Heart Utterances at Various Periods of a Chequered Life — Background and Themes
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They were too bright to last; Joyous moments but seldom are given, That man may be taught, Worldly pleasures are naught,-- True happiness dwells but in Heaven.
THE MORN AND EVE OF LIFE.
So soft Time's plumage in life's budding spring, We rarely note the flutter of his wing. The untutored heart, from pain and sadness free, Beats high with hope and joy and ecstasy; And the fond bosoms of confiding youth Believe their fairy world a world of truth. The thorn is young upon the rose's stem; They heed it not, it has no wound for them.
While yet the heart is new to misery, There is a gloss on everything we see; There is a freshness, which returns no more When fades the morn of life that soon is o'er; A warmth of feeling, ardency of joy, Delight almost exempt from an alloy, A zest for pleasure, fearlessness of pain, That we are destined ne'er to know again.
And what succeeds this era joyous, bright? Is it a cloudless eve or starless night? To those who're busied in life's brilliant dawn With gathering flowers that bloom when spring is gone, And, ere their morning sun begins to wane, Add many a link to fond affection's chain, To Heaven's supreme behest have meekly bowed-- 'Twill prove indeed an eve without a cloud.
What though the brilliancy and sheen of day With youthful hours have faded all away; What though the fresh and roseate bloom of spring A fragrance in our path no more shall fling; Yet there's a foretaste pure of joys divine, A quiet, holy calm in life's decline, A moonlight of the soul in mercy given To light the pilgrim to the gates of Heaven.
Hail, pensile gem, that thus can softly gild The starry coronal of quiet eve! What frost-work fabrics man shall vainly build Ere thou art doomed thy heavenly post to leave!
Bright star! thou seem'st to me a blest retreat, The wearied pilgrim's paradise of rest; I love to think long-parted friends shall meet, Blissful reunion! in thy tranquil breast.
I saw thee shine when life with me was young, And fresh as fleet-winged time's infantile hour, When Hope her treacherous chaplet 'round me flung, And daily twined a new-created flower.
I saw thee shine while yet the sacred smile Of home and kindred round my path would play, But Time, who loves our fairest joys to spoil, Destined this hour of bloom to swift decay.
The buds, that then were wreathed around my heart, Now breathe their hallowed sweetness there no more; 'Twas thine to see them one by one depart, And yet thou shinest brightly as before.
So, when this bosom, that 'mid all its woes Has longed thy little port of rest to win, In the calm grave shall find at last repose, Thou'lt beam as fair as though I ne'er had been.
RECOGNITION IN HEAVEN.
Oh! say, shall those ties, now so sacred and dear, That with rainbow hues tint all our wanderings here, Be regarded no more in that heavenly sphere Whose portal's the grave?
When, "washed and forgiven," our spirits ascend To the home of the blest where all sorrowings end, O, will not a parent, a sister, a friend, Haste to welcome us there?
Shall we see no loved form we have gazed on before, To commune with of times that are faded and o'er? Will the "dear chosen few" be remembered no more In that haven of bliss?
O my heart must believe, 'mid ethereal chimes A gloom would steal over my spirit sometimes, If the friends I have loved, in these heavenly climes, Seemed to know me no more.
But hope fondly whispers it shall not be so; Each purified spirit my bosom shall know, And all unremembered the 'plaining of woe, We'll joy in the Lord.
WRITTEN IN L. J.'S ALBUM.
Gay visions for thee 'neath hope's pencil have glowed, Peace dwells in thy bosom, a guileless abode; Thou hast seen the bright side of existence alone, And believ'st every spirit as pure as thine own. May'st thou never awake from these rapturous dreams, To find that the world is not fair as it seems, To feel that the few thou hast loved have deceived, Have forsaken the heart that confided, believed, And left it as leafless, as bloomless, and waste As the rose-tree that's stript by the merciless blast.
