Jupiter Hammon

Jupiter Hammon (1711—c.1806) is the first black person to publish a poem in North America. He was born into slavery on Long Island, New York, at the Henry Lloyd estate. The Lloyd family, whom he served his entire life, permitted him to receive a basic education, which enabled him to help them with their commercial ventures. It is believed he was given access to the estate’s library. That first poem, entitled "An Evening Thought: Salvation by Christ, with Penitential Cries", appeared as a broadside in 1751.

Hammon served as a preacher among the other black slaves on the Lloyd estate, and was a respected part of the African-American community. He travelled with the family to Hartford, Connecticut during the Revolutionary War to dodge British invasion. The following poem was written during this time.

Somewhere on the Lloyd estate, he was buried in an unmarked grave.

An Address to Miss Phillis Wheatly

-------------------------I

O come you pious youth! adore
-----The wisdom of thy God,
In bringing thee from distant shore,
-----To learn His holy word.
------------------------------Eccles. xii.

-------------------------II

Thou mightst been left behind
-----Amidst a dark abode;
God’s tender mercy still combin’d,
-----Thou hast the holy word.
------------------------------Psal. cxxxv, 2, 3.

-------------------------III

Fair wisdom’s ways are paths of peace,
-----And they that walk therein,
Shall reap the joys that never cease,
-----And Christ shall be their king.
------------------------------Psal. i, 1,2; Prov. iii, 7.

-------------------------IV

God’s tender mercy brought thee here;
-----Tost o’er the raging main;
In Christian faith thou hast a share,
-----Worth all the gold of Spain.
------------------------------Psal. cii, 1, 3, 4.

-------------------------V

While thousands tossed by the sea,
-----And others settled down,
God’s tender mercy set thee free,
-----From dangers that come down.
------------------------------Death.

-------------------------VI

That thou a pattern still might be,
-----To youth of Boston town,
The blessed Jesus set thee free,
-----From every sinful wound.
------------------------------2 Cor. v, 10.

-------------------------VII

The blessed Jesus, who came down,
-----Unvail’d his sacred face,
To cleanse the soul of every wound,
-----And give repenting grace.
------------------------------Rom. v, 21.

-------------------------VIII

That we poor sinners may obtain,
-----The pardon of our sin;
Dear blessed Jesus now constrain,
-----And bring us flocking in.
------------------------------Psal. xxiv, 6, 7, 8.

-------------------------IX

Come you, Phillis, now aspire,
-----And seek the living God,
So step by step thou mayst go higher,
-----Till perfect in the word.
------------------------------Matth. vii, 7, 8.

-------------------------X

While thousands mov’d to distant shore,
-----And others left behind,
The blessed Jesus still adore,
-----Implant this in thy mind.
------------------------------Psal. lxxxix, 1.

-------------------------XI

Thou hast left the heathen shore;
-----Thro’ mercy of the Lord,
Among the heathen live no more,
-----Come magnify thy God.
------------------------------Psal. xxxiv, 1, 2, 3.

-------------------------XII

I pray the living God may be,
-----The shepherd of thy soul;
His tender mercies still are free,
-----His mysteries to unfold.
------------------------------Psal. lxxx, 1, 2, 3.

-------------------------XIII

Thou, Phillis, when thou hunger hast,
-----Or pantest for thy God;
Jesus Christ is thy relief,
-----Thou hast the holy word.
------------------------------Psal. xiii, 1, 2, 3.

-------------------------XIV

The bounteous mercies of the Lord,
-----Are hid beyond the sky,
And holy souls that love his word,
-----Shall taste them when they die.
------------------------------Psal. xvi, 10, 11.

-------------------------XV

These bounteous mercies are from God,
-----The merits of His Son;
The humble soul that loves His word,
-----He chooses for His own.
------------------------------Psal. xxxiv, 15.

-------------------------XVI

Come, dear Phillis, be advis’d,
-----To drink Samaria’s flood;
There nothing that shall suffice
-----But Christ’s redeeming blood.
------------------------------John iv, 13, 14.

-------------------------XVII

While thousands muse with earthly toys;
-----And range about the street,
Dear Phillis, seek for heaven’s joys,
-----Where we do hope to meet.
------------------------------Matth. vi, 33.

