Erastus Johnson – death, Jun 16, 1909

“The Rock That Is Higher Than I”

Oh! sometimes the shadows are deep,
And rough seems the path to the goal,
And sorrows, sometimes how they sweep
Like tempests down over the soul.

Refrain

O then to the Rock let me fly
To the Rock that is higher than I
O then to the Rock let me fly
To the Rock that is higher than I!

2.

Oh! sometimes how long seems the day,
And sometimes how weary my feet!
But toiling in life’s dusty way,
The Rock’s blessèd shadow, how sweet!

3.

Then near to the Rock let me keep
If blessings or sorrows prevail,
Or climbing the mountain way steep,
Or walking the shadowy vale.

Erastus Johnson died this date 6/16/1909.  He was a school teach­er in Maine (at 17), experienced something of the Gold Rush (Cal­i­for­nia), was in Pennsylvania (24 years in the oil bu­sin­ess).  Also lived in Maine again and Wash­ing­ton before moving to his death sight, Walt­ham, Mass­a­chu­setts.

“O Sometimes the Shadows are Deep” (a.k.a. “The Rock That Is Higher Than I”) was written during another America financial panic – that of 1871, after knowing that many had lost thousands of dollars among whom was John Wan­a­mak­er.  (Wan­a­mak­er lost $70,000, which to him at that time, was a large amount.)

Johnson was born 4/20/1826, in log­ging camp above Bang­or, Maine.

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Henry Vaughan – birth, Apr. 17, 1622

“They Are All Gone into the World of Light”

 

They are all gone into the world of light!
And I alone sit ling’ring here;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

 

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest,
After the sun’s remove.

 

I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days:
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

 

O holy Hope! and high Humility,
High as the heavens above!
These are your walks, and you have show’d them me
To kindle my cold love.

 

Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere, but in the dark;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust
Could man outlook that mark!

 

He that hath found some fledg’d bird’s nest, may know
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.

 

And yet as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul, when man doth sleep:
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes
And into glory peep.

 

If a star were confin’d into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that lock’d her up, gives room,
She’ll shine through all the sphere.

 

O Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under thee!
Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.

 

Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective still as they pass,
Or else remove me hence unto that hill,
Where I shall need no glass.

 

Henry Vaughan was born this date (4/17/1622) New­ton-By-Usk, Llan­saintffi­ad, Wales. He later practiced medicine at Breconshire and Newton.  He was influenced by George Herbert.  He also wrote hymns one of which, “My Soul, There Is a Country,” can be heard on TheCyberHymnal

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Away

Creatures of time for a moment,

Creatures of eternity for aye,

Living once and so briefly,

Then passing forever away.

 

But away to what? Is the question,

To freeze the very soul;

Away to the place where one had

Planned to make his final goal?

 

Or away to the unexpected? 

Away to the undesired?

Where the sky is never blessed

With a morning sun, newly fired.

 

Away to the region of sorrows and griefs,

Here-to-fore unknown,

Away to reap the abundant harvest

Of “wild oats” carelessly sown.

 

Away to a place without babies,

To divert from the problem at hand.

Away to a scene, worse by far,

Than Alamo, or Custer’s Last Stand.

 

Away to separation – Separation  

– How sad that word, how sad!

Separation from a praying Mother,

Separation from a faithful Dad.

 

O God, may I die as the righteous,

Peaceful, Calm, Prepared.

And come to the brink of the river,

Knowing I have not spared.   -eab, 11/1973

 

Written in Nevada, Ohio

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