The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse

T >> Thomas Cowherd >> The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales In Verse

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XLIV.

I here would try to speak my mind in brief
Upon the Temperance movement ere I pass
To other scenes, either of joy or grief,
In which our Pastor figures--for alas,
"Man's best laid schemes are only like to grass
Which springs up for a season and then dies."
Just so this question 'mongst the world's great mass
Sometimes seems gaining ground, but the Foe plies
His sly ensnaring waits and all reform defies.

XLV.

Now why is this? Can any tell me why?
Some feel quite sure all we now want's a law
To stop the godless traffic. These rely
Perhaps too much on man to strike the blow
Which is to bring the fell Destroyer low.
Others are sure that it is useless quite
To curb the monster. These ne'er felt the glow
Of pure Philanthropy move them aright
Or they would rise and aim to crush this demon's might.

XLVI.

Try this scheme, friends: Let all true Christians stand
Fast in one body, and use fervent prayer
And self-denial, that the Lord's right hand
May be stretched out to break each chain and snare
Which binds mankind. Then let it be our care
To act consistently in all we do.
Of resting on an arm of flesh beware!
For in this case our plans will all fall through;
We shall be put to shame and feel deep anguish too.

XLVII.

May we no opportunity neglect
Of spreading wide the Gospel's joyful sound
For those who never do indeed expect
That God's rich blessing will their steps surround.
Thrice happy shall we be if we are found
Engaged still thus when Jesus calls us hence.
Rise, Christians, then, and let your zeal abound!
The Savior calls! In earnest now commence
This Godlike work, and let his name be our defence.

XLVIII.

I now resume my simple narrative,
To tell how GOODWORTHS reached their home again.
More striking views of them I yet must give,
If I may strike my harp and use my pen.
To me who rank not 'mongst well learned men
'Twill prove a task of no small magnitude;
Yet after hard bench-labor, now and then
It gives relief from much solicitude
To sit in my arm chair and form my verses rude.

XLIX.

Once more our friends are gliding o'er the road,
While their clear bells most lively music make.
The sleighing good, and past each log abode
They swiftly fly and soon a side-line take
To gain an Indian village near the Lake.
Here they intend to spend a little time
The poor Red Men from sin and death to wake
By speaking to them of those Truths sublime,
Which can renew the souls of men sunk low in crime.

L.

The Indian Chiefs received them with much pleasure;
They saw in GOODWORTH what did suit them well.
Of outward charms he had an ample measure,
And his fine voice was like a deep-toned bell.
These all combined cast as it were a spell
Over those haughty rangers of the wood,
And made them ponder what he had to tell.
It was a sight to see those natives rude
List to God's Gospel-message in a serious mood.

LI.

They listened, and the Holy Ghost with power
Sent home the word to some of savage heart.
These since have seen great cause to bless the hour
In which our Pastor visited that part.
A few, deep-skilled in blackest "heathen art"
Were full of rage and would have done him harm,
But lacked the power, which but increased their smart.
Meanwhile the others with fresh feelings warm,
Pressed hospitable rites and quelled the fierce alarm.

LII.

With these he had some very earnest talk
Of that obedience which the Lord requires
From his Disciples, to ensure a walk
Such as may tend to curb our vain desires
And nurture that which to all good aspires.
He deemed it proper not to press at first
The rite Baptismal; and while one admires
His views on this, another seems to thirst
For full initiation lest he die accursed.

LIII.

This from an Indian did excite surprise;
But soon 'twas known this man had heard before
A hint of it from some one he thought wise--
One truly skilled in strong Sectarian lore.
To try to set him right Goodworth forbore,
At least at that time, as too well he knew
Men oft in controversy feel more sore
On things of which they have but partial view;
That they will argue most for what to them is _new_.

LIV.

Upon the morrow ere they took their leave,
It was arranged--God willing--to return
Within a week or two those to receive
Into strict Fellowship who wished to learn
God's will, which all in Scripture may discern,
That in Church standing they a light might be
To their poor friends whose state required concern.
This settled, GOODWORTHS then most cheerfully
Resumed their journey home to join their family.

LV.

The first few miles in safety soon they passed,
And reach the edge of a most dismal swamp
Stretched out before them in dimensions vast;
A huge receptacle of gloom and damp.
There savage wolves and beasts of such a stamp
Might lodge secure and plan most daring deeds.
Gloomy the prospect, though the solar Lamp
Was full two hours from setting, and the steeds
Restive become and faster fly as instinct leads.

