Classic Poem

O Brother, Prophet of the Light! — don't let my state distress you,
While from the depths of darkest night I cry, " Farewell! God bless you!"
I don't deserve a parting tear, nor even a malediction,
Too weak to fill a saintly sphere, I yield to my affliction;
Down like a cataract I shoot into the depths below you;
While you stand wondering and mute, my last adieu I throw you;
Commending to your blessed care my well-beloved spouses,
My debts (there's plenty and to spare to pay them), lands, and houses,
My sheep, my cattle, farm and fold, yea, all by which I've thriven:
These to be at the auction sold, and to my widows given.
Bless them! to prize them at their worth was far beyond my merit,
Just make them think me in the earth, a poor departed spirit.
I couldn't bear to say good-bye, and see their tears up-starting;
I thought it best to pack and fly without the pain of parting!
O tell Amelia, if she can, by careful education,
To make her boy grow up a man of strength and saintly station!
Tell Fanny to beware of men, and say I'm still her debtor —
Tho' she cut sharpish now and then, I think it made me better!
Let Emily still her spirit fill with holy consolations —
Seraphic soul, I hear her still a-reading " Revelations!"
Bid Mary now to dry her tears — she's free of her chief bother;
And comfort Sarah — I've my fears she's going to be a mother;
And to Tabitha give for me a tender kiss of healing —
Guilt wrings my soul — I seem to see that well-known face appealing!

And now, — before my figure fades for ever from your vision,
Before I mingle with the shades beyond your light Elysian,
Now , while your faces all turn pale, and you raise eyes and shiver,
Let me a round unvarnish'd tale (as Shakspere says) deliver;
And let there be a warning text in my most shameful story,
When some poor sheep, perplext and vext, goes seeking too much glory.
O Brigham, think of my poor fate, a scandal to beholders,
And don't again put too much weight before you've tried the shoulders!

Though I'd the intellectual gift, and knew the rights and reasons;
Though I could trade, and save, and shift, according to the seasons;
Though I was thought a clever man, and was at spouting splendid, —
Just think how finely I began, and see how all has ended!
In principle unto this hour I'm still a holy being —
But oh, how poorly is my power proportion'd to my seeing!
You've all the logic on your side, you're right in each conclusion,
And yet how vainly have I tried, with eager resolution!
My will was good, I felt the call, although my strength was meagre,
There wasn't one among you all to serve the Lord more eager!
I never tired in younger days of drawing lambs unto me,
My lot was one to bless and praise, the fire of faith thrill'd through me.
And you , believing I was strong, smiled on me like a father, —
Said, " Blessid be this man, though young, who the sweet lambs doth gather!"
At first it was a time full blest, and all my earthly pleasure
Was gathering lambs unto my breast to cherish and to treasure;
Ay, one by one, for heaven's sake, my female flock I found me,
Until one day I did awake and heard them bleating round me,
And there was sorrow in their eyes, and mute reproach and wonder,
For they perceived to their surprise their Shepherd was a blunder.
O Brigham, think of it and weep, my firm and saintly Master —
The Pastor trembled at his Sheep, the Sheep despised the Pastor!

O listen to the tale of dread, thou Light that shines so brightly —
Virtue's a horse that drops down dead if overloaded slightly!
She's all the will , she wants to go, she'd carry every tittle;
But when you see her flag and blow, just ease her of a little!
One wife for me was near enough, two might have fixed me neatly,
Three made me shake, four made me puff, five settled me completely, —
But when the sixth came, though I still was glad and never grumbled,
I took the staggers, kick'd, went ill, and in the traces tumbled!

Ah, well may I compare my state unto a beast's position —
Unfit to bear a saintly weight, I sank and lost condition;
I lack'd the moral nerve and thew, to fill so fine a station —
Ah, if I'd had a head like you, and your determination!
Instead of going in and out, like a superior party,
I was too soft of heart, no doubt, too open, and too hearty.
When I began with each young sheep I was too free and loving,
Not being strong and wise and deep, I set her feelings moving;
And so, instead of noticing the gentle flock in common,
I waken'd up that mighty thing — the Spirit of a Woman.
Each got to think me, don't you see, — so foolish was the feeling, —
Her own especial property, which all the rest were stealing!
And, since I could not give to each the whole of my attention,
All came to grief, and parts of speech too delicate to mention!
Bless them! they loved me far too much, they erred in their devotion,
I lack'd the proper saintly touch, subduing mere emotion: —
The solemn air sent from the skies, so cold, so tranquillising,
That on the female waters lies, and keeps the same from rising,
But holds them down all smooth and bright, and, if some wild wind storms 'em,
Comes like a cold frost in the night, and into ice transforms 'em!

