In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow near I did not look,
I waken'd 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 straighten me in my Distress
And not to leave me succourless.
Then coming out, behold a space
The flame consume my dwelling place.
And when I could no longer look,
I blest his grace 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,
He might of all justly bereft
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 sate 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 the roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.
In silence ever shalt thou lie.
Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity.
Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide:
And did thy wealth on earth abide,
Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust,
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.
Thou hast a house on high erect
Fram'd 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.
Anne Bradstreet. "Verses Upon the Burning of our House". February 26, 2002. March 25, 2008. <http://www.annebradstreet.com/verses_upon_the_burning_of_our_house.htm>.
Reflection: Anne Bradstreet uses repetition, diction, and rhyme-scheme to convey her sorrow at the loss of her house and then her consolation at the realization that all things on earth will fade but her heavenly home will always remain and that God, not objects, is the center of her life.
Dear Diary,
How ironic life is. Just a few weeks ago poor man Taylor's house caught fire. Lucky for him it didn't burn down but he did lose quite a bit of his stores from to the flame. The minister says it was God's will because he hasn't been attending church lately. Attendance at Sunday service has risen since this event and I think it will last. Taylor is still having trouble dealing with the shock of it though. He's changed though, I've seen him praying almost constantly now. It's interesting how a tragedy can actually bring someone back to God but He does work in strange ways. I better get back to work. Mr. Miller won't be happy if I don't show up in time to help him in the fields.
God's peace be with you,
Matthew