LVI.

The men knew well what they had to expect,
And sent a prayer into their Father's ear.
This done, they did no proper means neglect
To meet what danger might be hovering near,
And also strove each others' hearts to cheer.
Swifter the horses speed o'er the rough logs
That form the road, and now some wolves appear
Hungry and fierce and fresh from noisome bogs,
To pounce upon our friends who lack their faithful dogs.

LVII.

The murderous gang now spring but miss their prey,
And plunging in deep snow vent forth their rage
In horrid yells, then strive to reach the sleigh.
Again they fail; again afresh engage
With double fury bloody war to wage!
Vain their attempts. A Mighty Hand unseen
Aids those two men. This does their fears assuage,
And nerves their arms, and keeps their minds serene,
Or they had failed to tell how good the Lord had been.

LVIII.

The swamp is cleared, yet on the smoother road
Their speed they slack not till they reach the house
Of a poor drunken settler then abroad
On his nocturnal revels, while the spouse
Was left to mourn his oft-indulged carouse,
And tremble for his safety from the cold.
No sense of danger e'er could him arouse
From his sad sunken state. Drink had such hold
On his gross appetite he seemed to Satan sold.

LIX.

And yet the wife, the mother of his babes,
Ne'er breathed reproach against her low-sunk mate.
Such love as her's it is which sometimes saves
A wretched husband from a drunkard's fate.
'Tis true such love is oft repaid with hate,
And driven to distraction wives may say
Hard things of men who bring them to a state
Of heartfelt woe, and drive their feet astray
From Virtue's paths, until they shun the light of day.

LX.

But here and there a character shines forth,
As in this case, most worthy of all praise.
For this sweet wife was one of matchless worth,
And her dear name should grace my artless lays,
If I by that means could her triumphs raise.
She was in truth a noble heroine,
Whose brow might well have been bedecked with bays;
For deeds like hers through every age should shine
To show the strength of Love and prove it is divine.

LXI.

O, woman! who has skill of mind or pen
Those feelings to portray that fill thy breast?
All we yet see are glimpses, now and then,
Which make us long the more to know the rest.
Self-sacrificing woman! thou'rt possessed
Of that which does enable thee to bear
A load of misery on thy heart impressed
By wrongs from him who should thy sorrows share,
And make the daily weal his ever constant care.

LXII.

His home in that far North wild wilderness,
Had naught about it which could tell the tale
Of what that mother suffered of distress,
For hope--fond hope had kept her strong and hale.
It was still whispering she would soon prevail
Upon her husband to renounce his sin.
This cheered her heart although her face grew pale
With anxious care how best she could begin
And what means to employ that she might victory win.

LXIII.

So GOODWORTH found her on that bitter night
With house quite trim and table neatly laid,
And hopeful still though in a serious plight,
As we have hinted, very much afraid
Lest her dear man should freeze. "He is," she said,
"As good a husband as I could desire
But lot his fault. He always has displayed
Such love for me that I will never tire
Of loving him, though none my conduct may admire."

LXIV.

And saying this she would have gone alone
The absent one upon the road to seek.
Her ardent love conspicuously shown
On that occasion, and I fain would speak
Her praise with trumpet tongue, though she so meek
Might blush to hear it and feel half offended.
Now GOODWORTHS thought that one whom they deemed
weak
Was best at home, yet they her love commended,
And volunteered to go, by trusty dog attended.

LXV.

'Twas not in vain. Behind a Huge pine tree
The man, o'ercome, was lying fast asleep;
Nor could they rouse him, so far gone was he,
Or from the cold or from potations deep.
An unseen Eye did faithful vigils keep
O'er that poor sinner though he knew it not;
And thoughts of this has since oft made him weep
Tears of true penitence in that lone spot,
Which gave to him a lesson that he ne'er forgot.

LXVI.

This spot was very near to where he lived,
And the kind friends Drink's hapless victim bore
To his own home, both feeling truly grieved
That his sad state would make his wife's heart sore.
And now the faithful dog trots on before,
Most clearly glad because his master's found.
Anon he whines and scratches at the door,
Which makes his mistress' heart within her bound
As she peers through the dark and tries to catch some sound.

LXVII.

