The Arm Chair

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22 pages

English

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Publié par	voum
Publié le	08 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	24
Langue	English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Arm Chair, by unknown This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: The Arm Chair Author: unknown Release Date: July 4, 2010 [EBook #33073] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ARM CHAIR ***

Produced by Jason Isbell, Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

THE ARM CHAIR.

"YOUR FATHERS, WHERE ARE THEY? AND THE PROPHETS, DO THEY LIVE FOREVER?" SECOND EDITION. PHILADELPHIA—1843.

MEMORANDUM. [Pg 3] The history of these rhymes is briefly this.—An Arm Chair, made many years

ago by John Letchworth, for Leonard and Jane Snowdon, was presented to the Author, with some information of the worthies who were wont to visit the estimable owners; accompanied with an intimation that it would be a suitable theme for some verses. The result follows.

THE ARM CHAIR.

Cowper , the poet of the Christian muse, Sung of the Sofa; could I but infuse Some of his talent in my laggard quill, Some of his genius on my verse distil, Then would I sing,—my theme too from the fair,— Of thy coevals, rhyme-creating chair! He who with artist's skill scooped out thy seat, Trim made thy elbows, uprights, and thy feet, Now fourscore years and four has measured o'er, And waits his summons to the heavenly shore. Honest as sunshine, he "who runs may read," That Letchworth is "an Israelite indeed;" No guile within him ever finds a place, Love of the Father spreads to all the race. His gospel ministry is void of show, For "few and savory" are the words that flow: Condensed and pithy are his periods found, Rich in their matter, nothing for mere sound. So preaches he. Ah, what a sad mistake, When empty sounds upon the people break, When a stentorian voice in efforts vain, Roars to the people,—thunder without rain! Its booming echoes may the soul appal, But no reviving showers on nature fall. —Would that my age,—if age to me be given,— Might prove like his, who calmly looks to heaven, Waitin with atience for the mandate

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[Pg 6]

lay Th,"edssle b,de siehf niobrust!"o re intnterpoup sr,aiChm Ar ym ,hA!evol fo gacy, lemple exairhc,e Arpvoli lBed! marouthoosth yh tsa a ytrow how man,Beneathht eogdotrreo feiuQ",eg,eil I tomdoe oran rtoedirrap taonm hc ,e," "Her thesaidiaf ufhtil lw efthn wout,ilhy t lhcnaeg".oGw eh waiting my finaht eo fatnic ruwithalf re hfutuw dellif nehw ,phe,Twe alyhoh itweO; rsai tn oivt on mem the pasc elnimowerdihW,gls edidobg ctjeof tome aithhe fhw ouf lp saahevlehiawe stsias, p ot em S,yartrooke of what sheswanIv sioisnd eed seayawer.HHae sirr1[noah ]ps sf jope og hiininh re;tfO dohf no ser hown il,ousal ta mh dloT.t ofkings;Of deepegf or mht eiKgnr herdLohe sas porp itab sno rofhtheeh dg su ,saorgeg Ge Kin howassem reh ta dewBos,ngrispn deides deh r,eeRehrablet rosory's ta.seodloTsog wleps,oyer hspgo jel,ekopsehls lliT'ngribeumiescon ct ocnseniwgefleOpproke,rs' essoevolp s'oprut esfuo illfit.Wgoh pslep woref roT ruth and right sfrh rchu che tllM reh ta reh dee,In willr's asteet ss atehnrostuha, lod mpsyhyated ab peoBgn enror the nurthen forgn',iTgeors'w r,wat Bucefao tht se tanegn redng those feelingrfmoa af,riKdnil mryie fs lesiisehS;erobon tohs her she age messsi hesflre samtsood fOrot ;eht is monsihtiguseow saa r teH.res' theirfe beneathllef selkcahs s'endmon blehi,Watoteben delraci ejustith ts whear

[Pg 7]

h saw kr deruonor hed anurbolathe soredom for ;deH rowporpseeseaah;Trt medy an ehseerf suh now-tiplovelst ,Whitnreswe raorep des m'sthru Tcefatrapmidluow egas

blessed. —Or as the present did her thoughts engage, Gave to her juniors dear-bought counsel sage. Bade her loved niece preserve in vessel pure, Her sacred gift, and make her calling sure; Bade her true partner as an Aaron be, Uphold her hands, support her ministry. Full well dear Leonard thou that charge redeemed; When through her heart the gospel current streamed, In secret labour was thy spirit found, While trembling forth she sent the gospel sound; A very Quaker,—as she gave the law Her outward motion spoke her inward awe. Here Scattergood , when evening came at length, From the day's toil reposed his weary strength; From Christian sympathy that solace drew, Which those can grant who heavenly joys pursue. Mournful of spirit, he was ever found, In sympathy with souls by sorrow bound. As fell his plaintive voice upon the ear, The poor in spirit felt a friend was near. Prompt in his duty at the house of prayer, To plead with fervour for his Master there, While crowds hung trembling on that zealous tongue, Which only woke as living waters sprung. He never preached himself,—his every word Directed to a slain and risen Lord. He to the weary consolation brought, He for the burthened sweet deliverance wrought; Though bound himself, the fettered oft set free,— The Jeremiah of his age was he! Savery has here oft passed a friendly hour, Feeling of sympathy the magic power, As heart to heart the secret influence sent,— As prayer ascended where no knee was bent,—

