Poems

Mary Baker Eddy

Poems

PREFACE

The poems garnered up in this little volume were written at different periods in the life of the author, dating from her early girlhood up to recent years. They were not written with a view of making a book, each poem being the spontaneous outpouring of a deeply poetic nature and called forth by some experience that claimed her attention.

The "Old Man of the Mountain," for instance, was written while the author was contemplating this lofty New Hampshire crag, whose rugged outlines resemble the profile of a human face. Inspired by the grandeur of this masterpiece of nature's handiwork, and looking "up through nature, unto nature's God," the poem began to take form in her thought, and alighting from her carriage, she seated herself by the roadside and began to write. Some tourists who were passing, and who made her acquaintance, asked her what she was writing, and she replied by reading the poem to them. They were so pleased with it that each requested a copy, which was subsequently mailed to them. Similar requests continued to reach the author for years afterward, until the poem finally found its way into print, appearing, together with "The Valley Cemetery," in a book "Gems for You," published in Manchester, N. H., in 1850, and again in Boston, in 1856.

The poem on the "Dedication of a Temperance Hall," in Lynn, Mass., in 1866, was written for that occasion, and was sung by the audience as a dedicatory hymn. "The Liberty Bells" appeared in a Lynn, Mass., newspaper, under the date of February 3, 1865. A note from the author, which was published with the poem, read as follows:

"Mr. Editor: —In 1835 a mob in Boston (although Boston has since been the pioneer of anti-slavery) dispersed a meeting of the Female Anti-Slavery Society, and assailed the person of William Lloyd Garrison with such fury that the city authorities could protect him nowhere but in the walls of a jail. To-day, by order of Governor Andrew, the bells are ringing to celebrate the passing of a resolution in Congress prohibiting slavery in the United States."

All of the author's best-known hymns are included in this collection, as well as many poems written in girlhood and during the years she resided in Lynn, Mass., and which appeared in various publications of that day. Among her earliest poems are "Upward," "Resolutions for the Day," "Autumn" (written in a maple grove), "Alphabet and Bayonet," and "The Country-Seat" (written while visiting a family friend in the beautiful suburbs of Boston); yet, even these are characterized by the same lofty trend of thought that reached its fulness in her later productions.

In May, 1910, Mrs. Eddy requested her publisher to prepare a few bound volumes of her poems, for private distribution. When this became known to her friends, they urged her to allow a popular edition to be issued, to which she assented. With grateful acknowledgment, therefore, of this permission, this little volume is presented to the public, in the hope that these gems of purest thought from this spiritually-minded author will prove a joy to the heavy laden and a balm to the weary heart.

Adam H. Dickey.Chestnut Hill, Mass., September 24, 1910.

OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN

Gigantic sire, unfallen still thy crest!Primeval dweller where the wild winds rest,Beyond the ken of mortal e'er to tellWhat power sustains thee in thy rock-bound cell.Or if, when first creation vast began,And far the universal fiat ran,"Let there be light" – from chaos dark set free,Ye rose, a monument of Deity,Proud from yon cloud-crowned height to look henceforthOn insignificance that peoples earth,Recalling oft the bitter draft which turnsThe mind to meditate on what it learns.Stern, passionless, no soul those looks betray;Though kindred rocks, to sport at mortal clay —Much as the chisel of the sculptor's art"Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart."Ah, who can fathom thee! Ambitious man,Like a trained falcon in the Gallic van,Guided and led, can never reach to theeWith all the strength of weakness – vanity!Great as thou art, and paralleled by none,Admired by all, still art thou drear and lone!The moon looks down upon thine exiled height;The stars, so cold, so glitteringly bright,On wings of morning gladly flit away,Yield to the sun's more genial, mighty ray;The white waves kiss the murmuring rill —But thy deep silence is unbroken still.

