect, Nor yet a sweet consort4 from broken strings,	10
Nor perfect beauty where’s a main defect: My foolish, broken, blemished Muse so sings, And this to mend, alas, no art is able, ’Cause nature made it so irreparable. 4 Nor can I, like that fluent sweet tongued Greek,	15
Who lisped at first, in future times speak plain.5 By art he gladly found what he did seek, A full requital of his striving pain. Art can do much, but this maxim’s most sure: A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.	20

Humble.
Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas (1544– 1590), a French Protestant writer much admired by the Puritans. He was most famous as the author of The Divine Weeks, an epic poem recounting great moments in Christian history.
In Greek my thol ogy, the nine goddesses of the arts and sciences. “Fool”: i.e., like a fool.
Accord, harmony of sound.
The ancient Greek orator De mos the nes conquered a speech defect.

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue Who says my hand a needle better fits, A poet’s pen all scorn I should thus wrong, For such despite they cast on female wits: If what I do prove well, it won’t advance,	25
They’ll say it’s stol’n, or else it was by chance. 6 But sure the antique Greeks were far more mild Else of our sex, why feigned they those nine And poesy made Calliope’s6 own child; So ’mongst the rest they placed the arts divine:	30
But this weak knot they will full soon untie. The Greeks did nought, but play the fools and lie. 7 Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are; Men have precedency and still excel, It is but vain unjustly to wage war;	35
Men can do best, and women know it well Preeminence in all and each is yours; Yet grant some small acknowl edgment of ours. 8 And oh ye high flown quills7 that soar the skies, And ever with your prey still catch your praise,	40
If e’er you deign these lowly lines your eyes Give thyme or parsley wreath, I ask no bays;8 This mean and unrefined ore of mine Will make your glist’ring gold but more to shine.	45

1650

In Honor of That High and Mighty Princess

Queen Elizabeth1 of Happy Memory

The Proem2

Although, great Queen, thou now in silence lie,

Yet thy loud herald Fame doth to the sky

The muse of epic poetry. 1. Elizabeth I (1533–1603), queen of Eng land,
Pens. ascended to the throne in 1558.
Garlands of laurel, used to crown a poet. 2. Prelude.

I N H O N O R O F Q U E E N E L I Z A B E T H

Thy wondrous worth proclaim in every clime, And so hath vowed while there is world or time.
So great’s thy glory and thine excellence, The sound thereof rapts3 every human sense, That men account it no impiety, To say thou wert a fleshly deity. Thousands bring offerings (though out of date)
Thy world of honors to accumulate; ’Mongst hundred hecatombs of roaring4 verse, Mine bleating stands before thy royal hearse.5 Thou never didst nor canst thou now disdain T’ accept the tribute of a loyal brain.	10
Thy clemency did erst esteem as much The acclamations of the poor as rich, Which makes me deem my rudeness is no wrong, Though I resound thy praises ’mongst the throng. The Poem No Phoenix pen, nor Spenser’s poetry,	15
No Speed’s nor Camden’s learned history,6 Eliza’s works, wars, praise, can e’er compact;7 The world’s the theatre where she did act. No memories nor volumes can contain The ’leven Olympiads of her happy reign.8	20
Who was so good, so just, so learn’d, so wise, From all the kings on earth she won the prize. Nor say I more than duly is her due, Millions will testify that this is true. She hath wiped off th’ aspersion of her sex,	25
That women wisdom lack to play the rex.9 Spain’s monarch, says not so, nor yet his host; She taught them better manners, to their cost.1 The Salic law,2 in force now had not been, If France had ever hoped for such a queen.	30
But can you, doctors,3 now this point dispute, She’s argument enough to make you mute. Since first the Sun did run his ne’er run race,4 And earth had, once a year, a new old face,5	35

Enraptures.
Loud. “Hecatombs”: sacrificial offerings of one hundred beasts, made in ancient Greece.
An elaborate framework erected over a royal tomb, to which verses or epitaphs were attached.
William Camden (1551–1623) wrote Annales, translated in 1630 as The History of the Most Renowned and Victorious Princess Elizabeth. “No Phoenix pen”: perhaps a reference to the En glish poet Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586), the subject of one of Bradstreet’s poems, but she may also be referring to any immortal poet’s work. (The phoenix is a mythological bird that dies in flames and rises from its ashes.) “Spenser’s”: Edmund Spenser (c. 1552–1599), author of The Faerie Queen (1590, 1596), whose title honors Elizabeth. “Speed’s”: John Speed (1552?–1629), author of Historie of Great Britain (1611).
Reduce to manageable space.
Elizabeth I reigned for forty- four years. “Olympiads”: four- year intervals between Olympic games; in ancient Greece, dates were calculated by them. 9. King (Latin).

Philip II (1527–1598) was Spain’s monarch when Queen Elizabeth’s navy defeated his “host” (the many ships of the Spanish Armada) in 1588.
A law of the Salian Franks that excluded women from succession to the French Crown.
Learned men.
I.e., never- finished course.
I.e., Earth has a new face each spring.
Disturbances.
Don Antonio of Crato (1531–1595), who laid claim to the Portuguese throne.
Henri IV (1553–1610), Protestant king of France.
A reference to the Netherlands, whose national assembly was called the States General. Elizabeth I came to their aid in the wars against Spain.

