POST-MORTEM POETRY (1)
In Philadelphia they have a custom which it would be pleasant to seeadopted throughout the land. It is that of appending to publisheddeath-notices a little verse or two of comforting poetry. Any one who isin the habit of reading the daily Philadelphia _Ledger _must frequentlybe touched by these plaintive tributes to extinguished worth. InPhiladelphia, the departure of a child is a circumstance which is notmore surely followed by a burial than by the accustomed solacing poesyin the _Public Ledger_. In that city death loses half its terror becausethe knowledge of its presence comes thus disguised in the sweet draperyof verse. For instance, in a late _Ledger _I find the following (Ichange the surname):
DIED
Hawks.--On the 17th inst., Clara, the daughter of Ephraim and LauraHawks, aged 21 months and 2 days.
That merry shout no more I hear, No laughing child I see, No little armsare around my neck, No feet upon my knee;
No kisses drop upon my cheek, These lips are sealed to me. Dear Lord,how could I give Clara up To any but to Thee?
A child thus mourned could not die wholly discontented. From the _Ledger_of the same date I make the following extract, merely changing thesurname, as before:
Becket.--On Sunday morning, 19th inst., John P., infant son of Georgeand Julia Becket, aged 1 year, 6 months, and 15 days.
That merry shout no more I hear, No laughing child I see, No little armsare round my neck, No feet upon my knee;
No kisses drop upon my cheek; These lips are sealed to me. Dear Lord,how could I give Johnnie up To any but to Thee?
The similarity of the emotions as produced in the mourners in these twoinstances is remarkably evidenced by the singular similarity of thoughtwhich they experienced, and the surprising coincidence of language usedby them to give it expression.
In the same journal, of the same date, I find the following (surnamesuppressed, as before):
Wagner.--On the 10th inst., Ferguson G., the son of William L. andMartha Theresa Wagner, aged 4 weeks and 1 day.
That merry shout no more I hear, No laughing child I see, No little armsare round my neck, No feet upon my knee;
No kisses drop upon my cheek, These lips are sealed to me. Dear Lord,how could I give Ferguson up To any but to Thee?
It is strange what power the reiteration of an essentially poeticalthought has upon one's feelings. When we take up the _Ledger _and readthe poetry about little Clara, we feel an unaccountable depression ofthe spirits. When we drift further down the column and read the poetryabout little Johnnie, the depression and spirits acquires an addedemphasis, and we experience tangible suffering. When we saunter alongdown the column further still and read the poetry about little Ferguson,the word torture but vaguely suggests the anguish that rends us.
In the _Ledger _(same copy referred to above) I find the following (Ialter surname, as usual):
Welch.--On the 5th inst., Mary C. Welch, wife of William B. Welch, anddaughter of Catharine and George W. Markland, in the 29th year of herage.
A mother dear, a mother kind, Has gone and left us all behind. Cease toweep, for tears are vain, Mother dear is out of pain.
Farewell, husband, children dear, Serve thy God with filial fear, Andmeet me in the land above, Where all is peace, and joy, and love.
What could be sweeter than that? No collection of salient facts (withoutreduction to tabular form) could be more succinctly stated than is donein the first stanza by the surviving relatives, and no more concise andcomprehensive program of farewells, post-mortuary general orders, etc.,could be framed in any form than is done in verse by deceased in thelast stanza. These things insensibly make us wiser and tenderer, andbetter. Another extract:
Ball.--On the morning of the 15th inst., Mary E., daughter of John andSarah F. Ball.
'Tis sweet to rest in lively hope That when my change shall come Angelswill hover round my bed, To waft my spirit home.
The following is apparently the customary form for heads of families:
Burns.--On the 20th inst., Michael Burns, aged 40 years.
Dearest father, thou hast left us, Here thy loss we deeply feel; But'tis God that has bereft us, He can all our sorrows heal.
Funeral at 2 o'clock sharp.
There is something very simple and pleasant about the following, which,in Philadelphia, seems to be the usual form for consumptives of longstanding. (It deplores four distinct cases in the single copy of the_Ledger _which lies on the Memoranda editorial table):
Bromley.--On the 29th inst., of consumption, Philip Bromley, in the 50thyear of his age.
Affliction sore long time he bore, Physicians were in vain-- Till God atlast did hear him mourn, And eased him of his pain.