CONSTANCY

When starlight blends with morning's hue,I miss thee as the flower the dew!When noonday's length'ning shadows flee,I think of thee, I think of thee!With evening, memories reappear —I watch thy chair, and wish thee here;Till sleep sets drooping fancy freeTo dream of thee, to dream of thee!Since first we met, in weal or woeIt hath been thus; and must be soTill bursting bonds our spirits partAnd Love divine doth fill my heart.Written many years ago.

MOTHER'S EVENING PRAYER

O gentle presence, peace and joy and power;O Life divine, that owns each waiting hour,Thou Love that guards the nestling's faltering flight!Keep Thou my child on upward wing tonight.Love is our refuge; only with mine eyeCan I behold the snare, the pit, the fall:His habitation high is here, and nigh,His arm encircles me, and mine, and all.O make me glad for every scalding tear,For hope deferred, ingratitude, disdain!Wait, and love more for every hate, and fearNo ill, – since God is good, and loss is gain.Beneath the shadow of His mighty wing;In that sweet secret of the narrow way,Seeking and finding, with the angels sing:"Lo, I am with you alway," – watch and pray.No snare, no fowler, pestilence or pain;No night drops down upon the troubled breast,When heaven's aftersmile earth's tear-drops gain,And mother finds her home and heav'nly rest.

LOVE

Brood o'er us with Thy shelt'ring wing,'Neath which our spirits blendLike brother birds, that soar and sing,And on the same branch bend.The arrow that doth wound the doveDarts not from those who watch and love.If thou the bending reed wouldst breakBy thought or word unkind,Pray that his spirit you partake,Who loved and healed mankind:Seek holy thoughts and heavenly strain,That make men one in love remain.Learn, too, that wisdom's rod is givenFor faith to kiss, and know;That greetings glorious from high heaven,Whence joys supernal flow,Come from that Love, divinely near,Which chastens pride and earth-born fear,Through God, who gave that word of mightWhich swelled creation's lay:"Let there be light, and there was light."What chased the clouds away?'Twas Love whose finger traced aloudA bow of promise on the cloud.Thou to whose power our hope we give,Free us from human strife.Fed by Thy love divine we live,For Love alone is Life;And life most sweet, as heart to heartSpeaks kindly when we meet and part.

I'M SITTING ALONE

I'm sitting alone where the shadows fallIn somber groups at the vesper-call,Where tear-dews of night seek the loving rose,Her bosom to fill with mortal woes.I'm waiting alone for the bridal hourOf nymph and naiad from woodland bower;Till vestal pearls that on leaflets lay,Ravished with beauty the eye of day.I'm watching alone o'er the starlit glow,O'er the silv'ry moon and ocean flow;And sketching in light the heaven of my youth —Its starry hopes and its waves of truth.I'm dreaming alone of its changeful sky —What rainbows of rapture floated by!Of a mother's love, that no words could speakWhen parting the ringlets to kiss my cheek.I'm thinking alone of a fair young bride,The light of a home of love and pride;How the glance of her husband's watchful eyeTurned to his star of idolatry.I'm picturing alone a glad young face,Upturned to his mother's in playful grace;And the unsealed fountains of grief and joyThat gushed at the birth of that beautiful boy.I'm weeping alone that the vision is fled,The leaves all faded, the fruitage shed,And wishing this earth more gifts from above,Our reason made right and hearts all love.Lynn, Mass., September 3, 1866.

THE UNITED STATES TO GREAT BRITAIN

Hail, brother! fling thy bannerTo the billows and the breeze;We proffer thee warm welcomeWith our hand, though not our knees.Lord of the main and manor!Thy palm, in ancient day,Didst rock the country's cradleThat wakes thy laureate's lay.The hoar fight is forgotten;Our eagle, like the dove,Returns to bless a bridalBetokened from above.List, brother! angels whisperTo Judah's sceptered race, —"Thou of the self-same spirit,Allied by nations' grace,"Wouldst cheer the hosts of heaven;For Anglo-Israel, lo!Is marching under orders;His hand averts the blow."Brave Britain, blest America!Unite your battle-plan;Victorious, all who live it, —The love for God and man. Boston Herald, Sunday, May 15, 1898.

