The Fathers Tears over his Daughters Remains, Floating text 1 – Letter 4
Pſalm cxxxvii. Paraphras'd, Auguſt 5th. 1725. Aetat. 17.
AS on the Margin of Euphrates Flood
We wail'd our Sins, and mourn'd an angry GOD;
For GOD provok'd to ſtrangers gave our Land
And by a righteous Judge condemn'd we ſtand;
Deep were our Groans, our Griefs without compare,
With ardent Cries we rent the yielding Air.
Born down with Woes no Friend at hand was found,
No Helper in the waſte and barren Ground;
Only a mournful Willow wither'd there,
Its aged Arms by Winter Storms made bare,
On this our Lyres, now uſeleſs grown we hung,
Our Lyres by us forſaken and unſtrung!
We ſigh'd in Chains, and ſunk beneath our Woe,
Whilſt more inſulting our proud Tyrants grow.
From Hearts oppreſt with Grief they did require
A ſacred Anthem on the ſounding Lyre:
Come, now, they Cry, regale us with a Song,
Muſick and Myrth the fleeting Hours prolong,
Shall Babels Daughter hear that bleſſed Sound?
Shall Songs Divine be ſung in heathen Ground?
No, Heaven forbid that we ſhould tune our Voice,
Or touch the Lyre! whi…t Slaves we can't rejoyce.
O Paleſtina! our once dear Abode,
Thou once wert bleſt with Peace, and lov'd by GOD!
But now art deſolate, a barren waſte,
Thy fruitful Fields by Thorns and Weeds defac'd.
If I forget Judea's mournful Land,
May nothing proſper that I take in Hand!
Or if I ſtring the Lyre, or tune my Voice,
Till thy Deliverance cauſe me to rejoyce;
O may my Tongue forget her Art to move,
And may I never more my Speech improve!
Return O LORD! avenge us of our Foes,
Deſtroy the Men that up againſt us roſe:
Let Edoms Sons thy juſt Diſpleaſure know,
And like us ſerve ſome foreign conquering Foe,
In diſtant Realms; far from their native Home,
To which dear Seat O let them never come!
Thou Babel's Daughter! Author of our Woe,
Shalt feel the Stroke of ſome revenging Blow:
Thy Walls and Towers be level'd with the Ground,
Sorrow and Grief ſhall in each Soul be found:
Thrice bleſt the Man, who that auſpicious Night
Shall ſeize thy trembling Infants in thy ſight;
Regardleſs of thy flowing Tears and Moans,
And daſh the tender Babes againſt the Stones.
The forgoing Poem ſhe ſent to her Father from Reading. And it gain'd her the following Letter from him,
Boſton, Auguſt 10th. 1725. My Dear Child,
YOur's of the fifth Inſtant was exceeding pleaſant to me, both your Paraphraſe on the 137 Pſalm, & the Letter that inclos'd it. In the Letter you wiſh you might inherit ſomething of your Father's Soul and therein his Gifts. If that be worthy of your Deſire God has in a great Meaſure given it to you; only you muſt go on by Reading and Study to improve the Powers which God has given you. My poor Gift is in thinking and writing with a little Eloquence, and a poetical turn of Thought. This, in proportion to the Advantages you have had, under the neceſſary and uſeful Reſtraints of your Sex, you enjoy to the full of what I have done before you. With the Advantages of my liberal Education at School & College, I have no reaſon to think but that your Genius in Writing would have excell'd mine. But there is no great Progreſs or Improvement ever made in any thing but by Uſe and Induſtry and Time. If you diligently improve your ſtated and ſome vacant Hours every Day or Week to read your Bible, and other uſeful Books, you will inſenſibly grow in Knowlege and Wiſdom, fine Tho'ts and good Judgment, from Year to Year, to the Pleaſure of your Friends, the Profit of your Children, if God give you any, and to your own ſpiritual and everlaſting Advantage; if you direct all unto, and govern it by the Glory of God. But as to a Poetical Flight now and then, let it be with you only a thing by the by. At your leiſure and ſpare Hours you may indulge your Inclinations this way. But let them not break in either upon the daily Hours of ſecret Reading or Devotion. — So you ſhall conſecrate your Heart & Life, your Muſe and your daily Works, to the Honour of Chriſt in the Way of your own Salvation.
You ask me to forgive the flow of your Affections, which run with ſo ſwift a Current of filial Duty as may carry you beyond your ſelf ſometimes, and make you wanting in that Reſpect which you aim at expreſſing". It is true, my Dear, that a young fond and muſical Genius is eaſily carry'd away thus; and never more than when it runs into the Praiſes of what it loves; and I would have you therefore careful againſt this Error, even when you ſay your Tho'ts of Reverence and Eſteem to your Father, or to a Spouſe if ever you ſhould live to have one. It is eaſy to be laviſh and run into fooliſh Flatteries. I think you have done well to correct your Self for ſome of your Excurſions of this kind toward me. Your Father is pleas'd with your love; and you are but a poor partial Judge of his Gifts or Virtues.—But if you ſee any thing of Chriſt in any, and whatever things are juſt, whatever things are lovely, think of theſe things and imitate them.
You deſire me to correct the faults in your Verſes. I have always done that freely, both as to your Proſe and Verſe. Nor be diſcourag'd hereby, but inſtructed. It is your learning time, and I am not aſham'd of my Pupil.— But you have taken the laſt Paper of Verſes with you, which prevents my ſending you any Emendations of them. Commendation of them in the general I do however ſend. The ſerious melancholy Pſalm is well turn'd in the moſt parts of it, conſidering your Years and Advantages for ſuch a Performance. You ſpeak of a ſingle wither'd Willow which they hung their Harps on; but Euphrates was cover'd with Willows along the Banks of it, ſo that it has been call'd the River of Willows. I hope, my Dear, your Lyre will not be hung on ſuch a ſorrowful Shrub. Go on in ſacred Songs, and we'll hang it on the ſtately Cedars of Lebanon. Or let the pleaſant Elm before the Door where you are ſuffice for you. — Give my love to Mr. P— and Madam, who receive you with ſuch Courteſie and Love. We wiſh their pleaſant Air and Converſation may ſerve your Health both of Body and Mind; and that your Company may be of ſome Pleaſure and Uſe to them.
I am, your affectionate Father,—