Female warrior.
The Irish chieftain Hugh O’Neill (c. 1540– 1616), second earl of Tyrone, was defeated by En glish forces in 1601.
The Roman goddess of war, wisdom, chastity, the arts, and justice; in Greece, known as Pallas Athena.
Unknown land (Latin).
Robert Devereux (1566–1601), second earl of Essex, captured the Spanish port Cadiz, near the legendary Pillars of Hercules at Gibraltar, in 1596. Essex was the patron of the poet Edmund

Spenser, who famously declared that the con-

Since time was time, and man unmanly man,
Come show me such a Phoenix if you can. Was ever people better ruled than hers? Was ever land more happy freed from stirs?6 Did ever wealth in Eng land more abound? Her victories in foreign coasts resound;	40
Ships more invincible than Spain’s, her foe, She wracked, she sacked, she sunk his Armado; Her stately troops advanced to Lisbon’s wall, Don Anthony7 in’s right there to install. She frankly helped Frank’s brave distressed king;8	45
The states united9 now her fame do sing. She their protectrix was; they well do know Unto our dread virago,1 what they owe. Her nobles sacrificed their noble blood, Nor men nor coin she spared to do them good.	50
The rude untamed Irish, she did quell, Before her picture the proud Tyrone fell.2 Had ever prince such counsellors as she? Herself Minerva3 caused them so to be. Such captains and such soldiers never seen,	55
As were the subjects of our Pallas queen. Her seamen through all straits the world did round; Terra incognita4 might know the sound. Her Drake came laden home with Spanish gold; Her Essex took Cadiz, their Herculean hold.5	60
But time would fail me, so my tongue would too, To tell of half she did, or she could do. Semiramis6 to her is but obscure, More infamy than fame she did procure. She built her glory but on Babel’s walls,7	65
World’s won der for a while, but yet it falls. Fierce Tomris (Cyrus’ headsman) Scythians’ queen,8 Had put her harness off, had she but seen Our Amazon in th’ Camp of Tilbury,9 Judging all valor and all majesty	70

queror’s name “through all Spain did thunder, / And Hercules’ two pillars, standing hear, / Did make to quake and fear.” “Drake”: the explorer Sir Francis Drake (1540?–1596) brought back to Eng land Spanish gold from Chile and Peru.

Late- ninth- century queen of Assyria, said to have built Babylon.
The tower of Babel was built to win fame for its builders (Genesis 11).
Tomyris was queen of the Massagetae, a Scythian tribe, whose armies defeated Cyrus the Great of Persia in 529 b.c.e. According to some accounts, Tomyris had Cyrus beheaded and his head thrown into a pot of blood because it was a fitting end to a bloodthirsty man.
In 1588, anticipating a Spanish invasion, Elizabeth I reportedly addressed the En glish troops at Tilbury, on the north bank of the Thames River, dressed like the mythological female warriors known as Amazons and wearing a silver breastplate.

I N H O N O R O F Q U E E N E L I Z A B E T H

Within that princess to have residence, And prostrate yielded to her excellence. Dido, first foundress of proud Carthage walls1 (Who living consummates her funerals), A great Eliza, but compared with ours,	75
How vanisheth her glory, wealth, and powers. Profuse, proud Cleopatra, whose wrong name,2 Instead of glory, proved her country’s shame, Of her what worth in stories to be seen, But that she was a rich Egyptian queen.	80
Zenobya,3 potent empress of the East, And of all these without compare the best, Whom none but great Aurelius could quell; Yet for our Queen is no fit parallel. She was a Phoenix queen, so shall she be,	85
Her ashes not revived, more Phoenix she. Her personal perfections, who would tell Must dip his pen in th’ Heleconian well,4 Which I may not, my pride doth but aspire To read what others write and so admire.	90
Now say, have women worth? or have they none? Or had they some, but with our Queen is’t gone? Nay masculines, you have thus taxed us long, But she, though dead, will vindicate our wrong. Let such as say our sex is void of reason,	95
Know ’tis a slander now but once was treason. But happy Eng land which had such a queen; Yea happy, happy, had those days still been. But happiness lies in a higher sphere, Then won der not Eliza moves not here.	100
Full fraught with honor, riches and with days She set, she set, like Titan5 in his rays. No more shall rise or set so glorious sun Until the heaven’s great revolution;6 If then new things their old forms shall retain,	105
Eliza shall rule Albion 7 once again.	110

Her Epitaph

Here sleeps the queen, this is the royal bed

Of th’ damask rose, sprung from the white and red, 8

The Latin poet Virgil (70–19 b.c.e.), in book 4 of his Aeneid, tells the tale of the fabled queen of Carthage and her self- immolation after she was abandoned by Aeneas.

In Greek, Cleopatra— the name of the famous, licentious Egyptian queen (69–30 b.c.e.)— means “glory to the father.” Bradstreet extends the meaning to “fatherland.”
Queen of Palmyra, Syria, famous for her wars of expansion and defeated by the Roman emperor Aurelian in 273.
The Hippocrene spring—on Mount Helicon, home of the Muses— was the source of poetic inspiration.
The Latin poets’ name for the sun god.
“And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea” (Revelation 21.1). 7. Eng land.

8. Queen Elizabeth’s father, Henry VIII (1491– 1547), descended from the House of Lancaster, identified with the symbol of the red rose; her mother, Anne Boleyn (1507?–1536), was from the House of York, identified with a white rose. The two houses were at war with each other for many years. Bradstreet suggests that the damask rose of Elizabeth is formed by the intermingling of these two colors.

Whose sweet perfume fills the all- filling air.

This rose is withered, once so lovely fair.

On neither tree did grow such rose before, 115

The greater was our gain, our loss the more.

Another

Here lies the pride of queens, pattern of kings,

So blaze it, Fame, here’s feathers for thy wings.

Here lies the envied, yet unparalleled prince,

Whose living virtues speak (though dead long since). 120 If many worlds, as that fantastic framed, In every one be her great glory famed.

