Classic Poem

I.

Great Lord of all things! Power divine!
Breathe on this erring heart of mine
Thy grace serene and pure;
Defend my frail, my erring youth,
And teach me this important truth,
The humble are secure!

II.

Teach me to bless my lowly lot,
Confin'd to this paternal cot,
Remote from regal state!
Content to court the cooling glade,
Inhale the breeze, enjoy the shade,
And love my humble fate.

III.

No anxious vigils here I keep,
No dreams of gold distract my sleep,
Nor lead my heart astray;
Nor blasting envy's tainted gale
Pollutes the pleasures of the vale,
To vex my harmless day.

IV.

You tower, which rears its head so high,
And bids defiance to the sky,
Invites the hostile winds:
You branching oak extending wide,
Provokes destruction by its pride,
And courts the fall it finds.

V.

Then let me shun th' ambitious deed,
And all the dangerous paths which lead
To honours falsely won:
Lord! in thy sure protection blest,
Submissive will I ever rest,
And may thy will be done!

Dav. Methinks this shepherd's life were dull and tasteless
Without the charm of soothing song or harp:
With it, not undelightful is the haunt
Of wood, or lonely grove, or russet plain,
Made vocal by the muse. With this lov'd harp,
This daily solace of my cares, I sooth'd
The melancholy monarch, when he lay
Stait by the chill and spirit-quenching hand
Of black despair. God of my fathers, hear me!
Here I devote my harp, my verse, myself,
To thy blest service! gladly to proclaim
Glory to God on high, on earth goodwill
To man; to pour my grateful soul before thee;
To sing thy power, thy wisdom, and thy love,
And ev'ry gracious attribute; to paint
The charms of heaven-born virtue! So shall I
(Though with long interval of worth) aspire
To imitate the work of saints above,
Of cherub and of seraphim. My heart,
My talents, all I am, and all I have,
Is thine, O Father! Gracious Lord, accept
The humble dedication! Offer'd gifts
Of slaughter'd bulls and goats sacrifical
Thou hast refus'd: but, lo, I come, O Lord!
To do thy will; the living sacrifice
Of an obedient heart I lay before thee:
This humble off'ring more shall please thee, Lord,
Than horned bullocks, ceremonial rites,
New moons, and sabbaths, passovers, and fasts!
Yet those I too will keep; but not in lieu
Of holiness substantial, inward worth;
As commutation cheap for pious deeds
And purity of life, but as the types
Of better things; as fair external signs
Of inward holiness and secret truth.

But see, my father, good old Jesse, comes!
To cheer the setting evening of whose life,
Content, a simple shepherd here I dwell,
Though Israel is in arms; and royal Saul,
Encamp'd in yonder field, defies Philistin.

J ESSO , D AVID .

