Anne Bradstreet

When I was in high school, I owned two poetry books, the complete works of Robert Frost and the complete works of Emily Dickerson. They were gifts from loved ones. I knew several of their poems, having enjoyed learning about them in English class, so I was proud to have them on my book shelf. I know I tried to read through both of the books, but I didn’t get through all of them.

I also know I was curious about William Carlos Williams. . . only because who can forget a name like that? I also loved how he talked about plums and a wheel barrow. Also, Shakespeare. I knew Shakespeare because of his sonnets we read in 11th grade British Lit. But other than those four poets, I don’t know if I cared about other writers of poetry when I was a teenager. I can imagine I learned about Wordsorth and Yeats. I must have read “Paul Revere’s Ride”. But other than that, I did not connect deeply to poetry until I was in college and discovered the Puritan poet Anne Bradstreet.

My memory is foggy on the details. I don’t know how I learned about her. I was a History major in college, with a focus on American History. I assume I heard about her in my early American history class with Dr. Bremer. He was an expert on the Puritans and one who taught about them fairly - as if he actually knew something about the first generation of Puritans who settled here and was not biased against them. However I discovered Anne Bradstreet, I did write a paper about her, which earned me an A+ from Dr. Bremer. It’s not the grade I received on the paper that kept her a favorite, though, it was her words and ideas.

Although I still haven’t read her long, history poems, I have read most of her “at home” poems. She wrote about trials and joys of home life, the love she had for her husband, and the love she had for her children and grandchildren. Her words show a heart that lived for God’s glory and longing for heaven as well as a deep affection and care for the life she was given (her people and place). It was this heart united to Christ, who also sought to serveher family, while believing in the goodness and sovereignty of God that I loved. As a young 20 year old in college, I had my first real taste of how an artist could point me to the truth and help me see life in God in deeper ways.

Anne Dudley was born in England in 1612. She was a well educated young woman. Her father, who had been a steward for the Earl of Lincoln, made certain that she and her sisters learned to read, and then were given the books in the earl’s library to read. She read a lot of classical poetry as well as John Milton. After marrying Simon Bradstreet, she and her family sailed with John Winthrop to the America, to start the Massachusetts Bay Colony (1633). Her father and then later her husband would become governors of Massachusetts. She and her husband had 8 children, all who lived through childhood (she called them chicks and she their mother hen).

She is considered America’s first published poet — although Anne did not seek out that distinction. Her brother took her poems, the ones she shared with her family, and had them published in England, without her knowing it! They were published in a collection titled The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America 1650. Anne died in 1672, after having lived through many joys and sorrows and trials in Massachusetts.

When Ned and Steve Nichols worked on The Church History ABCs Augustine and Twenty-five Other heroes of the Faith, Steve’s wife Heidi and I made certain that B was for Anne Bradstreet!

The following are my three favorite poems of hers. . .

By Night when Others Soundly Slept

1
By night when others soundly slept
And hath at once both ease and Rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.
2
I sought him whom my Soul did Love,
With tears I sought him earnestly.
He bow’d his ear down from Above.
In vain I did not seek or cry.
3
My hungry Soul he fill’d with Good;
He in his Bottle put my tears,
My smarting wounds washt in his blood,
And banisht thence my Doubts and fears.
4
What to my Saviour shall I give
Who freely hath done this for me?
I’ll serve him here whilst I shall live
And Loue him to Eternity.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay;
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Upon the Burning of Our House

Here Follows Some Verses Upon the Burning 
of Our house, July 10th. 1666. Copied Out of 
a Loose Paper.

In silent night when rest I took,
For sorrow near I did not look,
I wakened was with thund’ring noise
And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.
That fearful sound of “fire” and “fire,”
Let no man know is my Desire.
I, starting up, the light did spy,
And to my God my heart did cry
To straighten me in my Distress
And not to leave me succourless.
Then, coming out, behold a space
The flame consume my dwelling place.
And when I could no longer look,
I blest His name that gave and took,
That laid my goods now in the dust.
Yea, so it was, and so ‘twas just.
It was his own, it was not mine,
Far be it that I should repine;
He might of all justly bereft
But yet sufficient for us left.
When by the ruins oft I past
My sorrowing eyes aside did cast
And here and there the places spy
Where oft I sate and long did lie.
Here stood that trunk, and there that chest,
There lay that store I counted best.
My pleasant things in ashes lie
And them behold no more shall I.
Under thy roof no guest shall sit,
Nor at thy Table eat a bit.
No pleasant talk shall ‘ere be told
Nor things recounted done of old.
No Candle e’er shall shine in Thee,
Nor bridegroom‘s voice e’er heard shall be.
In silence ever shalt thou lie,
Adieu, Adieu, all’s vanity.
Then straight I ‘gin my heart to chide,
And did thy wealth on earth abide?
Didst fix thy hope on mould’ring dust?
The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?
Raise up thy thoughts above the sky
That dunghill mists away may fly.
Thou hast a house on high erect
Framed by that mighty Architect,
With glory richly furnished,
Stands permanent though this be fled.
It‘s purchased and paid for too
By Him who hath enough to do.
A price so vast as is unknown,
Yet by His gift is made thine own;
There‘s wealth enough, I need no more,
Farewell, my pelf, farewell, my store.
The world no longer let me love,
My hope and treasure lies above.

(aren’t those rhyming couplets fantastic?)

The picture on the front was painted by my friend Louise Brewer for an early Veritas Press primer that was about Anne Bradstreet.

B is for Bradstreet from Church History ABCs…