1643 1650

To the Memory of My Dear and Ever Honored Father Thomas Dudley Esq. Who Deceased, July 31, 1653, and of His Age 77

By duty bound and not by custom led To celebrate the praises of the dead, My mournful mind, sore pressed, in trembling verse Pres ents my lamentations at his hearse,
Who was my father, guide, instructor too, To whom I ought what ever I could do. Nor is’t relation near my hand shall tie; For who more cause to boast his worth than I? Who heard or saw, observed or knew him better?
Or who alive than I a greater debtor? Let malice bite and envy gnaw its fill, He was my father, and I’ll praise him still. Nor was his name or life led so obscure That pity might some trumpeters procure	10
Who after death might make him falsely seem Such as in life no man could justly deem. Well known and loved, where e’er he lived, by most Both in his native and in foreign coast, These to the world his merits could make known,	15
So needs no testimonial from his own; But now or never I must pay my sum; While others tell his worth, I’ll not be dumb. One of Found ers, thy1 him New Eng land know,	20
Who stayed thy feeble sides when thou wast low,
Who spent his state,2 his strength and years with care That after- comers in them might have share. True patriot of this little commonweal, Who is’t can tax thee aught, but for thy zeal? Truth’s friend thou wert, to errors still a foe,	25

1. I.e., a founder of the Mas sa chu setts Bay Colony. 2. I.e., estate; position in life.

TO T H E M E M O RY O F MY FAT H E R

Which caused apostates to malign so. Thy love to true religion e’er shall shine; My father’s God, be God of me and mine. Upon the earth he did not build his nest, But as a pilgrim, what he had, possessed.	30
High thoughts he gave no harbor in his heart, Nor honors puffed him up when he had part; Those titles loathed, which some too much do love, For truly his ambition lay above. His humble mind so loved humility,	35
He left it to his race for legacy; And oft and oft with speeches mild and wise Gave his in charge that jewel rich to prize. No ostentation seen in all his ways, An3 in the mean ones of our foolish days,	40
Which all they have and more still set to view, Their greatness may be judged by what they shew. His thoughts were more sublime, his actions wise, Such vanities he justly did despise. Nor won der ’twas, low things ne’er much did move	45
For he a mansion had, prepared above, For which he sighed and prayed and longed full sore He might be clothed upon for evermore. Oft spake of death, and with a smiling cheer He did exult his end was drawing near;	50
Now fully ripe, as shock of wheat that’s grown, Death as a sickle hath him timely mown, And in celestial barn hath housed him high, Where storms, nor show’rs, nor aught can damnify. His generation served, his labors cease;	55
And to his fathers gathered is in peace. Ah happy soul, ’mongst saints and angels blest, Who after all his toil is now at rest. His hoary4 head in righ teousness was found; As joy in heaven, on earth let praise resound.	60
Forgotten never be his memory, His blessing rest on his posterity; His pious footsteps, followed by his race, At last will bring us to that happy place Where we with joy each other’s face shall see,	65
And parted more by death shall never be. His Epitaph Within this tomb a patriot lies That was both pious, just, and wise, To truth a shield, to right a wall, To sectaries a whip and maul,5	70
A magazine6 of history,	75

Though. 5. Hammer or club. “Sectaries”: opposing believers.
Gray- haired. 6. Store house.

A prizer of good com pany,

In manners pleasant and severe;

The good him loved, the bad did fear,

And when his time with years was spent,

If some rejoiced, more did lament.

To Her Father with Some Verses

Most truly honored, and as truly dear,

If worth in me or aught I do appear,

Who can of right better demand the same

Than may your worthy self from whom it came?

1867

The principal1 might yield a greater sum,

Yet handled ill, amounts but to this crumb;

My stock’s so small I know not how to pay,

My bond2 remains in force unto this day;

Yet for part payment take this simple mite,3

Where nothing’s to be had, kings lose their right.

Such is my debt I may not say forgive,

But as I can, I’ll pay it while I live;

Such is my bond, none can discharge but I, Yet paying is not paid until I die.

Contemplations

Some time now past in the autumnal tide,

When Phoebus1 wanted but one hour to bed, The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride, Were gilded o’er by his rich golden head.

1678

Their leaves and fruits seemed painted, but was true, Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hue; Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.

I wist2 not what to wish, yet sure thought I,

If so much excellence abide below,

How excellent is He that dwells on high,

Whose power and beauty by His works we know?

The capital that yields interest. 3. The smallest pos si ble denomination.
“Stock” and “bond” include puns on “worth” 1. Apollo, the Greek and Roman sun god.

and “contract,” respectively, in their emotional 2. Knew. and financial senses.

Sure He is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,

That hath this under world so richly dight;3

More heaven than earth was here, no winter and no night.

Then on a stately oak I cast mine eye, Whose ruffling top the clouds seemed to aspire; How long since thou wast in thine infancy? Thy strength, and stature, more thy years admire, Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born?	15
Or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn? If so, all these as nought, eternity doth scorn. 4 Then higher on the glistering Sun I gazed, Whose beams was shaded by the leafy tree; The more I looked, the more I grew amazed,	20
And softly said, “What glory’s like to thee?” Soul of this world, this universe’s eye, No won der some made thee a deity; Had I not better known, alas, the same had I. 5 Thou as a bridegroom from thy chamber rushes,	25
And as a strong man, joys to run a race;4 The morn doth usher thee with smiles and blushes; The Earth reflects her glances in thy face. Birds, insects, animals with vegative,5 Thy heat from death and dullness doth revive,	30
And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive. 6 Thy swift annual and diurnal course, Thy daily straight and yearly oblique path, Thy pleasing fervor and thy scorching force, All mortals here the feeling knowledge hath. 6	35
Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night, Quaternal seasons causéd by thy might: Hail creature, full of sweetness, beauty, and delight.	40

Art thou so full of glory that no eye

Hath strength thy shining rays once to behold?

Furnished, adorned. race” (Psalm 19.5).
The sun “is as a bridegroom coming out of his 5. I.e., as well as plant life.

chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a 6. I.e., I know the feeling of (the sun).