Jes. Blest be the gracious Power who gave my age
To hoast a son like thee! Thou art the staff
Which props my bending years, and makes me bear
The heavy burden of declining age
With fond complacence. How unlike thy fate,
O venerable Eli! But two sons,
But only two to gild the dim remains
Of life's departing day, and bless thy age,
And both were curses to thee! Witness, Heaven,
In all the cruel catalogue of pains
Humanity turns o'er, if there be one
So terrible to human tenderness
As an unnat'ral child!
Dav. Oh! my lov'd father!
Long may'st thou live, in years and honours rich;
To taste and to communicate the joys
The thousand fond endearing charities
Of tenderness domestic; nature's best
And loveliest gift, with which she well atones
The niggard boon of fortune.
Jes. O! my son!
Of all the graces which adorn thy youth,
I, with a father's fondness, most commend
Thy tried humility. For though the seer
Pour'd on thy chosen head the sacred oil
In sign of future greatness, in sure pledge
Of highest dignity, yet here thou dwell'st
Content with toil, and careless of repose;
And (harder still for an ingenuous mind)
Content to be obscure; content to watch,
With careful eye, thine humble father's flock!
Oh earthly emblem of celestial things!
So Israel's shepherd watches o'er his fold:
The weak ones in his fost'ring bosom bears:
And gently leads, in his sustaining hand,
The feeble ones with young.
Dav. Know'st thou, my father,
Aught from the field? for though so near the camp,
Though war's proud ensigns stream on yonder plain,
And all Philistia's swarming hosta encamp,
Oppos'd to royal Saul, beneath whose banners
My brothers lift the spear, I have not left
My fleecy charge, by thee committed to me,
To learn the various fortune of the war.
Jes. And wisely hast thou done. Thrice happy realm,
Who shall submit one day to his command
Who can so well obey! Obedience leads
To certain honours. Not the tow'ring wing
Of eagle-plum'd ambition mounts so surely
To fortune's highest summit as obedience.
But why that sudden ardour, O my son?
That trumpet's sound (though so remote its voice
We hardly catch the echo as it dies)
Has rous'd the mantling crimson in thy cheek,
Kindled the martial spirit in thine eye;
And my young shepherd feels on hero's fire!
Dav. Thou hast not told the pasture of the war;
And much my beating bosom pants to hear.
Jes. Uncertain is the fortune of the field.
I tremble for thy brothers, thus expos'd
To constant peril; nor for them alone
Does the quick feeling agonize my heart.
I feel for all! — I mourn that ling'ring war
Still hangs his banner o'er my native land,
Belov'd Jerusalem! O war! what art thou!
At once the proof and scourge of man's fall'n state!
After the brightest conquest, what appears
Of all thy glories! for the vanquish'd, chains!
For the proud victor, what? Alas! to reign
O'er desolated nations! a drear waste,
By one man's crime, by one man's lust of power.
Unpeopled! Ravaged fields assume the place
Of smiling harvests, and uncultur'd plains
Succeed the fertile vineyard: barren waste
Deforms the spot once rich with luscious fig
And the fat alive. — Devastation reigns.
Here, rifled temples are the cavern'd dens
Of savage beasts, or haunt of birds obscene:
There, pop'lous cities blacken in the sun,
And, in the gen'ral wreck, proud palaces
Lie undistinguish'd, save by the dun smoke
Of recent conflagration. When the song
Of dear-bought joy, with many a triumph swell'd,
Salutes the victor's ear, and soothes his pride,
How is the grateful harmony profan'd
With the sad dissonance of virgins' cries,
Who mourn their brothers slain! of matrons boar,
Who clasp their wither'd hands, and fondly ask,
With iteration shrill, their slaughter'd sons!
How is the laurel's verdure stain'd with blood,
And soil'd with widow's tears!
Dav. Thrice mournful truth!
Yet when our country's sacred rights are menaced;
Her firm foundations shaken to their base;
When all we love, and all that we revere,
Our hearths and altare, children, parents, wives,
Our liberties and laws, the throne they guard,
Are scorn'd and trampled on — then, then, my father!
'Tis then religion's voice; then God himself
Commands us to defend his injur'd name,
And think the vict'ry cheaply bought with life.
'Twere then inglorious weakness, mean self-love,
To lie inactive, when the stirring voice
Of the shrill trumpet wakes the patriot youth,
And with heroic valour, bids them dare
The foul idolatrous bands, e'en to the death.
Jes. God and thy country claim the life they gave;
No other cause can sanctify resentment.
Dav. Sure virtuous friendship is a noble cause!
Oh! were the princely Jonathan in danger,
How would I die, well pleas'd, in his defence!
When, 'twas long since, then but a stripling boy,
I made short sojourn in his father's palace,
(At first to soothe his troubled mind with song,
His armour-bearer next,) I well remember
The gracious bounties of the gallant prince.
How would he sit, attentive to my strain,
While to my harp I sung the harmless joys
Which crown a shepherd's life! How would be cry,
Bless'd youth! far happier in thy native worth,
Far richer in the talent Heaven has lent thee,
Than if a crown hung o'er thy anxious brow.
The jealous monarch mark'd our growing friendship;
And as my favour grew with those about him,
His royal bounty lessen'd, till at length,
For Bethlehem's safer shades I left the court.
Nor would these alter'd features now be known,
Grown into manly strength; nor this chang'd form,
Enlarg'd with age, and clad in russet weed.
Jes. I have employment for thee, my lov'd son!
