Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ARMELLE NICHOLAS'S ACCOUNT OF HERSELF, by JOHN BYROM


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ARMELLE NICHOLAS'S ACCOUNT OF HERSELF, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: To the god of my love, in the morning,' said she
Last Line: "could have nothing more added than what I possess."
Subject(s): Self-gratification


"TO the God of my love, in the morning," said she,
Like a child to its parent, when waking, I flee;
With a longing to serve Him and please Him, I rise
And before Him kneel down, as if seen by these eyes:
I resign up myself to his absolute will,
Which I beg that in me He would always fulfil:
That the pray'rs of the day, by whomever preferr'd,
For the good of each soul, may be also thus heard.

If, oblig'd to attend on some houshold affair,
I have scarce so much time as to say the Lord's Pray'r,
This gives me no trouble: my dutiful part
Is obedience to Him, whom I have at my heart
As well at my work as retiring to pray;
And his love does not suffer in mine a decay:
He has taught me Himself, that a work, which I do
For his sake, is a pray'r very real and true.

I dress in his presence, and learn to confess
That his provident kindness supplies me with dress:
In the midst of all outward employment I find
A conversing with Him of an intimate kind;
How sweet is the labour! His loving regard
So supporting one's mind, that it thinks nothing hard;
While the limbs are at work, in the seeking to please
So belov'd a companion, the mind is at ease.

In his presence I eat and I drink; and reflect
How food, of his gift, is the growing effect;
How his love to my soul is so great and so good,
Just as if it were fed with his own flesh and blood:
What a virtue this Feeder, his meat, and his drink
Have to raise in one's heart, I must leave you to think.
He alone can express it; no language of mine,
Were my life spent in speaking, could ever define.

When perhaps by hard usage or weariness press'd,
I myself am too apt to be fretful at best,
Love shews me forthwith how I ought to take heed
Not to nurse the least anger, by word or by deed;
And He sets such a watch at the door of my lips,
That of hasty cross words there is nothing that slips;
Such irregular passions, as seek to surprise,
Are crush'd, and are conquer'd, as soon as they rise.

Or, if e'er I give place to a humour so bad,
My mind has no rest till forgiveness be had;
I confess all my faults, as if He had not known,
And my peace is renew'd, by a goodness his own;
In a manner so free, as if, after my sin,
More strongly confirm'd than before it had been.
By a mercy so tender my heart is reclaim'd,
And the more to love Him by its failing inflam'd.

Sometimes I perceive that He hideth his face,
And I seem like a person depriv'd of all grace;
Then I say—"'Tis no matter, altho' thou conceal
"Thyself as thou pleasest, I'll keep to my zeal;
"I'll love Thee, and serve Thee, however this rod
"May be sent to chastise, for I know Thou art God;"
And with more circumspection I stand upon guard,
Till of such a great blessing no longer debarr'd.

But a suff'ring, so deep, having taught me to try
What I am in my self-hood, I learn to rely
More firmly on Him, who was pleas'd to endure
The severest extremes, to make way for our cure.
To conform to his pattern, as love shall see fit,
My faith in the Saviour resolves to submit;
For no more than my self (if the word may go free)
Can I live without Him, can He help loving me.

Well assur'd of his goodness, I pass the whole day,
And my work, hard or easy, is felt as a play;
I am thankful in feelings, but, pleasure or smart,
It is rather Himself that I love in my heart.
When they urge me to mirth, I think, "O! were it known
"How I meet the best Company when I'm alone!"
To my dear fellow-creatures what ties me each hour
Is the love of my God, to the best of my pow'r.

At the hour of the night, when I go to my rest,
I repose on his love, like a child at the breast;
And a sweet, peaceful silence invites me to keep
Contemplating Him, to my dropping asleep.
Many times a good thought, by its gentle delight,
Has with-held me from sleep, a good part of the night,
In adoring his love that continues to share
To a poor, wretched creature, so special a care.

This, after my heart was converted at last,
Is the life I have led for these twenty years past:
My love has not chang'd, and my innermost peace,
Tho' it ever seem'd full, has gone on to increase:
'Tis an infinite love that has fill'd me, and fed
My still rising hunger to eat of its bread;
So satisfied still, as if such an excess
Could have nothing more added than what I possess."





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