After The Surprising Conversions

September twenty-second, Sir: today

I answer. In the latter part of May,

Hard on our Lord’s Ascension, it began

To be more sensible. A gentleman

Of more than common understanding, strict

In morals, pious in behavior, kicked

Against our goad. A man of some renown,

An useful, honored person in the town,

He came of melancholy parents; prone

To secret spells, for years they kept alone—

His uncle, I believe, was killed of it:

Good people, but of too much or little wit.

I preached one Sabbath on a text from Kings;

He showed concernment for his soul. Some things

In his experience were hopeful. He

Would sit and watch the wind knocking a tree

And praise this countryside our Lord has made.

Once when a poor man’s heifer died, he laid

A shilling on the doorsill; though a thirst

For loving shook him like a snake, he durst

Not entertain much hope of his estate

In heaven. Once we saw him sitting late

Behind his attic window by a light

That guttered on his Bible; through that night

He meditated terror, and he seemed

Beyond advice or reason, for he dreamed

That he was called to trumpet Judgment Day

To Concord. In the latter part of May

He cut his throat. And though the coroner

Judged him delirious, soon a noisome stir

Palsied our village. At Jehovah’s nod

Satan seemed more let loose amongst us: God

Abandoned us to Satan, and he pressed

Us hard, until we thought we could not rest

Till we had done with life. Content was gone.

All the good work was quashed. We were undone.

The breath of God had carried out a planned

And sensible withdrawal from this land;

The multitude, once unconcerned with doubt,

Once neither callous, curious nor devout,

Jumped at broad noon, as though some peddler groaned

At it in its familiar twang: “My friend,

Cut your own throat. Cut your own throat. Now! Now!”

September twenty-second, Sir, the bough

Cracks with the unpicked apples, and at dawn

The small-mouth bass breaks water, gorged with spawn.