CHRIST MY REFUGE

O'er waiting harpstrings of the mindThere sweeps a strain,Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bindThe power of pain,And wake a white-winged angel throngOf thoughts, illumedBy faith, and breathed in raptured song,With love perfumed.Then His unveiled, sweet mercies showLife's burdens light.I kiss the cross, and wake to knowA world more bright.And o'er earth's troubled, angry seaI see Christ walk,And come to me, and tenderly,Divinely talk.Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock,Upon Life's shore,'Gainst which the winds and waves can shock,Oh, nevermore!From tired joy and grief afar,And nearer Thee, —Father, where Thine own children are,I love to be.My prayer, some daily good to doTo Thine, for Thee;An offering pure of Love, wheretoGod leadeth me.

"FEED MY SHEEP"

Shepherd, show me how to goO'er the hillside steep,How to gather, how to sow, —How to feed Thy sheep;I will listen for Thy voice,Lest my footsteps stray;I will follow and rejoiceAll the rugged way.Thou wilt bind the stubborn will,Wound the callous breast,Make self-righteousness be still,Break earth's stupid rest.Strangers on a barren shore,Lab'ring long and lone,We would enter by the door,And Thou know'st Thine own;So, when day grows dark and cold,Tear or triumph harms,Lead Thy lambkins to the fold,Take them in Thine arms;Feed the hungry, heal the heart,Till the morning's beam;White as wool, ere they depart,Shepherd, wash them clean.

THE VALLEY CEMETERY

Ye soft sighing zephyrs through foliage and vine!Ye echoing moans from the footsteps of time!Break not on the silence, unless thou canst bearA message from heaven – "No partings are there."Here gloom hath enchantment in beauty's array,And whispering voices are calling away —Their wooings are soft as the vision more vain —I would live in their empire, or die in their chain.Here smileth the blossom and sunshine not dead —Flowers fresh as the pang in the bosom that bled, —Yes, constant as love that outliveth the grave,And time cannot quench in oblivion's wave.And thou, gentle cypress, in evergreen tears,Art constant and hopeful though winter appears.My heart hath thy verdure, it blossoms above;Like thee, it endureth and liveth in love.Ambition, come hither! These vaults will unfoldThe sequel of power, of glory, or gold;Then rush into life, and roll on with its tide,And bustle and toil for its pomp and its pride.The tired wings flitting through far crimson glow,Which steepeth the trees when the day-god is low;The voice of the night-bird must here send a thrillTo the heart of the leaves when the winds are all still.'Mid graves do I hear the glad voices that swell,And call to my spirit with seraphs to dwell;They come with a breath from the verdant springtime,And waken my joy, as in earliest prime.Blest beings departed! Ye echoes at dawn!O tell of their radiant home and its morn!Then I'll think of its glory, and rest till I seeMy loved ones in glory still waiting for me.

UPWARD

I've watched in the azure the eagle's proud wing,His soaring majestic, and feathersome fling —Careening in liberty higher and higher —Like genius unfolding a quenchless desire.Would a tear dim his eye, or pinion lose powerTo gaze on the lark in her emerald bower?When higher he soareth to compass his rest,What vision so bright as the dream in his breast!God's eye is upon him. He penciled his pathWhose omniscient notice the frail fledgling hath.Though lightnings be lurid and earthquakes may shock,He rides on the whirlwind or rests on the rock.My course, like the eagle's, oh, still be it high,Celestial the breezes that waft o'er its sky!God's eye is upon me – I am not aloneWhen onward and upward and heavenward borne.Written in early years.