That friend whom death from us has torn, We did not think so soon topart; An anxious care now sinks the thorn Still deeper in our bleedingheart.
This beautiful creation loses nothing by repetition. On thecontrary, the oftener one sees it in the _Ledger_, the more grand andawe-inspiring it seems.
With one more extract I will close:
Doble.--On the 4th inst., Samuel Pervil Worthington Doble, aged 4 days.
Our little Sammy's gone, His tiny spirit's fled; Our little boy we lovedso dear Lies sleeping with the dead.
A tear within a father's eye, A mother's aching heart, Can only tell theagony How hard it is to part.
Could anything be more plaintive than that, without requiring furtherconcessions of grammar? Could anything be likely to do more towardreconciling deceased to circumstances, and making him willing to go?Perhaps not. The power of song can hardly be estimated. There is anelement about some poetry which is able to make even physical sufferingand death cheerful things to contemplate and consummations to bedesired. This element is present in the mortuary poetry of Philadelphia,and in a noticeable degree of development.
The custom I have been treating of is one that should be adopted in allthe cities of the land.
It is said that once a man of small consequence died, and the Rev. T.K. Beecher was asked to preach the funeral sermon--a man who abhors thelauding of people, either dead or alive, except in dignified and simplelanguage, and then only for merits which they actually possessed orpossess, not merits which they merely ought to have possessed. Thefriends of the deceased got up a stately funeral. They must have hadmisgivings that the corpse might not be praised strongly enough, forthey prepared some manuscript headings and notes in which nothing wasleft unsaid on that subject that a fervid imagination and an unabridgeddictionary could compile, and these they handed to the minister as heentered the pulpit. They were merely intended as suggestions, and so thefriends were filled with consternation when the minister stood in thepulpit and proceeded to read off the curious odds and ends in ghastlydetail and in a loud voice! And their consternation solidified topetrification when he paused at the end, contemplated the multitudereflectively, and then said, impressively:
"The man would be a fool who tried to add anything to that. Let uspray!"
And with the same strict adhesion to truth it can be said that the manwould be a fool who tried to add anything to the following transcendentobituary poem. There is something so innocent, so guileless, socomplacent, so unearthly serene and self-satisfied about this peerless"hog-wash," that the man must be made of stone who can read it without adulcet ecstasy creeping along his backbone and quivering in his marrow.There is no need to say that this poem is genuine and in earnest, forits proofs are written all over its face. An ingenious scribblermight imitate it after a fashion, but Shakespeare himself could notcounterfeit it. It is noticeable that the country editor who publishedit did not know that it was a treasure and the most perfect thing of itskind that the storehouses and museums of literature could show. He didnot dare to say no to the dread poet--for such a poet must have beensomething of an apparition--but he just shoveled it into his paperanywhere that came handy, and felt ashamed, and put that disgusted"Published by Request" over it, and hoped that his subscribers wouldoverlook it or not feel an impul
se to read it:
(Published by Request)
LINES
Composed on the death of Samuel and Catharine Belknap's children
by M. A. Glaze
Friends and neighbors all draw near, And listen to what I have to say;And never leave your children dear When they are small, and go away.
But always think of that sad fate, That happened in year of '63; Fourchildren with a house did burn, Think of their awful agony.
Their mother she had gone away, And left them there alone to stay; Thehouse took fire and down did burn; Before their mother did return.
Their piteous cry the neighbors heard, And then the cry of fire wasgiven; But, ah! before they could them reach, Their little spirits hadflown to heaven.
Their father he to war had gone, And on the battle-field was slain; Butlittle did he think when he went away, But what on earth they would meetagain.
The neighbors often told his wife Not to leave his children there,Unless she got some one to stay, And of the little ones take care.
The oldest he was years not six, And the youngest only eleven monthsold, But often she had left them there alone, As, by the neighbors, Ihave been told.
How can she bear to see the place. Where she so oft has left them there,Without a single one to look to them, Or of the little ones to take goodcare.
Oh, can she look upon the spot, Whereunder their little burnt bones lay,But what she thinks she hears them say, ''Twas God had pity, and took uson high.'
And there may she kneel down and pray, And ask God her to forgive; Andshe may lead a different life While she on earth remains to live.
Her husband and her children too, God has took from pain and woe. Mayshe reform and mend her ways, That she may also to them go.
And when it is God's holy will, O, may she be prepared To meet her Godand friends in peace, And leave this world of care.
1. Written in 1870.