[Pg 8]

As for each other's welfare sighs were given,— Unclothed with words, their wishes entering heaven. The Indians' friend, he sought their native wood, An anxious labourer for the redman's good; Beside the lake, beneath the spreading tree, His gospel message flowed as Truth set free. Here too has sat,—like him of stature small, Great too of heart,—a minister like Paul,— One who, obedient to his Master's will, Was studious found his duty to fulfil. Six times went Emlen [ 2 ] o'er the Atlantic wave, On gospel errands sinful man to save, And still returning from his work of love, Came with his olive-branch and peaceful dove. Though years rolled on and outward sight grew dim, The lamp of Truth still brightly burned with him, Showing distinctly in its searching light, Deeds that the actors deemed were hid in night. His urim and his thummim was with God, And he obedient to his Master's nod. As secret feeling told him of distress, The sufferer's door-sill soon his foot would press. Thus Mercy led,—and pleasantly he said, That he "by jobbing earned his daily bread." Ah, these were luscious morsels, ate with joy, A heavenly relish free from all alloy; Some of that bread of which the righteous eat, That others know not of,—sustaining meat. Here too Rebecca Jones sweet converse sought. With friends in unison of faith and thought; With both of whom in gospel yoke she knew To labour as her Lord and Master drew. Honest of purpose,—ardent in reproof To those who stood from duty's path aloof,— In public gatherings or in private hall,

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To warn the giddy of impending fall,— Rebuke the forward,—lead the fearful where A mighty Rock did Israel's Lord prepare,— Instant in duty,—though severe, yet kind, She showed the vigour of a heaven-led mind. Of ardent temper, quick and flashing zeal, Keen as high polished but too brittle steel, In earlier life James Cresson had been found, Like a high steed when first in harness bound; But grace had tempered, and obedience wrought, A change of character in word and thought, His ardent feelings felt love's holy calm, Fitting a follower of the lowly Lamb. A pointing finger to none other shown, A secret whisper to none other known, Bade Arthur Howell hasten on his way, Where a secluded country grave-yard lay. A few sad mourners stood beside a grave, Where "dust to dust" a solemn language gave. Soon from his lips burst forth the ardent strain— "I know not who this coffin may contain, "But my good Master, in whose power I came, "Now bids me clear from wrong an injured name. "She who now rests within this narrow bed, "By slander wounded bowed her sorrowing head; "Accused of that, in which she had no part, "She died in innocence—a broken heart!" —As from a stranger came these words, a thrill Of secret, wondering joy, the mourners fill; For she who died, told, as approached her end, That God a witness to her grave would send, Who to her innocence should boldly bear, A clear, convincing testimony there. And He whose ways are wrapt in mystery still, Blindfold his servant led to do his will! —Oft to the grave this servant of the Lord,

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Was sent to preach the everlasting Word; To rouse the thoughtless from delusion's dream, Memento mori was his frequent theme. When Pestilence her raven wing outspread, When terror swept the living from the dead, — When love's own ties were severed in affright, And duty's call had lost its wonted might,— Offley and others, a devoted band, Before the march of terror took their stand. They nobly dared in that dark hour to make Themselves an offering for the people's sake. He was accepted! Great the church's loss, She mourned a faithful champion of the cross, Gathered at mid-day—soon the race was won,— Long e'er the evening shades his labour done! —Two of the worthies linger of that day— Letchworth and Wistar —hastening fast away. Shrewd, witty, eloquent,—with ample store Of all that schools could give of classic lore, Sarcastic powers opposing views to chill, When such the purpose of his subtle will,— A learned lawyer, Nicholas Waln could sway, A jury's feelings in his youthful day; But soon, like Paul, when the unseen One spoke, Humble he bowed and bore the Christian yoke; Gamaliel's lessons ceasing to repeat, He lay a learner at the Saviour's feet. Simple of heart, and of a feeble frame, Feeling unworthy even Christ to name, Yet raised by Him of living hopes to tell, And show his power,—himself a miracle,— James Simpson , like his Lord, from things around, Fit subjects for important lessons found; A cloud o'erspreading, or a bird on wing,