And there, between ourselves, I see the difficulty growing,
Since most men are as meek as me, too passionate and glowing;
They cannot in your royal way dwell like a guest from Heaven
Within this tenement of clay, which for the Soul is given;
They cannot like a blessed guest come calm and strong into it,
Eating and drinking of its best, and calmly gazing thro' it.
No, every mortal's not a Saint, and truly very few are,
So weak they are, they cannot paint what holy men like you are.
Instead of keeping well apart the Flesh and Spirit, brother,
And making one with cunning art the nigger of the other,
They muddle and confuse the two, they mix, and twist and mingle,
So that it takes a cunning view to make out either single.
The Soul gets mingled with the Flesh beyond all separation,
The Body holds it in a mesh of animal sensation;
The poor bewilder'd Being, grown a thing in nature double,
Half light and soul, half flesh and bone, is given up to trouble.
He thinks the instinct of the clay the glowings of the Spirit,
And when the Spirit has her say, inclines the Flesh to hear it,
The slave of every passing whim, the dupe of every devil,
Inspired by every female limb to love, and light, and revel,
Impulsive, timid, weak, or strong, as Flesh or Spirit makes him,
The lost one wildly moans along till mischief overtakes him;
And when the Soul has fed upon the Flesh till life's spring passes,
Finds strength and health and comfort gone — the way of last year's grasses,
And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in deep humiliation,
Within a place that isn't now a decent habitation.

No! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in pious resolution,
Don't let weak flutterings of the heart lead you to my confusion!
But let the Flesh be as the horse , the Spirit as the rider ,
And use the snaffle first of course, and ease her up and guide her;
And if she's going to resist, and won't let none go past her,
Just take the curb and give a twist, and show her you're the Master.
The Flesh is but a temporal thing, and Satan's strength is in it,
Use it, but conquer it, and bring its vice down every minute!
Into a woman's arms don't fall, as if you meant to stay there,
Just come as if you'd made a call, and idly found your way there;
Don't praise her too much to her face, but keep her calm and quiet, —
Most female illnesses take place thro' far too warm a diet;
Unto her give your fleshly kiss, calm, kind, and patronising,
Then — soar to your own sphere of bliss, before her heart gets rising!
Don't fail to let her see full clear, how in your saintly station
The Flesh is but your nigger here obeying your dictation;
And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your Soul the weakness smothers
Of loving any female form much better than the others!
O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear the Devil preaching; —
Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' far beyond my reaching.
Forgive me, if in shame and grief I vex you with digression,
And let me come again in brief to my own dark confession.

The world of men divided is into two portions , brother,
The first are Saints, so high in bliss that they the Flesh can smother;
God meant them from fair flower to flower to flutter, smiles bestowing,
Tasting the sweet, leaving the sour, just hovering, — and going.
The second are a different set, just halves of perfect spirits,
Going about in bitter fret, of uncompleted merits,
Till they discover, here or there, their other half (or woman),
Then these two join, and make a Pair, and so increase the human.
The second Souls inferior are, a lower spirit-order,
Born 'neath a less auspicious star, and taken by soft sawder; —
And if they do not happen here to find their fair Affinity,
They come to grief and doubt and fear, and end in asininity;
And if they try the blessed game of those superior to them,
They're very quickly brought to shame, — their passions so undo them.
In some diviner sphere, perhaps, they'll look and grow more holy, —
Meantime they're vessels Sorrow taps and grim Remorse sucks slowly.

Now, Brigham, I was made, you see, one of those lower creatures,
Polygamy was not for me, altho' I joined its preachers.
Instead of, with a wary eye, seeking the one who waited,
And sticking to her, wet or dry, because the thing was fated,
I snatch'd the first whose beauty stirred my soul with tender feeling!
And then another! then a third! and so continued Sealing!
And duly, after many a smart, discovered, sighing faintly,
I hadn't found my missing part, and wasn't strong and saintly!
O they were far too good for me, altho' their zeal betrayed them; —
Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for some other made them:
Each would a downright blessing be, and Peace would pitch the tent for her,
If " she" could only find the " he" originally meant for her!