And is thy splendid throne erect so high, As to approach it, can no earthly mold? How full of glory then must thy Creator be, Who gave this bright light luster unto thee? Admired, adored for ever, be that Majesty. 8	45
Silent alone, where none or7 saw, or heard, In pathless paths I lead my wand’ring feet, My humble eyes to lofty skies I reared To sing some song, my mazéd8 Muse thought meet. My great Creator I would magnify,	50
That nature had thus decked liberally; But Ah, and Ah, again, my imbecility! 9 I heard the merry grasshopper then sing. The black- clad cricket bear a second part; They kept one tune and played on the same string,	55
Seeming to glory in their little art. Shall creatures abject thus their voices raise And in their kind resound their Maker’s praise Whilst I, as mute, can warble forth no higher lays?9 10 When pres ent times look back to ages past,	60
And men in being fancy those1 are dead, It makes things gone perpetually to last, And calls back months and years that long since fled. It makes a man more aged in conceit2 Than was Methuselah,3 or’s grandsire great,	65
While of their persons and their acts his mind doth treat. 11 Sometimes in Eden fair he seems to be, Sees glorious Adam there made lord of all, Fancies the apple, dangle on the tree, That turned his sovereign to a naked thrall.4	70
Who like a miscreant’s driven from that place, To get his bread with pain and sweat of face, A penalty imposed on his backsliding race.	75

Either. 2. Apprehension, the pro cesses of thought.
Amazed. 3. Thought to have lived 969 years (Genesis 5.27).
Short lyric or narrative poems intended to be 4. Slave. For the story of Adam and Eve in Eden, sung. where they ate the apple from the tree of the 1. I.e., those who. knowledge of good and evil, see Genesis 1–3.

Here sits our grandame in retired place, And in her lap her bloody Cain new- born;
The weeping imp oft looks her in the face, Bewails his unknown hap5 and fate forlorn; His mother sighs to think of Paradise, And how she lost her bliss to be more wise, Believing him that was, and is, father of lies.6 13	80
Here Cain and Abel come to sacrifice, Fruits of the earth and fatlings7 each do bring. On Abel’s gift the fire descends from skies, But no such sign on false Cain’s offering; With sullen hateful looks he goes his ways,	85
Hath thousand thoughts to end his brother’s days, Upon whose blood his future good he hopes to raise. 14 There Abel keeps his sheep, no ill he thinks; His brother comes, then acts his fratricide: The virgin Earth of blood her first draught drinks,	90
But since that time she often hath been cloyed. The wretch with ghastly face and dreadful mind	95

Thinks each he sees will serve him in his kind,

Though none on earth but kindred near then could he find.

Who fancies not his looks now at the bar,8
His face like death, his heart with horror fraught, Nor malefactor ever felt like war, When deep despair with wish of life hath fought, Branded with guilt and crushed with treble woes, A vagabond to Land of Nod9 he goes.	100
A city builds, that walls might him secure from foes. 16 Who thinks not oft upon the father’s ages, Their long descent, how nephew’s sons they saw, The starry observations of those sages, And how their precepts to their sons were law,	105
How Adam sighed to see his progeny,	110

Fortune, circumstances. As an adult, Eve’s elder 8. I.e., at a (holy) tribunal; facing God’s judgson, Cain, slew his brother, Abel (Genesis 4.8). ment.
Satan. 9. An unidentified region east of Eden where
Animals fattened for slaughter. Cain dwelled after slaying Abel (Genesis 4.16).

Clothed all in his black sinful livery,

Who neither guilt nor yet the punishment could fly.

Our life compare we with their length of days Who to the tenth of theirs doth now arrive?

And though thus short, we shorten many ways, 115

Living so little while we are alive;

In eating, drinking, sleeping, vain delight So unawares comes on perpetual night, And puts all pleasures vain unto eternal flight.

When I behold the heavens as in their prime, 120

And then the earth (though old) still clad in green,

The stones and trees, insensible of time,

Nor1 age nor wrinkle on their front are seen;

If winter come and greenness then do fade,

A spring returns, and they more youthful made; 125

But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he’s laid.

By birth more noble than those creatures all,

Yet seems by nature and by custom cursed,

No sooner born, but grief and care makes fall

That state obliterate he had at first; 130

Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again, Nor habitations long their names retain, But in oblivion to the final day remain.

Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees, the earth

Because their beauty and their strength last longer? 135

Shall I wish there, or never to had birth,

Because they’re bigger, and their bodies stronger?

Nay, they shall darken, perish, fade, and die,

And when unmade, so ever shall they lie,

But man was made for endless immortality. 140

Under the cooling shadow of a stately elm

Close sat I by a goodly river’s side,

Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm, A lonely place, with pleasures dignified.

Neither.

I once that loved the shady woods so well, Now thought the rivers did the trees excel, And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell. 22 While on the stealing stream I fixt mine eye, Which to the longed- for ocean held its course,	145
I marked, nor crooks, nor rubs,2 that there did lie Could hinder aught,3 but still augment its force. “O happy flood,” quoth I, “that holds thy race Till thou arrive at thy beloved place, Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace, 23	150
Nor is’t enough, that thou alone mayst slide But hundred brooks in thy clear waves do meet, So hand in hand along with thee they glide To Thetis’ house, 4 where all embrace and greet. Thou emblem true of what I count the best,	155
O could I lead my rivulets to rest, So may we press to that vast mansion, ever blest.” 24 Ye fish, which in this liquid region ’bide, That for each season have your habitation, Now salt, now fresh where you think best to glide	160
To unknown coasts to give a visitation, In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry; So nature taught, and yet you know not why, You wat’ry folk that know not your felicity. 25 Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air,	165
Then to the colder bottom straight they dive; Eftsoon to Neptune’s5 glassy hall repair To see what trade they great ones there do drive, Who forage o’er the spacious sea- green field, And take the trembling prey before it yield,	170
Whose armor is their scales, their spreading fins their shield.	175

While musing thus with contemplation fed,

And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,

Difficulties. 5. Roman god of the ocean. “Eftsoon”: soon after-
Anything. ward.
I.e., the sea, home of the sea nymph Thetis.