-------------------------XVIII

When God shall send his summons down,
-----And number saints together,
Blest angels chant, (triumphant sound),
-----Come live with me forever.
------------------------------Psal. cxvi, 15.

-------------------------XIX

The humble soul shall fly to God,
-----And leave the things of time,
Start forth as ’twere at the first word,
-----To taste things more divine.
------------------------------Matth. v, 3, 8.

-------------------------XX

Behold! the soul shall waft away,
-----Whene’er we come to die,
And leave its cottage made of clay,
-----In twinkling of an eye.
------------------------------Cor. xv, 51, 52, 53.

-------------------------XXI

Now glory be to the Most High,
-----United praises given,
By all on earth, incessantly,

-----And all the host of heav’n.
------------------------------Psal. cl, 6.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Vasile Voiculescu

Vasile Voiculescu (1884–1963) is a Romanian poet, playwright, and short story writer. He also wrote as a journalist, and for radio. After high school he began to study philosophy at the University of Bucharest, but he soon decided instead to study medicine, which led to his career as a physician.

In 1916 his first poetry collection appeared — or rather it almost appeared — but the occupying German forces destroyed every copy. In 1918, his volume From the Land of the Wisent was published. He subsequently published other poetry books such as, Poems with Angels (1927), Destiny (1939), and The Last Imagined Sonnets of Shakespeare (1964). Much of his prose and dramatic work was published posthumously.

Voiculescu wrote many poems of the Christian faith, particularly focussing on the events of Christ’s life. He was persecuted by Romania’s communist authorities after WWII because of his beliefs in Christianity and democracy. They first prevented him from publishing, and then in 1958 he was imprisoned. During his incarceration he grew ill; he died of cancer a few months after his release.

The Burden

Lord, I complained my life was hard and grim,
I begged You take it back… You would not heed my plea.
You only said: “Let it not be yours alone—give it to them,
Divide your days with others, as many as there be.”

So off I went to cast away: to some my coat,
To others bread, or sandals, or my daily fare.
I crossed the earth, my years gone by, my soul laid bare,
And still my burden deepened, my secret none would note.

Again I returned, and in sorrow I cried:
“Lord, the weight increases, too heavy to bear!
I’m crushed, I cannot take another stride…”
“You must not give more,” You answered with care.

“Then what must I do?”—“Now, you must receive.”
And so I began: from some I took their teaching,
From others, their sorrow, their wounds to grieve,
I took all they gave me, receiving, not preaching;

Some hurled at me hatred, a curse, or disdain,
Far more gave me tears, despair, and pain.
I shared with so many their wounds, their sighs,
They gifted me torment, their sorrowful cries,

So much torment they gifted, I could barely contain.
Rarely a light from someone, more rarely still peace…
Into the cupped vessel of my soul, they cast
Only turmoil, shame, and their anguish.

Yet, Lord, the gift kept growing, ever more
—a mountain of affliction and grief—
I cannot bring myself to tear it from my heart;
All this I gathered: from them mercy, and from You a thought,
No care for myself, my worries are naught;
To bear it, You gave me so much strength and relief,
That my burden is light as a feather’s part.

This post was suggested by Burl Horniachek.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Sarah Rossiter

Sarah Rossiter is a creatively versatile writer, publishing both poetry and fiction. She is the author of the novel The Human Season, (Little Brown), the short story collection, Beyond This Bitter Air, (Illinois University Press), and the poetry chapbook, Natural Life with No Parole, (Finishing Line Press).

After years of having poetry appear in various journals — including multiple appearances in The Christian Century — Sarah Rossiter has now authored the full-length poetry collection Body of the World, which has just appeared from Cascade Books, and the Poeima Poetry Series. I am honored to have worked with Sarah in bringing this book to the public.

She lives with her husband of over sixty years in Concord, Massachusetts — now a Boston suburb, but once home to such literary figures as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Louisa May Alcott, and Henry David Thoreau.

Rossiter describes herself as a cradle Episcopalian and a spiritual director who’s been meeting with those on the Path for thirty years. She is the mother of four, grandmother of eleven.

The following poem is from Body of the World.

