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FAITHFUL IN VANITY‐FAIR.
Suggested by one of David Scott’s illustrations of “Pilgrim’s Progress.”
I.
- THE great human whirlpool—’t is seething and seething:
- On! No time for shrieking out—scarcely for breathing:
- All toiling and moiling, some feebler, some bolder,
- But each sees a fiend‐face grim over his shoulder:
- Thus merrily live they in Vanity‐fair.
- The great human caldron—it boils ever higher:
- Some drowning, some sinking; while some, stealing nigher
- Athirst, come and lean o’er its outermost verges,
- Or touch, as a child’s feet touch, timorous, the surges—
- One plunge—lo! more souls swamped in Vanity‐fair.
- Let’s live while we live; for to‐morrow all’s over:
- Drink deep, drunkard bold; and kiss close, maddened lover;
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- Smile, hypocrite, smile; it is no such hard labor,
- While each stealthy hand stabs the heart of his neighbor—
- Faugh! Fear not: we’ve no hearts in Vanity‐fair.
- The mad crowd divides and then soon closes after:
- Afar towers the pyre. Through the shouting and laughter
- “What new sport is this?” gasps a reveller, half turning.—
- “One Faithful, meek fool, who is led to the burning,
- He cumbered us sorely in Vanity‐fair.
- “A dreamer, who held every man for a brother;
- A coward, who, smit on one cheek, gave the other;
- A fool, whose blind soul took as truth all our lying,
- Too simple to live, so best fitted for dying:
- Sure, such are best swept out of Vanity‐fair.”
II.
- SILENCE! though the flames arise and quiver:
- Silence! though the crowd howls on forever:
- Silence! Through this fiery purgatory
- God is leading up a soul to glory.
- See, the white lips with no moans are trembling,
- Hate of foes or plaint of friends’ dissembling;
- If sighs come—his patient prayers outlive them,
- “Lord—these know not what they do. Forgive them!”
- Thirstier still the roaring flames are glowing;
- Fainter in his ear the laughter growing;
- Brief will last the fierce and fiery trial,
- Angel welcomes drown the earth denial.
- Now the amorous death‐fires, gleaming ruddy,
- Clasp him close. Down drops the quivering body,
- While through harmless flames ecstatic flying
- Shoots the beauteous soul. This, this is dying.
- Lo, the opening sky with splendor rifted,
- Lo, the palm‐branch for his hands uplifted:
- Lo, the immortal chariot, cloud‐descending,
- And its legioned angels close attending.
- Let his poor dust mingle with the embers
- While the crowds sweep on and none remembers:
- Saints unnumbered through the Infinite Glory,
- Praising God, recount the martyr’s story.