The sweet- tongued Philomel6 perched o’er my head And chanted forth a most melodious strain
Which rapt me so with won der and delight, I judged my hearing better than my sight, And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight. 27 “O merry Bird,” said I, “that fears no snares, That neither toils nor hoards up in thy barn,	180
Feels no sad thoughts nor cruciating7 cares To gain more good or shun what might thee harm. Thy clothes ne’er wear, thy meat is everywhere, Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear, Reminds not what is past, nor what’s to come dost fear.” 28	185
“The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent,8 Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew, So each one tunes his pretty instrument, And warbling out the old, begin anew, And thus they pass their youth in summer season,	190
Then follow thee into a better region, Where winter’s never felt by that sweet airy legion.” 29 Man at the best a creature frail and vain, In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak, Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain,	195
Each storm his state, his mind, his body break, From some of these he never finds cessation, But day or night, within, without, vexation, Trou bles from foes, from friends, from dearest, near’st relation. 30 And yet this sinful creature, frail and vain,	200
This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow, This weatherbeaten vessel wracked with pain, Joys not in hope of an eternal morrow; Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation, In weight, in frequency and long duration	205
Can make him deeply groan for that divine translation.9	210

I.e., the nightingale. In Greek my thol ogy, Philomela, the daughter of King Attica, was transformed into a nightingale after her brother- in- law raped her and tore out her tongue.
I.e., excruciating, painful.
Anticipate.
Transformation.

T H E F L E S H A N D T H E S P I R I T

The mari ner that on smooth waves doth glide Sings merrily and steers his bark with ease, As if he had command of wind and tide, And now become great master of the seas:
But suddenly a storm spoils all the sport, And makes him long for a more quiet port, Which ’gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort. 32 So he that saileth in this world of plea sure, Feeding on sweets, that never bit of th’ sour,	215
That’s full of friends, of honor, and of trea sure, Fond fool, he takes this earth ev’n for heav’n’s bower. But sad affliction comes and makes him see Here’s neither honor, wealth, nor safety; Only above is found all with security. 33	220
O Time the fatal wrack1 of mortal things, That draws oblivion’s curtains over kings; Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not, Their names without a rec ord are forgot, Their parts, their ports, their pomp’s2 all laid in th’ dust	225
Nor wit nor gold, nor buildings scape time’s rust; But he whose name is graved in the white stone3 Shall last and shine when all of these are gone. The Flesh and the Spirit In secret place where once I stood Close by the banks of Lacrim1 flood, I heard two sisters reason on Things that are past and things to come;	230 1678
One Flesh was called, who had her eye On worldly wealth and vanity; The other Spirit, who did rear Her thoughts unto a higher sphere: Sister, quoth Flesh, what liv’st thou on,
Nothing but meditation?	10

1. Destroyer. stone, and in the stone a new name written, 2. Vanity. “Parts”: features. “Ports”: places of which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth refuge. it” (Revelation 2.17). “Scape”: escape.

3. “To him that overcometh will I give to eat of 1. In Latin, lacrima means “tear.” the hidden manna and will give him a white

Doth contemplation feed thee so Regardlessly to let earth go? Can speculation satisfy Notion2 without real ity?
Dost dream of things beyond the moon, And dost thou hope to dwell there soon? Hast trea sures there laid up in store That all in th’ world thou count’st but poor? Art fancy sick, or turned a sot3	15
To catch at shadows which are not? Come, come, I’ll show unto thy sense, Industry hath its recompense. What canst desire, but thou may’st see True substance in variety?	20
Dost honor like? Acquire the same, As some to their immortal fame, And trophies4 to thy name erect Which wearing time shall ne’er deject. For riches doth thou long full sore?	25
Behold enough of precious store. Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold, Than eyes can see or hands can hold. Affect’s thou plea sure? Take thy fill, Earth hath enough of what you will.	30
Then let not go, what thou may’st find For things unknown, only in mind. Spirit: Be still thou unregenerate5 part, Disturb no more my settled heart, For I have vowed (and so will do)	35
Thee as a foe still to pursue. And combat with thee will and must, Until I see thee laid in th’ dust. Sisters we are, yea, twins we be, Yet deadly feud ’twixt thee and me;	40
For from one father are we not, Thou by old Adam6 wast begot. But my arise is from above, Whence my dear Father I do love. Thou speak’st me fair, but hat’st me sore,	45
Thy flatt’ring shows7 I’ll trust no more. How oft thy slave, hast thou me made, When I believed what thou hast said, And never had more cause of woe Than when I did what thou bad’st do.	50
I’ll stop mine ears at these thy charms, And count them for my deadly harms.	55

2. Thought. 6. In Puritan theology, humankind was lost to 3. Fool. “Art fancy sick”: i.e., do you have hallu- sin after the fall of “old Adam,” but was redeemed cinations? by the sacrifice of the “new Adam,” Jesus Christ.

Monuments. 7. Exhibitions, displays.
Unrepentant, unsaved.