Eliza Paul Gurney's Heart Utterances at Various Periods of a Chequered Life (1830) opens with a disarmingly modest self-assessment: 'Some grave and some cheerful, some merry, some sad, / Though none may be good, there are none very bad.' This couplet, placed as a prefatory poem, sets the tone for a collection that balances personal candor with formal humility. The poems, dated from 1811 onward, trace a life marked by loss, faith, and the consolations of nature. Gurney, a member of the Society of Friends, writes in a voice that is at once intimate and restrained, often turning to biblical imagery and natural description to articulate grief. The collection's structure—poems grouped by occasion or subject—invites reading as a spiritual autobiography in verse.
Diction of Devotion and Restraint
Gurney's language is marked by a Quaker plainness that nonetheless admits lyrical intensity. In 'Kindness' (1811), her earliest poem, she uses anaphora—'Kindness soothes the bitter anguish, / Kindness wipes the falling tear'—to create a litany-like effect. The vocabulary is simple, almost childlike, yet the repetition builds a meditative rhythm. Later poems adopt a more complex syntax, as in 'Woodburn,' where subordinate clauses pile up: 'But the one that is blighted by sadness and pain, / And blighted too rudely to blossom again.' The word 'blighted' appears twice, emphasizing a sense of irreparable damage. Gurney avoids ornate adjectives; her diction favors concrete nouns ('tear,' 'storm,' 'ark') and verbs of action ('wings,' 'directs,' 'binds'). This restraint gives her grief a quiet dignity, never tipping into melodrama.
Biblical Allusion as Structural Frame
Scripture permeates these poems not merely as ornament but as a structural principle. 'The Shepherd of Israel' (1830) weaves together phrases from Psalm 23, Isaiah, and the Gospels: 'still points to “pastures green,” / When rugged paths they see, / Beside “still waters” bids them rest.' The quotation marks signal direct borrowing, yet Gurney integrates these fragments into her own metrical pattern. In 'Lines Suggested by the Presence of the English Friends, J. and H. C. Backhouse,' she opens with a verse from Daniel 12:3, then expands it into a narrative of missionary sacrifice. The biblical text becomes a lens through which personal and communal experience is interpreted. This technique is consistent: nearly every poem contains at least one scriptural echo, from 'the chastening rod' (Woodburn) to 'the high behest, / Which winds and waves obey' (The Shepherd of Israel).
Landscape as Emotional Correlative
Gurney frequently uses natural settings to externalize inner states. 'Written at the Delaware Water Gap' describes a 'rock-ribbed frame' and 'wondrous chasm' that inspire 'solemn awe' and self-abasement: 'I felt that Pride at such a scene must bow.' The landscape is not merely picturesque but a moral agent, humbling the observer. In 'Woodburn,' the estate becomes a refuge for the 'earth-wearied spirit': 'Such tidings to welcome, oh! where shall we flee, / If not, dearest Woodburn, to silence and thee?' The poem personifies the place as a silent confidant, capable of receiving grief. Evening scenes recur—'when day rests on the portals of eve'—as moments of transition that mirror life's brevity. This consistent use of setting as emotional correlative gives the collection a cohesive geography of feeling.
Formal Variety and the Poetics of Occasion
Gurney employs a range of metrical forms, from the simple ballad stanza of 'Kindness' to the intricate anapestic tetrameter of 'Woodburn.' The latter, with its long lines and frequent internal rhymes, creates a flowing, almost hypnotic rhythm suited to its meditative content. Many poems are occasional: written in albums, after visits, on deaths. 'On the Death of Elizabeth Fry and Sir T. F. Buxton' (1845) uses a more public voice, while 'All Alone' adopts a stark, repetitive structure. The dates appended to each poem—'1811. E. P. K.'—invite reading as a chronological record of emotional response. This variety suggests a poet experimenting with form to match mood, from the hymn-like regularity of 'Kindness' to the looser, more conversational lines of 'Lines Suggested by the Presence...' The collection thus offers a small anthology of early nineteenth-century poetic practice.
Gurney's Heart Utterances rewards readers attentive to the interplay of personal grief and communal faith. The poems, though occasional, cohere through a consistent voice and a disciplined use of biblical and natural imagery. Readers may find it useful to read the poems in chronological order, noting shifts in tone and form across the decades. The collection stands as a record of one Quaker woman's inner life, rendered with sincerity and craft.
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