The Martyr by Herman Melville

Indicative of the Passion of the People on the 15th Day of April, 1865

by: Herman Melville (1819-1891)



GOOD Friday was the day
Of the prodigy and crime,
When they killed him in his pity,
When they killed him in his prime
Of clemency and calm--
When with yearning he was filled
To redeem the evil-willed,
And, though conqueror, be kind;
But they killed him in his kindness,
In their madness and their blindness,
And they killed him from behind.

There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand:
Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.

He lieth in his blood--
The father in his face;
They have killed him, the Forgiver--
The Avenger takes his place,
The Avenger wisely stern,
Who in righteousness shall do
What the heavens call him to,
And the parricides remand;
For they killed him in his kindness,
In their madness and their blindness,
And his blood is on their hand.

There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand:
Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.


"The Martyr" was originally published in Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War. Herman Melville. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1866.

Analysis:

After reading "The Martyr," I get the impression that Melville's purpose in writing the poem was to associate Abraham Lincoln with Christ, our Lord. The opening line refers to Good Friday, which usually commemorates the crucifixion of Christ. It is the Friday preceeding Easter Sunday. Some may disagree, and this is warranted, but like Christ, Lincoln died on a Friday.

In the first stanza Melville poetically likens the assassination of Lincoln to the Crucifixion of Christ.

"When they killed him in his pity / When they killed him in his prime/Of clemency and calm,"

In my opinion, this describes the merciful, forgiving, and loving characteristics of both Christ and Lincoln. Lincoln could never bring salvation or forgive but was a messiah in his own right. Both men where killed in in the prime of their lives. Both had left a mark on those they worked for, but still had so much to give. The assassin murdered Lincoln despite his kindness. The Jews were instrumental in killing Christ despite the passive and mercy He exhibited to all men.

In the third stanza Melville compares Lincoln to the "Forgiver" which is, of course, similar to Christ. "They have killed him, the Forgiver" is followed by the line "The Avenger takes his place." One might ask, "Avenger"? I believe the "Avenger" is the people. The people are left to take vindicate both the work of Christ and Lincoln. Some suggest that Lincoln was the "Avenger" could also be Lincoln because he is described as "wisely stern."

Melville might laugh at my feeble analysis, but who knows. I think he would agree that the beauty of poetry is that it is open to exploration and interpretation. I know I would be tickled pink if my poetry was still be discussed over 14o years after publication.

The Atheist and Thanksgiving: A Poem

To whom does the atheiest give thanks?

For the pumpkin pie?

Surely not, for the pilgrim had no sugar in supply.

For the evolutionary eye?

Surely not, for it moves with blinded* eye.

To whom does the believer give thanks?

For the Turkey?

Surely not, for the turkey was supplied.

For the creators watchful eye?

Surely, for from Him are all needs supplied.

JNA

*Blinded eye here refers to a naturalistic evolutionary view that suggest evolution has occured through random natural selection.

End of Times

It’s the best of times and it’s the worst of times
Feelings never felt before
Moving to beats without rhymes
Experiences never experienced before
Living men among the end of times
Death’s hand beating on our door
Fear gripping men’s minds
Alas, is there a savior?
Indeed, Love has come and He has given us a rhyme

~JNA

Time Needs No Permission

Quickly is how time seems to pass
Especially when happy and glad
In sure and steady steps time marches from the past.
Time in the present is really not so bad
Since time is not past or future, can it last?


Time is like a ball of yarn, which rolled from a shelf.
It falls and bounces yet with each motion it moves toward its end
In spite of watcher or location, time marches despite vanity or even self
Within its bounds are we tightly held, as God does intend.
When the yarn seems fully undone, an endless yarn has really been spun.

The Dependency of Man:

~Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; (Proverbs 3:5 NIV)~

Man, such a finite and feeble thing.

Man, with a heart deceitfully wicked

Man, hashing about the darkness of a thing.

Man, lost with hope neglected.

The Creator, such an infinite and marvelous thing.

The Creator, from whom flows light and truth.

The Creator, always dwelling in the light of a thing.

The Creator, your light and way since your youth.

Man, looking to the Creator and upon Him laying the blame.

Man, seeking reparation instead of repentance.

Man, forsaking the light of the Creator and rejecting His name.

Man, lost in his own way, and declaring his independence.

Man, tells God, “Why am I this way? You are the creator of my shame!”

God, tells man, “I did not create you this way, nor in such shame.”

Man, tells God, “I seek my own way, I declare my independence.”

God, tells man, “Your way you have found, and in your shame will you cry for independence!”

JN Anderson

Footprints on the Sands by Henry Wadworth Longfellow

The lives of great men all remind us
That we can make our lives sublime
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time

Footprints that, perhaps another
Sailing o'er life's solemn main
A forelorn and shipwrecked brother
Seeing shall take heart again

Let us then, be up and doing
With a heart for any fate
Still achieving, still pursuing
Learn to labor and to wait.

from the "Psalm of Life"

The Cold Within:

Six humans trapped by happenstance In black and bitter cold

Each possessed a stick of wood, Or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,

The first woman held hers back For on the faces around the fire She noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way Saw one not of his church And couldn't bring himself to give The fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes He gave his coat a hitch, Why should his log be put to use To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought Of the wealth he had in store, And how to keep what he had earned From the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge As the fire passed from his sight, For all he saw in his stick of wood Was a chance to spite the white?

And the last man of this forlorn group Did naught except for gain, Giving only to those who gave Was how he played the game?

The logs held tight in death's stilled hands Was proof of human sin? They didn't die from the cold without, They died from the cold within.

Author Unknown

Poems

Here are some poems I have written lately. Hopefully someone can find some use or benefit from one of them.

The Pursuit of Truth:

In this pursuit we must be true,
But from the wise is given a clue,
The easiest person to deceive, can really be you.
True to His Word, we must be,
When led by His Spirit, we can truly see,
For from us it leads, any deceit found in you and me.

Heaven, with a window

Rarely does heaven and earth collide.
Yet, when God made you, new history round our world did ride.
He joined us, and clearly now we know.
In divine surplus, God placed motherhood—on heavens window.
You are a mother like no other, for from you has come those who can see the Kingdom of God.
These are children like no other, for with them your caring, compassionate spirit will trod.
As the beauty of heaven rests on earth, I stand amazed at your worth.
When God blesses man, He does so when he made heaven and then added a window!