T H E F L E S H A N D T H E S P I R I T

Thy sinful pleasures I do hate, Thy riches are to me no bait, Thine honors do, nor will I love;
For my ambition lies above. My greatest honor it shall be When I am victor over thee, And triumph shall with laurel head,8 When thou my captive shalt be led,	60
How I do live, thou need’st not scoff, For I have meat thou know’st not of; The hidden manna9 I do eat, The word of life it is my meat. My thoughts do yield me more content	65
Than can thy hours in plea sure spent. Nor are they shadows which I catch, Nor fancies vain at which I snatch, But reach at things that are so high, Beyond thy dull capacity:	70
Eternal substance I do see, With which enrichéd I would be. Mine eye doth pierce the heavens and see What is invisible to thee. My garments are not silk nor gold,	75
Nor such like trash which earth doth hold, But royal robes I shall have on, More glorious than the glist’ring sun; My crown not diamonds, pearls, and gold, But such as angels’ heads enfold.	80
The city1 where I hope to dwell, There’s none on earth can parallel; The stately walls both high and strong, Are made of precious jasper stone; The gates of pearl, both rich and clear,	85
And angels are for porters there; The streets thereof transparent gold, Such as no eye did e’er behold; A crystal river there doth run, Which doth proceed from the Lamb’s throne.	90
Of life, there are the waters sure, Which shall remain forever pure, Nor sun, nor moon, they have no need, For glory doth from God proceed. No candle there, nor yet torchlight,	95
For there shall be no darksome night. From sickness and infirmity For evermore they shall be free; Nor withering age shall e’er come there,	100

8. In classical times, a crown of laurel was a sign 1. Lines 85 to 106 follow the description of the of victory for poets, heroes, and athletes. heavenly city of the New Jerusalem in Revelation 9. The food sent by God to the Israelites in the 21–22.

wilderness (Exodus 16.15).

But beauty shall be bright and clear;

This city pure is not for thee, 105

For things unclean there shall not be. If I of heaven may have my fill,

Take thou the world and all that will.

1678

The Author to Her Book1

Thou ill- formed offspring of my feeble brain,

Who after birth didst by my side remain,

Till snatched from thence by friends, less wise than true,

Who thee abroad, exposed to public view,

Made thee in rags, halting to th’ press to trudge, 5

Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).

At thy return my blushing was not small,

My rambling brat (in print) should mother call,

I cast thee by as one unfit for light,

Thy visage was so irksome in my sight; 10

Yet being mine own, at length affection would Thy blemishes amend, if so I could: I washed thy face, but more defects I saw, And rubbing off a spot still made a flaw.

I stretched thy joints to make thee even feet,2 15

Yet still thou run’st more hobbling than is meet;

In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save homespun cloth i’ th’ house I find.

In this array ’mongst vulgars3 may’st thou roam.

In critic’s hands beware thou dost not come, 20

And take thy way where yet thou art not known;

If for thy father asked, say thou hadst none;

And for thy mother, she alas is poor,

Which caused her thus to send thee out of door.

1678

Before the Birth of One of Her Children

All things within this fading world hath end,

Adversity doth still our joys attend;

No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, But with death’s parting blow is sure to meet.

The sentence past is most irrevocable, 5

1. Bradstreet is thought to have written this 2. I.e., metrical feet; thus to smooth out the lines.

poem in 1666, when the second edition of The 3. The common people. Tenth Muse was contemplated.

TO MY D E A R A N D LOV I N G H U S BA N D

A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.

How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend,

How soon’t may be thy lot to lose thy friend,

We both are ignorant, yet love bids me

These farewell lines to recommend to thee, That when that knot’s untied that made us one, I may seem thine, who in effect am none.

And if I see not half my days that’s due,

What nature would, God grant to yours and you;

The many faults that well you know I have

Let be interred in my oblivious grave;

If any worth or virtue were in me,

Let that live freshly in thy memory

And when thou feel’st no grief, as I no harms,

Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms, And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains Look to my little babes, my dear remains. And if thou love thyself, or loved’st me,

These O protect from stepdame’s1 injury.

And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse,

With some sad sighs honor my absent hearse;

And kiss this paper for thy love’s dear sake,

Who with salt tears this last farewell did take.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

1678

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay,

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persevere

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

1678

1. I.e., stepmother’s.

A Letter to Her Husband, Absent upon Public Employment

My head, my heart, mine eyes, my life, nay, more,

My joy, my magazine1 of earthly store,

If two be one, as surely thou and I,

How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ipswich lie?2

So many steps, head from the heart to sever, 5

If but a neck, soon should we be together.

I, like the Earth this season, mourn in black,

My Sun is gone so far in’s zodiac,

Whom whilst I ’joyed, nor storms, nor frost I felt,

His warmth such frigid colds did cause to melt. 10

My chilled limbs now numbed lie forlorn;

Return, return, sweet Sol, from Capricorn;3

In this dead time, alas, what can I more

Than view those fruits which through thy heat I bore?

Which sweet contentment yield me for a space, 15

True living pictures of their father’s face.

O strange effect! now thou art southward gone,

I weary grow the tedious day so long;

But when thou northward to me shalt return,

I wish my Sun may never set, but burn 20

Within the Cancer4 of my glowing breast,

The welcome house of him my dearest guest. Where ever, ever stay, and go not thence,

Till nature’s sad decree shall call thee hence;

Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone, 25 I here, thou there, yet both but one.

1678

Another [Letter to Her Husband, Absent upon Public Employment]

As loving hind that (hartless) wants1 her deer,

Scuds through the woods and fern with hark’ning ear,

Perplext, in every bush and nook doth pry,

Her dearest deer, might answer ear or eye;

So doth my anxious soul, which now doth miss 5

A dearer dear (far dearer heart) than this, Still wait with doubts, and hopes, and failing eye, His voice to hear or person to descry.

Or as the pensive dove doth all alone

Ware house.
Ipswich, Mas sa chu setts. Her husband may have been in Eng land when she wrote this poem.
Capricorn, the tenth of the twelve signs of the zodiac, represents winter. “Sol”: sun.
Cancer, the fourth sign of the zodiac, represents summer.

