The Arm Chair

by Unknown

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,
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 heart,
Jane Bettle played a Christian soldier's part.
Though courteous, firm,—unwavering, though kind,
Pupil of Christ, he disciplined her mind.
Secluded long from active service here,
Yet bearing burdens in her proper sphere,
In humble waiting she was faithful found,
Until her fetters were in love unbound.
Her youthful Edward, bud of promise rare,
Was early called to bloom in regions fair;
Another cord, strong though unseen, to move
The heart to seek a resting place above.

Allen, when all around was clothed in night,
Passed from earth's darkness to eternal light.
Oh, what a blessed change to thee was given,
To sleep in Jesus and to wake in heaven;
Leave thy worn vestments with their earthly stain,
A spotless robe of righteousness to gain!

Ye who my being gave,—ye too have flown,
To join the ransomed round the eternal throne.
—The venerable sire, as death drew near,
Saw the vale awful, but devoid of fear;
He whom he loved was near him in that hour,
Death had no terrors and the grave no power.
Before thee, mother, rose a "brilliant path,"—
For thee thy Saviour had no looks of wrath.
Oh, ye had owned Him long, and at the last
His arm supported as ye Jordan passed!

Thus one by one, in quick succession, go
Those who have laboured in the church below!
We dare not murmur as we kiss the rod,
Thou art our Helper, save thy church, O God!
Thine is the cause, thy frowns we dare not shun,
In earth and heaven alike, thy will be done!

Tell me, my Old Arm Chair, when thou wert young,
Were Quaker parlours with gilt pictures hung?
Did any Quaker to his image fall,
A household idol placed against the wall?
Ah, well might honest Catharine cry to pride,
"Abomination!" as she turned aside.
—But times are altered; splendid mansions glow,
And gilded mirrors humble Quakers show.
With Turkey carpets are their parlours spread,
While silken curtains hang about their bed!
What contradiction!—grave the dame and sire;
Gorgeous their dwelling,—simple their attire!
Their children moulding to the place they dwell,
In London fashions, Paris manners, swell,—
While parents scarcely wish to set them free—
For what they won't restrain they love to see.

Are there no worthies now to fill the place,
Of those, victorious, who have run their race?
Are we deserted?—has all merit flown,
And must the church in helpless anguish moan?
Oh, no! the grace that made them what they were,
A living remnant in due measure share;
And haply they on whom their mantles fit,
May where the ancients sat, in judgment sit.

Faith, give me power to see a brighter day,
When all these "letting things" shall pass away;
When the convulsion which has now begun,
Shall pause in silence, all its purpose done;
When the oppressors of the seed, shall wear
The mask no longer, all their acts laid bare;
When chaff and cheat shall to the wind be doomed,
And dross and stubble be by fire consumed;
When to the world the worldly part is given;
When the redeemed shall closer walk with Heaven;
When to our Zion shall the weary come,
Like "doves to windows," pressing to their home.
Oh, haste the day, when through his power divine,
The Father's light around his church shall shine!