Half-Light

Waking to winter’s dawn,
room drained of color
except for neon numbers–
6:14– blinking on the bruise
of the bureau against a pale wall

while out the window
a world shrouded, everything,
all of it, wrapped in gauze:

like Lazarus, I think, when
Jesus, weeping, called him forth,
and he woke from death, blinded,
his body bound by strips of cloth
that, like a chrysalis dissolving,
fall away as he rises to stumble
through darkness, stunned,
not knowing where he’d been or
what comes next, until he merges
into sudden sun.

Posted with permission of the poet.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

W.S. Senior

W.S. Senior (1876—1938) is an English scholar, poet, pastor, and teacher to Sri Lanka, which during his time was known as Ceylon. He has been called the “Bard of Lanka” (after his poem “The Call of Lanka”) and the best English poet Sri Lanka has produced — for it was in Sri Lanka where his poetic talent grew to maturity.

He came to Sri Lanka in 1906 and served as the Vice-Principle of Trinity College in Kandy for a decade. He then served as Vicar of Christ Church, Galle Face, from 1916 until 1919. His poetry collection Vita Magistra was published in1937. Although he retired to England, his heart home was always Sri Lanka.

One blogger, D.B.S. Jeyaraj, writes eloquently of his personal experience of the following poem — which had been put to music by Devar Surya Sena. Jeyaraj says it was sung at the prep school he attended.
-----“When we sang the lines ‘Give peace within her borders, Twixt
-----man and man goodwill,’ in those days of innocent childhood,
-----little did we realise that this blessed Island was going to be
-----torn apart by a cruel war lasting for decades. The war has ended
-----now. What is sad and troubling are the efforts by extremists on
-----either side of the ethnic divide to whip up communal passions.
-----One hopes and prays that saner counsel prevails and the
-----merchandising of hatred ceases.”

The Hymn of Ceylon

Jehovah, Thou hast promised
The isles shall wait for Thee,
The joyous isles of ocean,
The jewels of the sea.
Lo! we, this island’s watchmen
Would give and take no rest;
For thus hast Thou commanded
Till our dear land is blessed.

Then bless her mighty Father,
With blessings needed most,
In every verdant village,
By every palmy coast.
On every soaring mountain,
O’er every spreading plain,
May all her sons and daughters
Thy righteousness attain.

Give peace within her borders
Twixt man and man goodwill,
The love all unsuspicious,
The love that works no ill.
In loyal lowly service,
Let each from other learn,
The guardian and the guarded,
Till Christ Himself return.

To Him our land shall listen,
To Him our peoples kneel;
All rule be on His shoulder,
All wrong beneath His heel;
O consummation glorious
Which now by faith we sing;
Come, cast we up the highway
That brings us back our King!

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Richard Crashaw*

Richard Crashaw (c.1613—1649) is an English poet who was influenced by the Metaphysical poets, and by Spanish and Italian poetry — particularly the Italian Giambattista Marino. The Cambridge Companion to English Poetry says that Crashaw “was revived early in the twentieth century as a 'Metaphysical' poet and as a member of the 'School of Donne'. In some ways that classification was advantageous to his status, because he gained a degree of recognition by riding on Donne's coat-tails in the great wave of popularity.” The great disadvantage, however, is that Crashaw’s verse has less in common with Donne than the other Metaphysical poets, and was therefore judged harshly.

Because Crashaw was a Catholic sympathiser, he fled to France in 1644 to avoid persecution by Oliver Cromwell's Puritans. There he converted to Catholicism. His friend Abraham Cowley found him living in poverty in Paris, and introduced him to Henrietta Maria, Charles I's queen, who sent him to Rome.

This is an extremely truncated version of the poem which appears in his book Steps to the Temple. It is spoken by “the three kings” having the following stanzas alternately voiced by the various magi.

from A Hymn for the Epiphany

Look up, sweet Babe, look up and see!
For love of thee,
Thus far from home
The East is come
To seek herself in thy sweet eyes.

We who strangely went astray,
Lost in a bright
Meridian night;

A darkness made of too much day;

Beckoned from far
By thy fair star,
Lo, at last have found our way.

To thee, thou Day of Night! thou East of West!
Lo, we at last have found the way
To thee, the world's great universal East,
The general and indifferent day.