Well, Brother, after many years of bad domestic diet,
One morning I woke up in tears, still weary and unquiet,
And (speaking figuratively) lo! beside my bed stood smiling
The Woman , young and virgin snow, but beckoning and beguiling.
I started up, my wild eyes rolled, I knew her, and stood sighing,
My thoughts throng'd up like bees of gold out of the smithy flying.
And as she stood in brightness there, familiar, tho' a stranger,
I looked at her in dumb despair, and trembled at the danger.

But, Brother Brigham, don't you think the Devil could so undo me,
That straight I rushed the cup to drink too late extended to me.
No, for I hesitated long, ev'n when I found she loved me,
And didn't seem to think it wrong when love and passion moved me.
O Brigham, you're a Saint above, and know not the sensation
The ecstasy, the maddening love, the rapturous exultation,
That fills a man of lower race with wonder past all speaking,
When first he finds in one sweet face the Soul he has been seeking!
When two immortal beings glow in the first fond revealing,
And their inferior natures know the luxury of feeling!
But ah, I had already got a quiver-full of blessing,
Had blundered, tho' I knew it not, six times beyond redressing,
And surely it was time to stop, tho' still my lot was lonely:
My house was like a cobbler's shop, full, tho' with " misfits" only.

And so I should have stopt, I swear, the wretchedest of creatures,
Rather than put one mark of care on her belove features:
But that it happen'd Sister Anne (ah, now the secret's flitted!)
Was left in this great world of man unto my care committed.
Her father, Jason Jones, was dead, a man whose faults were many,
" O, be a father, Abe," he said, " to my poor daughter Annie!"
And so I promised, so she came an Orphan to this city,
And set my foolish heart in flame with mingled love and pity;
And as she prettier grew each day, and throve 'neath my protection,
I saw the Saints did cast her way some tokens of affection.
O, Brigham, pray forgive me now; — envy and love combining,
I hated every saintly brow, benignantly inclining!
Sneered at their motives, mocked the cause, went wild and sorrow-laden,
And saw Polygamy's vast jaws a-yawning for the maiden.
Why not , you say? Ah, yes, why not, from your high point of vision;
But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the light Elysian.
I tore my hair, whined like a whelp, I loved her to distraction,
I saw the danger, knew the help, yet trembled at the action.
At last I came to you, my friend, and told my tender feeling;
You said, " Your grief shall have an end — this is a case for Sealing;
And since you have deserved so well, and made no heinous blunder,
Why, brother Abraham, take the gel, but mind you keep her under."
Well! then I went to Sister Anne, my in most heart unclothing,
Told her my feelings like a man, concealing next to nothing,
Explain'd the various characters of those I had already,
The various tricks and freaks and stirs peculiar to each lady,
And, finally, when all was clear, and hope seem'd to forsake me,
" There! it's a wretched chance, my dear — you leave me, or you take me."
Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, her inmost heart revealing
(Women are very weak, you see, inferior, full of feeling),
Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, " I'll never, never leave you!
" O Abe," she said, " my love, my light, why should I pain or grieve you?
I do not love the way of life you have so sadly chosen,
I'd rather be a single wife than one in half a dozen;
But now you cannot change your plan, tho' health and spirit perish,
And I shall never see a man but you to love and cherish.
Take me, I'm yours, and O, my dear, don't think I miss your merit,
I'll try to help a little here your true and loving spirit.
" Reflect, my love," I said, " once more," with bursting heart, half crying,
" Two of the girls cut very sore, and most of them are trying!"
And then that gentle — hearted maid kissed me and bent above me,
" O Abe," she said, " don't be afraid, — I'll try to make them love me!"

Ah well! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till all was over,
How precious tough would be her task who made those dear souls love her!
But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straightway, to my wonder,
A series of events began which show'd me all my blunder.