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Would to the theme in hand instruction bring. Filled by his Master wonderously he shone, His emptied vessel scarce could stand alone! Slow as a traveller wends o'er miry ways, Whose prudent care his onward course delays, So Richard Jordan preached; at first each word Came slowly forth, nor life nor feeling stirred; But soon, the channel cleared, the rippling flow, In freer volume swifter currents show; Bolder and higher then it gathers force, A mountain torrent rushing down its course; So Jordan ministered in life's mid-day, A Boanerges thundering on his way! Bacons and Wilsons ,[ 3 ] worthies not a few, Touched by love's magnet, hither often drew; Smith , with his venerable locks of snow, Sedately cautious the right path to know; Devoted ministers, alas! no more, And worthy elders who the ark once bore. —When these were gone,—their bodies to the sod, Their spirits taken to their fixed abode, A cloud around our Israel's camp arose, While from our firesides started up our foes; When a bold infidel his poison spread, And with his scorpions hungry children fed; — Another race, part of the by-gone age, Yet of the present, then employed the stage. When boding mists had gathering force and form, Ruth Richardson was taken from the storm. True to her Master she was free to die, Yet nature shrank from the last agony: Gladly would she have left this scene of pain, The promised kingdom of her Lord to gain, But awful feelings shadowed forth the strife, The dread concomitant of parting life. Gently her spirit from its house of clay, Was sent on wings of mercy on its way.

[Pg 14]

When came the pale-faced messenger to free, Her eyes were holden that she did not see. No pain—no sorrow—e'en her evening prayer, Joined with her morning hymn of glory there. She felt no agony of parting breath, Taken in kindness without tasting death! Melodious singer of heart-thrilling songs, Of Zion's injuries and Israel's wrongs, Whose lonely harp still on the willow hung, Till fresh-felt mercies every chord restrung; Then touched to praise its tones in sweetness broke, That in each heart responsive feelings woke! —Oh, I behold thee, as I last beheld, When gospel love thy grateful bosom swelled,— When weeping listeners heard the tale of woe, Of mental conflicts it was thine to know,— When as a flood the enemy came in, Sweeping away the barriers against sin,— When from a pit of horror burst thy moan, Illumined by no brightness from the throne, — When sombre shadows compassed thee around,— When satan's legions pierced with many a wound,— When the rank weeds were wrapp'd about thy head — , When boisterous billows over thee were spread,— Then He who died and triumphed o'er the grave, Arose in might thy struggling soul to save; Bade the waves sunder and temptations fly, The scattering clouds haste from the brightening sky, The sun of righteousness with cheering ray, Shed the full radiance of perfected day. —Then from thy lips poured forth a joyful song To thy Redeemer!—yea, it poured along In most melodious energy of praise, To God, the Saviour, he of ancient days, The heart and language rising with the theme,

[Pg 15]

Till praise gushed forth one living, glowing stream! Then from thy lips the thrilling language fell, "Glory to Him who raised my soul from hell!" —Baptized in tears was many a cheek that day, As Sarah Cresson told her checquered way. 'T was her last gospel labour here of love,— Mercy soon gathered her to praise above. Of polished manners and of graceful mien, Lovely in life, was Mary Morton seen; Each native talent sanctified by grace, Was kept, obedient, in its proper place. Not quick to offer, cautious still to try, As Gideon did his fleece, both wet and dry. Like leaven working where no eye could view, Her spirit wrestled for the heavenly dew; She dug for water in a weary soil, Till bubbling life-springs recompensed her toil. —As gently passed the fleeting breath away, Retortive memory brought her youthful day, And one fond look back on the past she flung, While "Oh, my mother!" trembled on her tongue; Then the freed spirit passed—and beauteous lay The rifled casket, lovely in decay! Widows and orphans ye may mourn indeed! Who now shall clothe you, who the hungry feed? Yes! show your garments, tattered ones, and say, These Sansom gave us in a wintry day. From the bleak storm she clothed the shivering frame, When sickness pressed with healing cordials came; When age went tottering with no hand to save, She gave the crutch supporting to the grave! No cold philosophy was her's, to dream Of Benthem's theory or Malthus's scheme,

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As the heart prompted, the concurring hand Obeyed, instinctively, each kind command. When streams of suffering ran beside her door, The bitter waters lost their nauseous power; The prophet's salt she in the current threw, And soft and sweet the changing waters grew. Careful her Master's bounty to bestow, A faithful stewardship of gifts to show, That she might hear that language at the close, "To me ye did it, as ye did to those!" A pillar of the church, erect and strong, Swayed by no friendship to the church's wrong; Unwarped, unmoved, sound to the very core, And rendered firmer by the weight he bore; An honest watchman the alarm to sound, When foes were sowing tares within our ground,— Or rootless plants luxuriously would shoot In spreading branches, and produce no fruit, — Was Evans . Oft the archers' bows were bent, To turn the veteran from his firm intent; Their malice moved not, and their threats were vain, Fixed at his post determined to remain: And when at last the final goal was won, Death's message found him with his armour on; No oilless lamp to trim, no loins to gird, Ready to enter at the Bridegroom's word, Where his loved Hannah , earlier called away, Was his forerunner to the realms of day. So too our Sheppard ,[ 4 ] when she heard the cry, Her wings expanding sought her home on high; One thought upon a faithful sufferer cast, Told her own hopes—then to her audit past. Amid the terrors of that evil hour, When Infidelity put forth its power, Though meek of manners and of gentle

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