Will please thy active spirit. Go, my boy!
Haste to the field of war, to yonder camp,
Where in the vale of Elah mighty Saul
Commands the hosts of Israel. Greet thy brothers:
Observe their deeds, note their demeanour well,
And mark if on their actions wisdom waits.
Bear to them too (for well the waste of war
Will make it needful) such plain healthful viands
As furnish out our frugal shepherd's meal.
And to the valiant captain of their host
Present such rural gifts as suit our fortune:
Heap'd on the board within my tent thou'lt find them.
Dav. With joy I'll bear thy presents to my brothers;
And to the valiant captain of their host
The rural gifts thy gratitude assigns him.
Delightful task! — for I shall view the camp!
What transport to behold the tented field,
The pointed spear, the blaze of shields and arms,
And all the proud accoutrements of war!
But, oh! far dearer transport would it yield me,
Could this right arm alone avenge the cause
Of injur'd Israel! could my single death
Preserve the guiltless thousands doom'd to bleed!
Jes. Let not thy youth be dazzled, O my son!
With deeds of bold emprize, as valour only
Were virtue, and the gentle arts of peace,
Of truth, and justice, were not worth thy care.
When thou shalt view the splendours of the war,
The gay caparison, the burnish'd shield,
The plume-crown'd helmet, and the glitt'ring spear,
Scorn not the humble virtues of the shade,
Nor think that Heaven views only with applause.
The active merit and the busy toil
Of heroes, statesman, and the bustling sons
Of public care. These have their just reward,
In wealth, in honours, and the well-earn'd fame
Their high achievements bring. 'Tis in this view
That virtue is her proper recompense:
Wealth, as its natural consequence, will flow
From industry: toil with success is crown'd:
From splendid actions high renown will spring.
Such is the usual course of human things;
For Wisdom Infinite permits, that thus
Effects to causes be proportionate,
And natural ends by natural means achiev'd.
But in the future estimate which Heaven.
Will make of things terrestrial, know, my son,
That no inferior blessing is reserv'd
For the mild passive virtues: meek content,
Heroic self-denial, nobler far
Than all th' achievements noisy fame reports,
When her shrill trump proclaims the proud success
Which desolates the nations. But, on earth,
These are not always prosperous — mark the cause:
Eternal Justice keeps them for the bliss
Of final recompense, for the dread day.
Of general retribution. O my son!
The ostentatious virtues which still press
For notice and for praise; the brilliant deeds
Which live but in the eye of observation,
These have their mend at once. But there's a joy
To the fond votaries of fame unknown,
To hear the still small voice of conscience speak
Its whisp'ring plaudit to the silent soul.
Heaven notes the sigh afflicted goodness heaves;
Hears the low plaint by human ear unheard,
And from the cheek of patient sorrow wipes
The tear, by mortal eye unseen or scorn'd.
Dav. As Hermon's dews their grateful freshness shed
And cheer the herbage, and the flowers renew,
So do thy words a quick'ning balm infuse,
And grateful sink in my delighted soul.
Jes. Go then, my child! and may the gracious God
Who bless'd our fathers, bless my much lov'd son!
Dav. Farewell, my father! — and of this be sure,
That not one precept from thy honoured lips
Shall fall by me unnotic'd; not one grace,
One venerable virtue which adorns
Thy daily life, but I, with watchful care
And due observance, will in mine transplant it.
Jes. He's gone! and still my aching eyes pursue
And strain their orbs still longer to behold him.
Oh! who can tell when I may next embrace him?
Who can declare the counsels of the Lord?
Or when the moment, pre-ordain'd by Heaven
To fill his great designs, may come? This son,
This-blessing of my age, is set apart
For high exploits; the chosen instrument
Of all-disposing Heav'n for mighty deeds.
Still I recall the day, and to my mind
The scene is ever present, when the seen
Illustrious Samuel, to the humble shades
Of Bethlehem came, pretending sacrifice,
To screen his errand from the jealous king.
He sanctified us first, me and my sons;
For sanctity increas'd should still precede
Increase of dignity. When he declar'd
He came commission'd from on high, to find,
Among the sons of Jesse, Israel's king,
Astonishment entranced my wondering soul!
Yet was it not a wild tumultuous bliss;
Such rush delight as promised honours yield
To light vain minds: no, 'twas a doubtful joy,
Chastised by tim'rous virtue, lest a gift
So splendid and so dang'rous might destroy
Him it was meant to raise. My eldest born,
Eliah, tall of stature, I presented;
But God, who judges not by outward form,
But tries the heart, forbade the holy prophet
To choose my eldest born. For Saul, he said,
Gave proof, that fair proportion, and the grace
Of limb or feature, ill repaid the want
Of virtue. All my other sons alike
By Samuel were rejected; till, at last,
On my young boy, on David's chosen head,
The prophet pour'd the consecrated oil.
Yet ne'er did pride elate him, ne'er did scorn
For his rejected elders swell his heart.
Not in such gentle charity to him
His haughtier brothers live; but all he pardons.
To meditation, and to humble toil,
To prayer and praise devoted, here he dwells.
Oh! may the graces which adorn retreat
One day delight a court! record his name
With saints and prophets, dignify his race,
And may the sacred songs his leisure frames
Instruct mankind, and sanctify a world!