Each moment seemed an hour as thus she stood
In doubt, expecting some great evil near;
And when they came the sight nigh froze her blood.
She fainting fell, through mingled grief and fear.
Meanwhile the children in the chamber hear
A noise below, and leave their snug, warm bed,
Then in deep sorrow view their parents dear,
And big, warm tears each youngling freely shed,
For their idea was that both were lying dead.

LXVIII.

Our friends knew better and strove eagerly
To still their cries and consciousness restore
Unto the sufferers. Soon with joy they see
The mother fast recovering; her they bore
Into her bed-room that they might give more
Attention to the drunken father's case.
He in deep stupor did most loudly snore
And looked quite frightful with frost-bitten face,
Which kept him long in mind of that--his great disgrace.

LXIX.

Next they rub hard with snow the frozen parts,
Until the flesh displays a ruddy glow.
This task accomplished they with lighter hearts
Deeper concernment for the mistress show.
She, quite awake, most anxious was to know
Their full opinion of her partner's state.
The favorable answer made her bow
Her heart to God for this his mercy great,
In having kept her man from such an awful fate.

LXX.

From bed she rose and pressed on them to eat,
But GOODWORTH asked if he might go to prayer.
She gave consent, and 'fore the Mercy Seat
They poured forth thanks for all their Father's care,
And prayed that all within the house might share
God's rich forgiving love, and ever be
Devoted to his service: so prepare
By constant practice of true piety
To join the heavenly ranks a happy family.

LXXI.

And now they eat with keenest appetite
Of the good things so temptingly displayed--
Prime venison with bread both sweet and light;
And charming butter as e'er housewife made
Were with tea, cream, and rich preserves arrayed
In plentiful supply upon the table.
These, backed by welcome, all their toil repaid,
And they found backwoods cheer indeed no fable;
Yet to partake thereof their hostess was not able.

LXXII.

Their noble team they came so near forgetting,
Had been provided for with care by one
Who gave his parents no just cause for fretting--
A rather small but very hopeful son.
Around the blazing hearth-fire they begun
To draw their chairs to dwell in converse pure
Another hour on what the Lord had done;
How he had kept them all from death secure
And caused their love and faith through trials to endure.

LXXIII.

The guests both slept in peace and early rose,
And found their host already stirring round,
And suffering much from being badly froze,
And strangely nervous at the slightest sound.
The elder GOODWORTH spoke to him and found
That Conscience was at work within his breast.
She made him hear with reverence profound
Truths suited to the case of one distressed
By sense of heinous guilt, which drives away all rest.

LXXIV.

He also brought most forcibly to view
The need there was of "total abstinence"
For such as he; and step by step he drew
The man along till an o'erwhelming sense
Of his great crime made him wish to commence
At once a life of strict Sobriety.
He signed a pledge and straightway banished thence
The fiery fluid, his great enemy,--
And did thenceforward keep his pledge most sacredly.

LXXV.

The breakfast o'er, our two friends bade adieu
To parents, children, in their kindly way.
'Twas now their wish to push the journey through
Before the close of that short Winter day.
The Sun was up and made a grand display
Upon the trees and shrubs on every hand;
These all were clad in silvery array,
As if transformed by some Magician's wand,
But 'twas the work of Him who counts the grains of sand.

LXXVI.

For through the night a change had taken place--
Such as we frequent view without surprise.
Rain falls and freezes--this is oft the case--,
And trees look pretty to our outward eyes,
But is this all that such a view supplies?
Can we not trace a Mighty Artist's skill,
Which competition from mankind defies?
Then let us learn to reverence Him still,
Who forms these beauteous scenes according to His will.

LXXVII.

Dear GOODWORTH gazed upon the glittering scene
Until his soul was filled with ecstacy.
Here he perceived that God indeed had been
To clothe dull Winter in great majesty.
To him it was so full of poetry
That he was led to frame another lay,
Which seems to me to breathe such melody
I must ev'n give it without more delay,
And rest in hope 'twill live far, far beyond my day.

PASTOR'S SONG ON THE FROST-WORK OF A FOREST SCENE.

Last night's air was keen and the snow lay around;
All the trees, stript of leaves, were quite naked and black,
And naught broke the stillness so very profound
Save the jingle of bells as we passed o'er the track.

And little we thought of the sorrowful state
Of that fond, loving, wife by whose bountiful cheer
Our needs were supplied, nor yet dreamt of the fate
Impending o'er one--to her heart ever dear.

