Charles Newby Wawn c1782 - 1840
Poetic Sketches

WRITTEN IN A NIGHT OF SICKNESS
“A soul bruised by adversity”

Slow moves the minute, and long seems the hour,

When Sickness’ leaden hands the frame arrest;

The racking head and labouring pulse, sad pow’r

To pain do own – its tyranny imprest.

Slow round the ticking watch the pointer glides;

Dim burns the glim’ring wick with sickly glare;

Mute every object, - ill ‘twould seem betides –

Long in approach the morning’s fresh’ning air.

In fever’s fiery gripe, restless, I Turn,

Thought, broken and confused, flies and recoils;

Woo’d Sleep just comes, and at th’ oblivious bourne

Wheels round – and still life’s furied current boils.

O! it is sweet in such an hour to know

That when the mis’ries of this fickle state

Shall all forgotten be, and pass’d below,

There is a life divinely recreate.

Of roseate health, case, strength, without decay,

Of youth eternal, peace without impair;

Of joys elate, that never pas away,

Of prospects sure – as ever bright and fair.

Of high-raised intellect that knows no bound,

But roams uncheck’d, and lives, and burns, and glows,

That sweeps thro’ all creation’s wide-spread round,

And only to its great orig’nal bows.

And O! ‘tis great to think the way’s assured

To that divine abode, thro’ Love divine –

Thro’ Him who once in dust himself immur’d,

And from Heaven’s ramparts now waves Vict’rys sign.

‘Tis great, in child-like trust, in him to rest;

On him all cares, and sins, and griefs, to roll;

On him who, in himself supremely blest,

Delights to bless, and bless, o’er all, the soul.

‘Tis sweet in sorrowing joy, in weakness’ strength,

With gladsome sighs, with pleasure’s purest tears,

To think on Mercy’s depth, and height, and length,

And breadth, living throughout eternal years.

‘Tis good to sink annih’late at the feet,

of GOD; and rise a spirit brightly good and pure

At the last day, to yon enthroning seat,

To reign and love and praise whilst ages shall endure.
 

Charles Newby Wawn

Newcastle upon Tyne, 1825