THE OAK ON THE MOUNTAIN'S SUMMIT

Oh, mountain monarch, at whose feet I stand, —Clouds to adorn thy brow, skies clasp thy hand, —Nature divine, in harmony profound,With peaceful presence hath begirt thee round.And thou, majestic oak, from yon high placeGuard'st thou the earth, asleep in night's embrace, —And from thy lofty summit, pouring downThy sheltering shade, her noonday glories crown?Whate'er thy mission, mountain sentinel,To my lone heart thou art a power and spell;A lesson grave, of life, that teacheth meTo love the Hebrew figure of a tree.Faithful and patient be my life as thine;As strong to wrestle with the storms of time;As deeply rooted in a soil of love;As grandly rising to the heavens above.

WOMAN'S RIGHTS

Grave on her monumental pile;She won from vice, by virtue's smile,Her dazzling crown, her sceptered throne,Affection's wreath, a happy home;The right to worship deep and pure,To bless the orphan, feed the poor;Last at the cross to mourn her Lord,First at the tomb to hear his word;To fold an angel's wings below;And hover o'er the couch of woe;To nurse the Bethlehem babe so sweet,The right to sit at Jesus' feet;To form the bud for bursting bloom,The hoary head with joy to crown;In short, the right to work and pray,"To point to heaven and lead the way."Lynn, Mass., May 6, 1876.

THE NEW CENTURY

Thou God-crowned, patient century,Thine hour hath come! EternityDraws nigh – and, beckoning from above,One hundred years, aflame with Love,Again shall bid old earth good-by —And, lo, the light! far heaven is nigh!New themes seraphic, Life divine,And bliss that wipes the tears of timeAway, will enter, when they may,And bask in one eternal day.'Tis writ on earth, on leaf and flower:Love hath one race, one realm, one power.Dear God! how great, how good Thou artTo heal humanity's sore heart;To probe the wound, then pour the balm —A life perfected, strong and calm.The dark domain of pain and sinSurrenders – Love doth enter in,And peace is won, and lost is vice:Right reigns, and blood was not its price.Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., January, 1901.

TO MY ABSENT BROTHER

Dwells there a shadow on thy brow —A look that years impart?Does there a thought of vanished hoursCome ever o'er thy heart?Or give those earnest eyes yet backAn image of the soul,Mirrored in truth, in light and joy,Above the world's control?So may their gaze be ever fraughtWith utterance deep and strong,Yielding a holy strength to right,A stern rebuke to wrong!Thy soul, upborne on wisdom's wings,In brighter morn will findLife hath a higher recompenseThan just to please mankind.Supreme and omnipresent God,Guide him in wisdom's way!Give peaceful triumph to the truth,Bid error melt away!Lynn, Mass., November 8, 1866.

SIGNS OF THE HEART

Come to me, joys of heaven!Breathe through the summer airA balm – the long-lost leavenDissolving death, despair!O little heart,To me thou artA sign that never can depart.Come to me, peace on earth!From out life's billowy sea, —A wave of welcome birth, —The Life that lives in Thee!O Love divine,This heart of ThineIs all I need to comfort mine.Come when the shadows fall,And night grows deeply dark;The barren brood, O callWith song of morning lark;And from above,Dear heart of Love,Send us thy white-winged dove.Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., 1899.

FLOWERS

Mirrors of mornWhence the dewdrop is born,Soft tints of the rainbow and skies —Sisters of song,What a shadowy throngAround you in memory rise!Far do ye flee,From your green bowers free,Fair floral apostles of love,Sweetly to shedFragrance fresh round the dead,And breath of the living above.Flowers for the brave —Be he monarch or slave,Whose heart bore its grief and is still!Flowers for the kind —Aye, the Christians who windWreaths for the triumphs o'er ill!Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., May 21, 1904.