1. Lacks. “Hind”: female deer. “Hartless” puns on hart (male deer) and heart.

I N R E F E R E N C E TO H E R C H I L D R E N

(On withered bough) most uncouthly bemoan

The absence of her love and loving mate,

Whose loss hath made her so unfortunate,

Ev’n thus do I, with many a deep sad groan,

Bewail my turtle2 true, who now is gone,

His presence and his safe return still woos,

With thousand doleful sighs and mournful coos.

Or as the loving mullet,3 that true fish,

Her fellow lost, nor joy nor life do wish,

But launches on that shore, there for to die,

Where she her captive husband doth espy.

Mine being gone, I lead a joyless life,

I have a loving peer, yet seem no wife;

But worst of all, to him can’t steer my course, I here, he there, alas, both kept by force.

Return my dear, my joy, my only love,

Unto thy hind, thy mullet, and thy dove,

Who neither joys in pasture, house, nor streams,

The substance gone, O me, these are but dreams.

Together at one tree, oh let us browse,

And like two turtles roost within one house, And like the mullets in one river glide,

Let’s still remain but one, till death divide. Thy loving love and dearest dear, At home, abroad, and everywhere.

In Reference to Her Children, 23 June 1659

I had eight birds hatched in one nest,

Four cocks there were, and hens the rest.

I nursed them up with pain and care,

Nor cost, nor labor did I spare,

1678

Till at the last they felt their wing,

Mounted the trees, and learned to sing; Chief of the brood then took his flight To regions far and left me quite.

My mournful chirps I after send,

Till he return, or I do end:

Leave not thy nest, thy dam and sire, Fly back and sing amidst this choir.

My second bird did take her flight,

And with her mate flew out of sight;

Southward they both their course did bend,

And seasons twain they there did spend, Till after blown by southern gales,

They norward steered with filled sails.

A prettier bird was nowhere seen,

2. I.e., turtledove. 3. A common species of fish.

Trees.
The Roman goddess of the dawn.
Either.
Bird catcher’s.

Along the beach among the treen.1 I have a third of color white, On whom I placed no small delight; Coupled with mate loving and true, Hath also bid her dam adieu;	20
And where Aurora2 first appears, She now hath perched to spend her years. One to the acad emy flew To chat among that learned crew; Ambition moves still in his breast	25
That he might chant above the rest, Striving for more than to do well, That nightingales he might excel. My fifth, whose down is yet scarce gone, Is ’mongst the shrubs and bushes flown,	30
And as his wings increase in strength, On higher boughs he’ll perch at length. My other three still with me nest, Until they’re grown, then as the rest, Or3 here or there they’ll take their flight,	35
As is ordained, so shall they light. If birds could weep, then would my tears Let others know what are my fears Lest this my brood some harm should catch, And be surprised for want of watch,	40
Whilst pecking corn and void of care, They fall un’wares in fowler’s4 snare, Or whilst on trees they sit and sing, Some untoward5 boy at them do fling, Or whilst allured with bell and glass,	45
The net be spread, and caught, alas. Or lest by lime- twigs they be foiled,6 Or by some greedy hawks be spoiled. O would my young, ye saw my breast, And knew what thoughts there sadly rest,	50
Great was my pain when I you bred, Great was my care when I you fed, Long did I keep you soft and warm, And with my wings kept off all harm, My cares are more and fears than ever,	55
My throbs such now as ’fore were never. Alas, my birds, you wisdom want, Of perils you are ignorant; Oft times in grass, on trees, in flight, Sore accidents on you may light.	60
O to your safety have an eye, So happy may you live and die. Meanwhile my days in tunes I’ll spend,	65

Unruly, fractious.

I.e., caught by means of birdlime (a sticky substance) spread on twigs.

I N M E M O RY O F MY D E A R G R A N D C H I L D

Till my weak lays7 with me shall end.

In shady woods I’ll sit and sing,

And things that passed to mind I’ll bring. 70

Once young and pleasant, as are you, But former toys (no joys) adieu.

My age I will not once lament,

But sing, my time so near is spent.

And from the top bough take my flight 75

Into a country beyond sight,

Where old ones instantly grow young,

And there with seraphims 8 set song;

No seasons cold, nor storms they see;

But spring lasts to eternity. 80

When each of you shall in your nest

Among your young ones take your rest,

In chirping language, oft them tell,

You had a dam that loved you well,

That did what could be done for young, 85

And nursed you up till you were strong,

And ’fore she once would let you fly,

She showed you joy and misery;

Taught what was good, and what was ill,

What would save life, and what would kill. 90

Thus gone, amongst you I may live,

And dead, yet speak, and counsel give: Farewell, my birds, farewell adieu, I happy am, if well with you.

1678

In Memory of My Dear Grand child Elizabeth Bradstreet, Who

Deceased August, 1665, Being a Year and a Half Old 1

Farewell dear babe, my heart’s too much content,

Farewell sweet babe, the plea sure of mine eye, Farewell fair flower that for a space was lent, Then ta’en away unto eternity.

Blest babe, why should I once bewail thy fate, Or sigh thy days so soon were terminate,

Sith1 thou art settled in an everlasting state.

By nature trees do rot when they are grown,

And plums and apples thoroughly ripe do fall,

And corn and grass are in their season mown,

Ballads, poems. 1. Since.
Winged angels.

And time brings down what is both strong and tall.

But plants new set to be eradicate, And buds new blown to have so short a date,

Is by His hand alone that guides nature and fate.

1678

In Memory of My Dear Grand child Anne Bradstreet,

Who Deceased June 20, 1669, Being Three Years and

Seven Months Old

With troubled heart and trembling hand I write, The heavens have changed to sorrow my delight. How oft with disappointment have I met, When I on fading things my hopes have set.
Experience might ’fore this have made me wise, To value things according to their price. Was ever stable joy yet found below? Or perfect bliss without mixture of woe? I knew she was but as a withering flower,
That’s here today, perhaps gone in an hour; Like as a bubble, or the brittle glass, Or like a shadow turning as it was. More fool then I to look on that was lent As if mine own, when thus impermanent.	10
Farewell dear child, thou ne’er shall come to me, But yet a while, and I shall go to thee; Meantime my throbbing heart’s cheered up with this: Thou with thy Savior art in endless bliss.	15

1678

On My Dear Grand child Simon Bradstreet, Who Died on 16 November, 1669, Being But a Month, and One Day Old

No sooner came, but gone, and fall’n asleep.