All-circling point! all-centring sphere!
The world's one round eternal year ...

*This is the third Kingdom Poets post about Richard Crashaw: first post, second post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

Lucy Maud Montgomery*

Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874―1942) was born and raised on Prince Edward Island, where she had her first poem published at age fifteen. She is the author of Anne of Green Gables and its sequels.

Through this popular novel Montgomery shares her own attitudes about faith through the developing faith of her protagonist. She skillfully expresses criticism of the church formality of her day through Anne’s innocent observations. We smile when Anne first arrives at the Cuthberts’, because she knows nothing about prayer, and is hesitant to pray to the god who made her hair red. Despite her impulsive outburst, Anne is continually drawn to God through the beauty of nature; her awestruck expressions are rebukes to us and our wonder-numb eyes.

Anne says, “Why must people kneel down to pray? If I really wanted to pray I'd tell you what I'd do. I'd go out into a great big field all alone or in the deep, deep woods and I'd look up into the sky—up—up—up—into that lovely blue sky that looks as if there was no end to its blueness. And then I'd just feel a prayer."

Lucy Maud Montgomery doesn’t leave Anne’s spirituality vague, but presents positive Christian characters, including Reverend Allan and his wife, whom Anne delights in, saying, “I'd like to be a Christian if I could be one like her.”

The following poem first appeared in The Ladies’ World, December 1902, and is from her collection, The Watchman and Other Poems (McClelland, Goodchild & Stewart, 1916).

The Christmas Night

Wrapped was the world in slumber deep,
By seaward valley and cedarn steep,
And bright and blest were the dreams of its sleep;
All the hours of that wonderful night-tide through
The stars outblossomed in fields of blue,
A heavenly chaplet, to diadem
The King in the manger of Bethlehem.

Out on the hills the shepherds lay,
Wakeful, that never a lamb might stray,
Humble and clean of heart were they;
Thus it was given them to hear
Marvellous harpings strange and clear,
Thus it was given them to see
The heralds of the nativity.

In the dim-lit stable the mother mild
Looked with holy eyes on her child,
Cradled him close to her heart and smiled;
Kingly purple nor crown had he,
Never a trapping of royalty;
But Mary saw that the baby's head
With a slender nimbus was garlanded.

Speechless her joy as she watched him there,
Forgetful of pain and grief and care,
And every thought in her soul was a prayer;
While under the dome of the desert sky
The Kings of the East from afar drew nigh,
And the great white star that was guide to them
Kept ward o'er the manger of Bethlehem.

*This is the second Kingdom Poets post about Lucy Maud Montgomery: first post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.

George MacDonald*

George MacDonald (1824–1905) is a Scottish novelist, poet and theologian, whose popularity in his own day is surprising because he is not well-known in ours. In 1863, his first lengthy realistic Scottish novel, David Elginbrod, became a best-seller. His 1873-74 American lecture tour, from Boston to Chicago, was sold-out wherever he spoke.

When in his twenties, MacDonald had experienced a crisis of faith as he felt conflicted against the Calvinism in which he was raised. His alternate perspective of God as a loving and forgiving Father invigorated his personal faith, and led him to study for the ministry. According to critic Michael Phillips, “MacDonald continually weaves two parallel threads through his novels—that of the ‘plot,’ and that of the internal spiritual journeys of the characters.”

George MacDonald wrote prolifically across multiple genres: 31 novels of realistic fiction, 2 adult fantasy novels, 4 book-length children’s fantasy stories and several collections of short stories for children, 5 theology books, 3 books of literary essays, and 12 poetry collections.

That Holy Thing

They all were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high;
Thou cam'st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

O Son of Man, to right my lot
Naught but Thy presence can avail;
Yet on the road Thy wheels are not,
Nor on the sea Thy sail!

My how or when Thou wilt not heed,
But come down Thine own secret stair,
That Thou mayst answer all my need—
Yes, every bygone prayer.

*This is the third Kingdom Poets post about George MacDonald: first post, second post.

Entry written by D.S. Martin. He is the author of six poetry collections including Angelicus (2021, Poiema/Cascade), plus three anthologies — available through Wipf & Stock. His new book The Role of the Moon, inspired by the Metaphysical Poets, is now available from Paraclete Press.