Mr. Thiesmeyer’s English III – American Literature


 

Home          Syllabus          Literary Terms          Readings & Assignments          Notes          Contact

 

­­ Here Follow Some Verses upon

The Burning of our House July 10, 1666


 

Here Follow Some Verses upon the Burning

of our House, July 10, 1666

Anne Bradstreet

Listen

 


In silent night when rest I took 
For sorrow near I did not look 
I wakened was with thund’ring noise 
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. 
That fearful sound of “Fire!” and “Fire!” 
Let no man know is my desire. 
I, starting up, the light did spy, 
And to my God my heart did cry 
To strengthen me in my distress 
And not to leave me succorless[1]
Then, coming out, beheld a space 
The flame consume my dwelling place. 


And when I could no longer look, 
I blest His name that gave and took, 
That laid my goods now in the dust. 
Yea, so it was, and so ’twas just. 
It was His own, it was not mine, 
Far be it that I should repine[2].


He might of all justly bereft[3] 
But yet sufficient for us left. 
When by the ruins oft I past 
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast, 
And here and there the places spy 
Where oft I sat and long did lie: 


Here stood that trunk, and there that chest, 
There lay that store I counted best. 
My pleasant things in ashes lie, 
And them behold no more shall I. 
Under thy roof no guest shall sit, 
Nor at thy table eat a bit. 


No pleasant tale shall e’er be told, 
Nor things recounted done of old. 
No candle e’er shall shine in thee, 
Nor bridegroom’s voice e’er heard shall be. 
In silence ever shall thou lie
Adieu[4], Adieu, all’s vanity. 


Then straight I ’gin my heart to chide, 
And did thy wealth on earth abide? 
Didst fix thy hope on mold’ring dust? 
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? 
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky 
That dunghill mists away may fly. 

Thou hast an house on high erect, 
Framed by that mighty Architect, 
With glory richly furnished, 
Stands permanent though this be fled. 
It’s purchased and paid for too 
By Him who hath enough to do. 


A price so vast as is unknown 
Yet by His gift is made thine own; 
There’s wealth enough, I need no more, 
Farewell, my pelf, farewell my store. 
The world no longer let me love, 
My hope and treasure lies above. 

 

 

 Printer friendly version

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright thiesmeyer.net 2015



[1] Succorless. Adj. Without aid in time of distress

[2] Repine. V. To express discontent

[3] Bereft. Adj. Deprived of or missing something

[4] Adieu Int. Fr. Good bye