As little expected the clouds of despair
Hanging terribly pregnant with evils so dire
Would all quickly vanish in answer to prayer,
And sweet comfort spring forth from the midst of the fire.

As little we thought that the rude rising blast
Would bring rain to transform every dark forest scene
To richness of splendor by nothing surpassed
That we mortals have witnessed of wonders' terrene.

Yon maple trees bend with their silvery load
Like the frail sons of earth under ponderous wealth.
These feel keen affliction their consciences goad,
Yet they heed not the warning till Death comes by stealth.

And those, though they look on this calm, sunny day,
To be robed in pure beauty so strikingly grand,
Should Boreas arise his least might to display,
Would be stript of their charms by his merciless hand.

And yonder dark pines that seem still to aspire
To pre-eminence over their comrades below,
Which shine in Sol's rays like huge masses of fire,
To the earth their proud heads may be soon made to bow.

Yon oaks, which, like kings of the forest appear,
With their thick, crooked branches all coated with ice,
Never dream that the loss of their splendor is near,
That each branch may be broke by the wind in a trice.

Just so we vain mortals indulge foolish pride,
When we deck our poor bodies in splendid attire;
And oft has the Tempter successfully tried
With such means us to lead to most sinful desire.

How seldom we think that the primitive use
Of the first suit of clothing by Adam and Eve
Was not for adornment with trappings profuse,
But as cover for nakedness--guilt to relieve.

This lesson more frequently brought to our view
Might preserve all our souls from much sorrow and sin,
And make us more anxious each day to renew
Those adornings which Christians should all have within.

With reflections like these in true pleasure I gaze
On this landscape so fair--so transcendently bright,
And utter my heart's feeble tones of sweet praise
To my Father who formed it by Wisdom and Might.

LXXVIII.

Thus to a mind by sacred Truth impressed
Nature at all times is an open book,
And he who reads aright is truly blest.
But ah, how much her teachings we overlook!
One who his Scripture Guide has quite forsook
Makes her an idol, and her praises sings
In warmest strains; he hears in every nook
Of her domain a thousand different things
Proclaim her Godship, which to him much pleasure brings.

LXXIX.

Another, dreaming he is taught of God,
Will hardly deign to look on her sweet face.
His feet may press the flower-bespangled sod,
But to admire the carpet would disgrace
A mind so holy, and perhaps displace
Far better thoughts which rise within his breast!
In such a one 'twere difficult to trace
The influence of Truths sublime expressed
By our Great Master in discourse to us addressed.

LXXX.

As on most questions, mine's the middle view,
And looks on all creation as the work
Of God All-wise, most kind and mighty too.
This frees my mind from all vain thoughts which lurk
In its recesses, dissipates the murk
Of idol worship and religious pride,
And makes me proof 'gainst each insidious quirk
Thrown out by those who do my views deride;
Whose judgment seems to me from truth and reason wide.

LXXXI

In musings deep or Lively conversation,
The time flies quickly as our friends draw near
Their woodland home, which, after separation
So long from those it holds, is still more dear.
Anon, friends' farms successively appear,
And at Luth's house they stop to rest awhile
Themselves and team. There they lack not good cheer
Nor kindly welcome, shown by many a smile
From man and wife, a loving pair quite free from guile.

LXXXII.

From Luth they learned all their dear folks were well,
And this relieved them from anxiety;
So now with grateful hearts awhile they dwell
Upon those themes which dear to Saints should be--
Spoke of the love displayed so lavishly
In journeying mercies, wheresoe'er they went;
Of good accomplished--though with modesty--
By them as instruments most timely sent;
And thus an hour or two was profitably spent.

LXXXIII.

Ere very long they reached their own abode--
That _Nest_ well lined with Love, Content and Peace,
Where true home feelings in each bosom glowed,
And solid comforts day by day increase,
Bidding quite fair to last till life shall cease.
This their return the trusty dogs first hear,
And they by joyous barking rouse the geese,
The ducks and poultry, which in chorus clear
At once their voices raise, dreaming that harm is near.

LXXXXIV.

The household listen to the noise outside
A few short moments, when the youngest son
Struck by a pleasant thought could not abide
Longer suspense, but in a trice begun
To don his hat and gloves, both quickly done.
He hurries forth and by fair Luna's gleam
His eyes beheld what made him faster run
To bid the loved ones welcome, and the team
To house, and give such food as he may fittest deem.

