1812–1871

Introduction

portrait

Born: Feb­ru­ary 12, 1812, Wood­stock, Con­nec­ti­cut.

Died: March 18, 1871, Brook­lyn, New York.

Buried: Green-Wood Ce­me­te­ry, Brook­lyn, New York.

Biography

Burleigh was an ac­tive re­form­er and mem­ber of the Uni­tar­ian de­no­mi­na­tion. In 1837, he went to Pitts­burgh, Penn­syl­van­ia, where, hav­ing been pre­vious­ly ap­pren­ticed in the print­ing trade, he pub­lished the Christ­ian Wit­ness and Tem­per­ance Ban­ner.

In 1843, he be­came ed­it­or of the Christ­ian Free­man at Hart­ford, Con­nec­ti­cut. From 1849–55, he was an agent of the New York State Tem­per­ance So­ci­ety. From 1855–70, he was Har­bor­mas­ter in New York Ci­ty.

Works

Burleigh con­trib­ut­ed po­ems and hymns to va­ri­ous pe­ri­od­icals and jour­nals. Ma­ny of these were col­lect­ed and pub­lished as Po­ems (Phi­la­del­phia, Penn­syl­van­ia: J. Mill­er McKim, 1841). This vol­ume was en­larged with ad­di­tion­al piec­es and re­pub­lished by Bur­leigh’s wi­dow in 1871.

Poem

War

The vul­ture hov­ers o’er the reek­ing plain,
Called to the feast of Death, by Glo­ry spread—
A min­gled mass of dy­ing and of dead—
While can­nons roar and trum­pets shriek amain,
And fierce-eyed Ha­voc, drunk with hu­man gore,
Yet reck­less, sate­less, yells in rage for more!
Shudder, oh Earth! and cov­er not thy slain—
Hide not their blood, which from the steam­ing sod,
Cries loud for re­tri­bu­tion! Shall not God,
Ye chiefs, ye war­ri­ors—pro­ge­ny of Cain—
Visit the lands for this? The wi­dow’s cries
Witness against you—and the or­phan’s shriek
Is heard in Heav­en! Your hands with mur­der reek,
And God ab­hors your bloody sac­ri­fice!

How long, oh Lord! how long shall Car­nage reign,
And mad Am­bi­tion and de­mon­iac Rage,
With sway des­pot­ic, o’er Thy her­it­age?
Shall dove-eyed Peace ne’er smile on man again?
Shall Jus­tice frown, and Mer­cy plead, in vain,
While smokes the earth with blood, and ram­part War
Crushes the Na­tions ’neath his ir­on car,
Gorging himself with he­ca­tombs of slain?
Shall Truth be dumb, shall Vir­tue shrink, afraid
To pour re­buke up­on the sons of Hell—
The fiends of Pas­sion—who, with pur­pose fell,
Still drive in hu­man blood their de­mon trade?
Forbid it, right­eous God! as­sert Thy sway,
Till Earth shall hear Thy voice, and hear­ing shall ob­ey!

William Hen­ry Bur­leigh
Poems, 1841

Sources

Lyrics

  1. Abide Not in the Realm of Dreams
  2. Fades from the West the Fare­well Light
  3. Father, Be­neath Thy Shel­ter­ing Wing
  4. For the Dear Love That Kept Us
  5. From Pro­found­est Depths of Tri­bu­la­tion
  6. Lead Us, O Fa­ther
  7. Not in Vain I Poured My Sup­pli­ca­tion
  8. O Deem Not That Earth’s Crown­ing Bliss
  9. Still Will We Trust
  10. There Is a Beau­ti­ful Land by the Spoil­er Un­trod
  11. They Who Have Kept Their Spir­it’s Vir­gin White­ness
  12. Thou Who Look’st with Pi­ty­ing Eye
  13. Through the Chang­es of the Day
  14. We Ask Not That Our Path Be Al­ways Bright
  15. When Glad­ness Gilds Our Pros­per­ous Day