Janet Hamilton
Janet Hamilton Poems
Spirit Divine! Eternal! Holy Dove!
These sacred fruits are thine,-peace, joy, and love,
Even peace with heaven, and peace on earth; a joy
...
Farewell, old year, 'the bourne' is near,
'Whence traveller ne'er returneth'-
Passing away from time for aye,
Thy life-light faintly burneth.
...
Blest Sabbath bells! blest Sabbath bells!
My heart with solemn rapture swells;
I come! I come! how blessed there,
...
Dear child! a faithful mother's love
For thee will toil, and watch, and pray;
An angel hovering still above
Thy couch by night, thy steps by day.
...
My Mother! O my Mother! when thy spirit heavenward fled,
And thy aged form, in death's embrace, lay on thy lonely bed;
...
An eager, youthful voice I hear
Asking for bread a father dear;
For he had strayed into the wild,
And wandered far, the thoughtless child,
...
Sweet minstrel! from thy hermit's cell
Rich strains of sacred truth are flowing,
The haughty sceptic's pride to quell;
...
My Mother! O my Mother! when thy spirit heavenward fled,
And thy aged form, in death's embrace, lay on thy lonely bed;
...
Thou frigid tyrant, dark and stern November!
We shrink before thee, and shall long remember
...
'Words of Comfort,' they are come,
Rich in many a tender token,
Weeping love and mothers' woe,
Deeply felt and fitly spoken.
...
Welcome! Oh, welcome! in thy course of fame-
Through rolling clouds of smoke and lurid flame,
Belched from a hundred murky piles-at last
...
Calling a world to arms-I hear from far
The pealing clangours of the trump of war;
The horizon political flames forth
...
Sadly, deeply grieving, wondering,
At the diplomatic blundering,
Powerless to prevent the thundering,
On Denmark's leaguer'd shore,
...
Garibaldi! Garibaldi!
Bleeds and burns my heart for thee!
Freedom! union for Italia!
Never can be won by thee.
...
Servant of God! through fifty honoured years,
With fears and hopes, with prayerful cries and tears,
With watchful care and ever-active zeal,
...
The days o' langsyne, O! the days o' langsyne,
Sweet thochts o' the bygane, I never sall tyne;
Tho' darklin' I sit in my muckle arm chair,
...
Silent, grave, subdued, and sober,
Month beloved, my own October!
Resting in thy peaceful arms,
Seeing not, I feel thy charms-
...
Not changeful April, with her suns and showers,
Pregnant with buds, whose birth the genial hours
Of teeming May will give to life and light
...
This while I've been ettlin' to string a wheen rhymes,
Being unco sair fash'd at the signs o' the times-
The mony dark omens aroun' an' abune,
...
Janet Hamilton Biography
Janet Hamilton was a nineteenth century Scottish poet. Was born as Janet Thomson at Carshill, Shotts parish, Lanarkshire, 12 Oct. 1795, the daughter of a shoemaker. In her childhood the family moved to Hamilton, and then to Langloan, in the parish of Old Monkland, Lanarkshire. For a time her parents became farm labourers, and Janet, remaining at home, span and worked at the tambour-frame. Her father at length settled down in business for himself as a shoemaker, and John Hamilton, one of his young workmen, married Janet in 1809. They lived together at Langloan for about sixty years, and had a family of ten children. Having learnt to read as a girl, Janet Hamilton in her early years became familiar with the Bible, with Shakespeare and Milton, with many standard histories, biographies, and essays, and with the poems of Allan Ramsay, Robert Fergusson and Robert Burns. Before she was twenty she had written numerous verses on religious themes, but family cares prevented further composition until she was about fifty-four. Then she began to write essays for a supplement to Cassell's ‘Working Man's Friend,’ as well as poems in English and Scots and reminiscences of village and rural Scotland during her youth. During her last eighteen years she was blind, and her husband and her daughter Marion read to her, while her son James served as her amanuensis. She was visited in those years by many notable people, including a son of Garibaldi, of whom she afterwards spoke with affectionate recollection. She died on 27 Oct. 1873, having never been ‘more than twenty miles from her dwelling.’ A large crowd of people attended her funeral, and a memorial fountain has been placed nearly opposite her cottage. Hamilton's poems manifest a deep understanding of working-class experience at many levels. Her abilities to articulate the values of a nineteenth-century regional culture now nearly lost to memory merit attention for their humor, public spiritedness, linguistic and social realism, and ability to convey ideals of Victorian Scottish working-class life.)
The Best Poem Of Janet Hamilton
The Fruits Of The Spirit
Spirit Divine! Eternal! Holy Dove!
These sacred fruits are thine,-peace, joy, and love,
Even peace with heaven, and peace on earth; a joy
Earth cannot give, nor, leagued with hell, destroy.
Love! 'tis the love thy presence sheds abroad
In hearts renew'd, the love supreme of God;
Long-suffering, when assailed by wrong or scorn;
Calm gentleness, though tried and spirit-worn;
True
goodness
, flowing from its source Divine;
And faith, that whispers, Saviour, Thou art mine!
Mild tranquil meekness, with her lowly grace;
And temperance, ruling measure, mood, and place,
In words, in deeds, in meats, in drinks, in all,
In every phase of life her warning call
Observ'd, obey'd; 'gainst such no law is found,
With heaven-born graces richly robed and crown'd.
Spirit of God! o'er the dark waters move,
That whelm our souls, where light, nor life, nor love,
Stir the dull chaos: come with life and power,
Creating light, and beauty, fruit, and flower!
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