LXXXV.

The two well loaded with their traveling gear,
Make for the cottage fast as they can go.
There the three females cheerfully appear
Determined they a welcome will bestow
Such as most virtuous minds alone can show.
Sweet smiles bedeck the mother's comely face,
The daughters too with joy are all aglow,
Quite pleased to have a kiss or warm embrace
From those they love so well at such a time and place.

LXXXVI.

Reader, dost thou possess imagination?
If so, just use that precious faculty
And join with me in making observation
On love scenes drawn from this dear family.
Thou art no eavesdropper, but yet I see
An interest sparkling in thy earnest face
Which shows thy heart doth go along with me
As I such secrets do my best to trace
And hold them up to view to benefit my race.

LXXXVII.

Imagine then the cordial reception
That I above have feebly tried to paint.
My picture has the charm of no deception--
A thing of which there's oft not much complaint.
Behold this loving band without restraint
Gathered mound the evening's social board,
Each in such frame of mind as seems a Saint,
Even in their eating honoring the Lord,
As they with temperance use whate'er their means afford.

LXXXVIII.

The father in most truly Pastoral style
Spoke of the dangers they had just passed through;
Dwelt on the English settler's death awhile.
And the sweet conduct of the widow, too,
Until the listeners had enough to do
To calm their feelings and restrain their fears.
Their sympathy was pure, to nature true,
Which made them deeply feel the griefs and fears
Of fellow mortals; and their father's heart it cheers.

LXXXIX.

He next informed them of the low sunk state
Of that new village where he meetings held.
How some few men were snatched from drunkard's fate,
How drink's most worthless traffic had been quelled,
And prejudice by force of Truth dispelled.
Next of their visit to the Indian tribe;
Told who received the Truth and who repelled
Its influx to their souls and Satan's bribe
Received, which did of Life Eternal them deprive.

XC.

The wolf adventure and Inebriate's case
Received due notice and called loud for praise
To Him whose hand they could-so clearly trace,
Who had most kindly cared for them always.
Then the _Doxology_ at once they raise
To the "Old Hundred," the immortal air,
The clear, full harmony of which displays
Such skill that mortals now may well despair
Of making better tune though they have talents rare.

XCI.

This done once more they read God's holy Word,
Choosing such portion as their minds may suit.
Then in great reverence kneel with full accord,
And fervent pray, though all save one are mute.
Are there who deem such acts of no repute?
Sad is their state, for they have nothing learned
As well worth learning. Will they this dispute?
Alas, poor sinners, you are not concerned
That you have Christ refused and thus your soul's good spurned.

XCII.

We'll draw the curtain while the family sleep--
Such sleep as pure contentment ever brings;
And while good Angels, o'er them vigils keep,
Let's pause a little that my rude harp's strings
May be drawn tighter, that my Muse her wings
Afresh may plume, ere she completes her song
For she has yet to sing of pleasant things
And the reverse, so she must needs be strong
To execute her task as time fast flies along.

XCIII.

The occasion I will take to introduce
More fully to my patient reader's view
This worthy household; which will be of use
In after scenes, as I my tale renew.
Joseph, the eldest, we have seen was true
To God and Nature in some trials great:
Much like his father year by year he grew
Until he reached to manhood's full estate;
In manners humble, and in preaching gifts first rate.

XCIV.

William, the younger, was not quite so grave;
As kind in heart, but still more blithe and free;
Quite serious on occasions and most brave,
There were few youths more loveable than he.
In Sunday school 'twas his delight to be,
There he still led the singing and took part
In teaching children the "great Mystery"
Of gospel truth, and many a childish heart
Felt that the loss of him would yield unceasing smart.

XCV.

The sisters, younger still, I must compare
To two fair roses very lately blown;
Who, though they lived in the woods, were debonair
As any town's girls I have ever known.
Their skill in housewifery was clearly shown
In the discharge of all their household duties.
They both had voices of the sweetest tone--
Not shrill nor harsh, but more like what the flute is,
And were by all who saw them looked upon as beauties.

XCVI.

But those were naught compared with Faith and Love
Possessed by both, evinced by all their acts;
And nothing pleased them better than to prove
That pure Religion never aught subtracts
From real enjoyment, as is shown by facts
Which all who can may read if so inclined.
'Tis true our Father evermore exacts
Complete obedience, but our hearts refined
By the Spirit through the Truth know all's in love designed.

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