Acquaintance short, yet parting caused us weep;

Three flowers, two scarcely blown, the last i’ th’ bud, Cropped by th’ Almighty’s hand; yet is He good.

With dreadful awe before Him let’s be mute,

Such was His will, but why, let’s not dispute, With humble hearts and mouths put in the dust, Let’s say He’s merciful as well as just.

He will return and make up all our losses,

And smile again after our bitter crosses. Go pretty babe, go rest with sisters twain; Among the blest in endless joys remain.

1678

H E R E F O L LOW S S O M E V E R S E S

For Deliverance from a Fever

When sorrows had begirt me round,

And pains within and out,

When in my flesh no part was found,1 Then didst Thou rid2 me out.

My burning flesh in sweat did boil, 5

My aching head did break,

From side to side for ease I toil, So faint I could not speak.

Beclouded was my soul with fear

Of Thy dis plea sure sore, 10

Nor could I read my evidence Which oft I read before.

“Hide not Thy face from me!” I cried, “From burnings keep my soul.

Thou know’st my heart, and hast me tried; 15

I on Thy mercies roll.”

“O heal my soul,” Thou know’st I said,

“Though flesh consume to nought,

What though in dust it shall be laid,

To glory ’t shall be brought.” 20

Thou heard’st, Thy rod Thou didst remove

And spared my body frail,

Thou show’st to me Thy tender love, My heart no more might quail.

O, praises to my mighty God, 25

Praise to my Lord, I say,

Who hath redeemed my soul from pit,3

Praises to Him for aye.4

1867

Here Follows Some Verses upon the Burning of Our House, July 10th, 1666

Copied Out of a Loose Paper

In silent night when rest I took

For sorrow near I did not look I wakened was with thund’ring noise

And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.

That fearful sound of “Fire!” and “Fire!” 5

Let no man know is my desire.

I, starting up, the light did spy,

1. I.e., when nothing was spared. 3. Hell. 2. Cleanse. “Thou”: God. 4. Ever.

And to my God my heart did cry To strengthen me in my distress
And not to leave me succorless. Then, coming out, beheld a space The flame consume my dwelling place. And when I could no longer look, I blest His name that gave and took,1	10
That laid my goods now in the dust. Yea, so it was, and so ’twas just. It was His own, it was not mine, Far be it that I should repine; He might of all justly bereft	15
But yet sufficient for us left. When by the ruins oft I past My sorrowing eyes aside did cast, And here and there the places spy Where oft I sat and long did lie:	20
Here stood that trunk, and there that chest, There lay that store I counted best. My pleasant things in ashes lie, And them behold no more shall I. Under thy roof no guest shall sit,	25
Nor at thy table eat a bit. No pleasant tale shall e’er be told, Nor things recounted done of old. No candle e’er shall shine in thee, Nor bridegroom’s voice e’er heard shall be.	30
In silence ever shall thou lie, Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.2 Then straight I ’gin my heart to chide, And did thy wealth on earth abide? Didst fix thy hope on mold’ring dust?	35
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? Raise up thy thoughts above the sky That dunghill mists away may fly. Thou hast an house on high erect, Framed by that mighty Architect,	40
With glory richly furnished, Stands permanent though this be fled. It’s purchaséd and paid for too By Him who hath enough to do. A price so vast as is unknown	45
Yet by His gift is made thine own; There’s wealth enough, I need no more, Farewell, my pelf,3 farewell my store. The world no longer let me love, My hope and trea sure lies above.	50

1867

“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; 3. Possessions, usually in the sense of being blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1.21). falsely gained.
Empty, worthless. Cf. Ecclesiastes 1.2.

As Weary Pilgrim

As weary pilgrim, now at rest, Hugs with delight his silent nest, His wasted limbs now lie full soft That mirey steps have trodden oft,
Blesses himself to think upon His dangers past, and travails done. The burning sun no more shall heat, Nor stormy rains on him shall beat. The briars and thorns no more shall scratch.
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch. He erring paths no more shall tread, Nor wild fruits eat instead of bread. For waters cold he doth not long For thirst no more shall parch his tongue.	10
No rugged stones his feet shall gall, Nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall. All cares and fears he bids farewell And means in safety now to dwell. A pilgrim I, on earth perplexed	15
With sins, with cares and sorrows vext, By age and pains brought to decay, And my clay house 1 mold’ring away. Oh, how I long to be at rest And soar on high among the blest.	20
This body shall in silence sleep, Mine eyes no more shall ever weep, No fainting fits shall me assail, Nor grinding pains my body frail, With cares and fears ne’er cumb’red be	25
Nor losses know, nor sorrows see. What though my flesh shall there consume, It is the bed Christ did perfume, And when a few years shall be gone, This mortal shall be clothed upon.	30
A corrupt carcass down it lies, A glorious body it shall rise. In weakness and dishonor sown, In power ’tis raised by Christ alone. Then soul and body shall unite	35
And of their Maker have the sight. Such lasting joys shall there behold As ear ne’er heard nor tongue e’er told. Lord make me ready for that day, Then come, dear Bridegroom,2 come away.	40
August 31, 1669	1867

1. I.e., my body. children of the bridechamber fast, while the bride2. Christ is the bridegroom, and the soul is mar- groom is with them? As long as they have the brideried to him. “And Jesus said unto them, Can the groom with them, they cannot fast” (Mark 2.19).