Classic Poem

Art thou a wretch to whom the past
Speaks of dire deeds?—O'er whom the blast
Of guilt hath swept a pestilence,
Destroying to the soul and sense?
Whose heart that rankling steel has worn
Which goads the feelings it has torn?
And gashes in its dark profound,
The deep immedicable wound?
Over whose dim and festering hue
A sickening shadow memory threw;
And brought to light forgotten things,
But to add keenness to its stings?—
O is there written on thy brain,
In black indentures, sin and pain?
And is there nought on earth to thee,
But thine own secret agony?
—Yet raise thy burning eye above
To the high Heaven, for God is love;—
And tho' the clouds obscure thy sight!
Yet fearless gaze—for God is light!
And soon shall earthly struggles cease
In that blest trust—for God is peace!
—Yes, dark and sinful tho' thou art,
Some beam of Heaven shall touch thy heart;
In years to come shall bloom for thee
A purer, happier destiny;
When thou shalt meekly gaze within,
On thy own soul redeem'd from sin;
Shalt calmly smile on each past sigh,
And every chastening agony;
And feel thro' thy expanding spirit
The holier hopes thou dost inherit.
—Yes! sanctified by flood and fire,
Thy heart shall spurn each low desire;
And from the pangs and stings of fate,
Shall rise more nobly elevate;—
Look back upon the flaming path,
See mercy's hand that pour'd the wrath,
Still kind, while o'er thy shrinking form,
It flung the darkness of the storm;
And taught thee, even by despair,
To pour thy fainting soul in prayer;
And lowly bend to kiss the rod
Which led thee back to peace and God!

Art thou a wretch to whom the past
Speaks of dire deeds?—O'er whom the blast
Of guilt hath swept a pestilence,
Destroying to the soul and sense?
Whose heart that rankling steel has worn
Which goads the feelings it has torn?
And gashes in its dark profound,
The deep immedicable wound?
Over whose dim and festering hue
A sickening shadow memory threw;
And brought to light forgotten things,
But to add keenness to its stings?—
O is there written on thy brain,
In black indentures, sin and pain?
And is there nought on earth to thee,
But thine own secret agony?
—Yet raise thy burning eye above
To the high Heaven, for God is love;—
And tho' the clouds obscure thy sight!
Yet fearless gaze—for God is light!
And soon shall earthly struggles cease
In that blest trust—for God is peace!
—Yes, dark and sinful tho' thou art,
Some beam of Heaven shall touch thy heart;
In years to come shall bloom for thee
A purer, happier destiny;
When thou shalt meekly gaze within,
On thy own soul redeem'd from sin;
Shalt calmly smile on each past sigh,
And every chastening agony;
And feel thro' thy expanding spirit
The holier hopes thou dost inherit.
—Yes! sanctified by flood and fire,
Thy heart shall spurn each low desire;
And from the pangs and stings of fate,
Shall rise more nobly elevate;—
Look back upon the flaming path,
See mercy's hand that pour'd the wrath,
Still kind, while o'er thy shrinking form,
It flung the darkness of the storm;
And taught thee, even by despair,
To pour thy fainting soul in prayer;
And lowly bend to kiss the rod
Which led thee back to peace and God!