TO THE OLD YEAR – 1865

Pass on, returnless year!The track behind thee is with glory crowned;The turf where thou hast trod is holy ground.Pass proudly to thy bier!Chill was thy midnight day,While Justice grasped the sword to hold her throne,And on her altar our loved Lincoln's ownGreat willing heart did lay.Thy purpose hath been won!Thou point'st thy phantom finger, grim and cold,To the dark record of our guilt unrolled,And smiling, say'st, "'Tis done!"This record I will bearTo the dim chambers of eternity —The chain and charter I have lived to seePurged by the cannon's prayer;"Convulsion, carnage, war;The pomp and tinsel of unrighteous power;Bloated oppression in its awful hour, —I, dying, dare abhor!"One word, receding year,Ere thou grow tremulous with shadowy night!Say, will the young year dawn with wisdom's lightTo brighten o'er thy bier?Or we the past forget,And heal her wounds too tenderly to last?Or let today grow difficult and vastWith traitors unvoiced yet?Though thou must leave the tear, —Hearts bleeding ere they break in silence yet,Wrong jubilant and right with bright eye wet, —Thou fast expiring year,Thy work is done, and well:Thou hast borne burdens, and may take thy rest,Pillow thy head on time's untired breast.Illustrious year, farewell!Lynn, Mass., January 1, 1866.

INVOCATION FOR 1868

Father of every age,Of every rolling sphere,Help us to write a deathless pageOf truth, this dawning year!Help us to humbly bowTo Thy all-wise behest —Whate'er the gift of joy or woe,Knowing Thou knowest best.Aid our poor soul to singAbove the tempest's glee;Give us the eagle's fearless wing,The dove's to soar to Thee!All-merciful and good,Hover the homeless heart!Give us this day our daily foodIn knowing what Thou art!Swampscott, Mass., January 1, 1868.

CHRISTMAS MORN

Blest Christmas morn, though murky cloudsPursue thy way,Thy light was born where storm enshroudsNor dawn nor day!Dear Christ, forever here and near,No cradle song,No natal hour and mother's tear,To thee belong.Thou God-idea, Life-encrowned,The Bethlehem babe —Beloved, replete, by flesh embound —Was but thy shade!Thou gentle beam of living Love,And deathless Life!Truth infinite, – so far aboveAll mortal strife,Or cruel creed, or earth-born taint:Fill us todayWith all thou art – be thou our saint,Our stay, alway.December, 1898.

EASTER MORN

Gently thou beckonest from the giant hillsThe new-born beauty in the emerald sky,And wakening murmurs from the drowsy rills —O gladsome dayspring! 'reft of mortal sighTo glorify all time – eternity —With thy still fathomless Christ-majesty.E'en as Thou gildest gladdened joy, dear God,Give risen power to prayer; fan Thou the flameOf right with might; and midst the rod,And stern, dark shadows cast on Thy blest name,Lift Thou a patient love above earth's ire,Piercing the clouds with its triumphal spire.While sacred song and loudest breath of praiseEcho amid the hymning spheres of light, —With heaven's lyres and angels' loving lays, —Send to the loyal struggler for the right,Joy – not of time, nor yet by nature sown,But the celestial seed dropped from Love's throne.Prolong the strain "Christ risen!" Sad sense, annoyNo more the peace of Soul's sweet solitude!Deep loneness, tear-filled tones of distant joy,Depart! Glad Easter glows with gratitude —Love's verdure veils the leaflet's wondrous birth —Rich rays, rare footprints on the dust of earth.Not life, the vassal of the changeful hour,Nor burdened bliss, but Truth and Love attestThe solemn splendor of immortal power, —The ever Christ, and glorified behest,Poured on the sense which deems no suffering vainThat wipes away the sting of death – sin, pain.Pleasant View, Concord, N. H., April 18, 1900.