Brother, don't blame the souls who erred thro' their excess of feeling —
So angrily their hearts were stirred by my last act of sealing;
But in a moment they forgot the quarrels they'd been wrapt in,
And leagued together in one lot, with Tabby for the Captain.
Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all combined together,
Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest sort of weather.
It wasn't feeling made them flout poor Annie in that fashion,
It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't jealous passion,
It wasn't that the cared for me , or any other party,
Their hearts and sentiments were free, their appetites were hearty.
But when the pretty smiling face came blossoming and blooming,
Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly Vault illuming,
It naturally made them grim to see its sunny colour,
While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, they grew duller.
She tried her best to make them kind, she coaxed and served them dumbly,
She watch'd them with a willing mind, deferred to them most humbly;
Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but found her arts rejected,
And fail'd entirely in her end, as one might have expected,
But, Brother, tho' I'm loth to add one word to criminate them,
I think their conduct was too bad, — it almost made me hate them.

Ah me, the many nagging ways of women are amazing,
Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty is crazing!
And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day their neighbour,
Before a baby could have seen her life would be a labour,
But bless her little loving heart, it kept its sorrow hidden,
And if the tears began to start, suppressed the same unbidden.
She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till I thought sorrow silly,
And kept in her own garden nest, and lit it like a lily.
O I should waste your time for days with talk like this at present,
If I described her thousand ways of making things look pleasant!
But, bless you, 'twere as well to try, when thunder's at its dire work,
To clear the air, and light the sky, by pennyworths of firework.
These gentle ways to hide her woe and make my life a blessing,
Just made the after darkness grow more gloomy and depressing.
Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and sneers, insult and trouble daily,
A thousand stabs that brought the tears, all these she cover'd gaily;
But when her fond eyes fell on me , the light of love to borrow,
And Sister Anne began to see I knew her secret sorrow,
All of a sudden like a mask the loving cheat forsook her,
And reckon I had all my task, for illness overtook her.
She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seem'd like a spirit flying,
Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but when I left fell crying;
And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak and wan as water,
I thought of what her father said, " Take care of my dear daughter!"
Then I look'd round with secret eye upon her many Sisters,
And close at hand I saw them lie, ready for use — like blisters;
They seemed with secret looks of glee, to keep their wifely station;
They set their lips and sneer'd at me, and watch'd the situation.
O Brother, I can scarce express the agony of those moments,
I fear your perfect saintliness, and dread your cutting comments!
I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I anguish'd night and morrow,
I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, beside that bed of sorrow.

At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrow and disaster,
Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a Saint up, or a Pastor;
In spite of careful watering, and tilling night and morning,
The weeds of vanity would spring without a word of warning.
I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on every feature,
A wretched poor Monogamist , a most inferior creature —
Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder and abortion,
Not finish'd half till I could find the other missing portion!
And gazing on that missing part which I at last had found out,
I murmur'd with a burning heart, scarce strong to get the sound out,
" If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save this chief of treasures,
I will no longer hesitate, but take decided measures!
A poor monogamist like me can not love half a dozen,
Better by far, then, set them free, and take the Wife I've chosen!
Their love for me, of course, is small, a very shadowy tittle,
They will not miss my face at all, or miss it very little.
I can't undo what I have done, by my forlorn embraces,
And call the brightness of the sun again into their faces;
But I can save one spirit true, confiding and unthinking,
From slowly curdling to a shrew or into swinedom sinking."
These were my bitter words of woe, my fears were so distressing,
Not that I would reflect — O no! — on any living blessing.

Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she rose, still frail and sighing,
I kept my word like better men, and bolted, — and I'm flying.
Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world behind me,
Afar unto the starless waste, where not a soul shall find me.
I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cordially, agreeing
I never was the sort of man for your high state of being;
Such as I am, she takes me, though; and after years of trying,
From Eden hand in hand we go, like our first parents flying;
And like the bright sword that did chase the first of sires and mothers,
Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, surrounded by the others:
Shining it threatens there on high, above the gates of Heaven,
And faster at the sight we fly, in naked shame, forth-driven.
Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 'twould be improper,
I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a single copper.
Unto my Widows I outreach my property completely.
There's modest competence for each, if it is managed neatly.
That, Brother, is a labour left to your sagacious keeping; —
Comfort them, comfort the bereft! I'm good as dead and sleeping!
A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent and an omen,
A moment passing on the sight, thereafter seen by no men!
I go, with backward-looking face, and spirit rent asunder.
O may you prosper in your place, for you're a shining wonder!
So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good! — by Heaven's dispensation,
Made Husband to a multitude and Father to a nation!
May all the saintly life ensures increase and make you stronger!
Humbly and penitently yours,
A. C LEWSON ( Saint no longer )