RESOLUTIONS FOR THE DAY

To rise in the morning and drink in the view —The home where I dwell in the vale,The blossoms whose fragrance and charms ever newAre scattered o'er hillside and dale;To gaze on the sunbeams enkindling the sky —A loftier life to invite —A light that illumines my spiritual eye,And inspires my pen as I write;To form resolutions, with strength from on high,Such physical laws to obey,As reason with appetite, pleasures deny,That health may my efforts repay;To kneel at the altar of mercy and prayThat pardon and grace, through His Son,May comfort my soul all the wearisome day,And cheer me with hope when 'tis done;To daily remember my blessings and charge,And make this my humble request:Increase Thou my faith and my vision enlarge,And bless me with Christ's promised rest;To hourly seek for deliverance strongFrom selfishness, sinfulness, dearth,From vanity, folly, and all that is wrong —With ambition that binds us to earth;To kindly pass over a wound, or a foe(And mem'ry but part us awhile),To breathe forth a prayer that His love I may know,Whose mercies my sorrows beguile, —If these resolutions are acted up to,And faith spreads her pinions abroad,'Twill be sweet when I ponder the days may be fewThat waft me away to my God.Written in girlhood.

O FOR THY WINGS, SWEET BIRD!

O for thy wings, sweet bird!And soul of melody by being blest —Like thee, my voice had stirredSome dear remembrance in a weary breast.But whither wouldst thou rove,Bird of the airy wing, and fold thy plumes?In what dark leafy groveWouldst chant thy vespers 'mid rich glooms?Or sing thy love-lorn note —In deeper solitude, where nymph or saintHas wooed some mystic spot,Divinely desolate the shrine to paint?Yet wherefore ask thy doom?Blessed compared with me thou art —Unto thy greenwood homeBearing no bitter memory at heart;Wearing no earthly chain,Thou canst in azure bright soar far above;Nor pinest thou in vainO'er joys departed, unforgotten love.O take me to thy bower!Beguile the lagging hours of wearinessWith strain which hath strange powerTo make me love thee as I love life less!From mortal consciousnessWhich binds to earth – infirmity of woe!Or pining tenderness —Whose streams will never dry or cease to flow;An aching, voiceless void,Hushed in the heart whereunto none reply,And in the cringing crowdCompanionless! Bird, bear me through the sky!Written more than sixty years ago for the New Hampshire Patriot.

COME THOU

Come, in the minstrel's lay;When two hearts meet,And true hearts greet,And all is morn and May.Come Thou! and now, anew,To thought and deedGive sober speed,Thy will to know, and do.Stay! till the storms are o'er —The cold blasts done,The reign of heaven begun,And Love, the evermore.Be patient, waiting heart:Light, Love divineIs here, and thine;You therefore cannot part."The seasons come and go:Love, like the sea,Rolls on with thee, —But knows no ebb and flow."Faith, hope, and tears, triune,Above the sodFind peace in God,And one eternal noon."Oh, Thou hast heard my prayer;And I am blest!This is Thy high behest:Thou, here and everywhere.

WISH AND ITEM

To the editor of the Item, Lynn, Mass.

I hope the heart that's hungryFor things above the floor,Will find within its portalsAn item rich in store;That melancholy mortalsWill count their mercies o'er,And learn that Truth and wisdomHave many items more;That when a wrong is done us,It stirs no thought of strife;And Love becomes the substance,As item, of our life;That every ragged urchin,With bare feet soiled or sore,Share God's most tender mercies, —Find items at our door.Then if we've done to othersSome good ne'er told before,When angels shall repeat it,'Twill be an item more.

DEDICATION OF A TEMPERANCE HALL

Author of all divineGifts, lofty, pure, and free,Temperance and truth in song sublimeAn offering bring to Thee!A temple, whose high domeRose from a water-cup;And from its altar to Thy throneMay we press on and up!And she – last at the cross,First at the tomb, who waits —Woman – will watch to cleanse from drossThe cause she elevates.Sons of the old Bay State,Work for our glorious cause!And be your waiting hearts elate,Since temperance makes your laws."Temples of Honor," all,"Social," or grand, or great,This blazoned, brilliant temperance hallTo Thee we dedicate."Good Templars" one and all,Good "Sons," and daughters, too,We dedicate this temperance hallTo God, to Truth, and you!Lynn, Mass., August 4, 1866.