T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Rehearsal
Anonymous(U.S., 1895) I SIT here thinking, Will, of you, | |
Of merry days gone by— | |
The old church, where oft we sang | |
Together, you and I; | |
But thoughts of one rehearsal night | 5 |
Will constantly arise, | |
Till “I can read my title clear | |
To mansions in the skies.” | |
I’m thinking of the rainy night— | |
The rest had hurried home— | 10 |
And we, in Deacon Foster’s pew, | |
Were sitting all alone; | |
You were a “seeker” then, dear Will, | |
But not of “things above”— | |
“The length, the depth, the breadth, the heighth | 15 |
Of everlasting love.” | |
And I was on the “anxious” seat, | |
Uncertain how to move, | |
Within thine arms of love embraced, | |
Thy constancy to prove! | 20 |
And oh! the promises you made— | |
You were my own dear Will— | |
“What peaceful hours I once enjoyed, | |
How sweet their memory still.” | |
Oh! what sweet words of love you spoke, | 25 |
And kissed away the tear; | |
And how I trembled at the thought | |
Lest someone should appear; | |
But when you turned the lights all out, | |
To guard against surprise, | 30 |
“I bade farewell to every fear, | |
And wiped my weeping eyes.” | |
I thought, could I these doubts remove, | |
These gloomy doubts that rise, | |
“And see the Caanan that we love | 35 |
With unbeclouded eyes!” | |
And as you climbed the pulpit stairs, | |
And viewed the landscape o’er, | |
“Not Jordan’s stream, not death’s cold flood | |
Could fright us from the floor.” | 40 |
And when you fixed the cushions up, | |
And I reclined at ease, | |
The pulpit pillow ’neath my head, | |
And you on bended knees; | |
With your warm kisses on my lips, | 45 |
How could I stay your hand; | |
“The veil was lifted, and by faith, | |
You viewed the promised land.” | |
And oh! what rapturous feelings | |
Thrilled every nerve, and when | 50 |
I cried, “Oh! Lord my heart is touched,” | |
You shouted out “Amen.” | |
My very soul was all ablaze, | |
I thought that I could see | |
“The land of rest, the saints delight | 55 |
The heaven prepared for me.” | |
I thought “a charge to keep I have” | |
With mingled fear and shame; | |
How anxiously I watched, dear Will, | |
Till I came ’round again! | 60 |
In my distress I vainly strove | |
To check the welling tears | |
“The precious blood poured freely forth | |
And conquered all my fears.” | |
But that was many years ago, | 65 |
And I’ve no doubt that you | |
Remember still the rainy night | |
In Deacon Foster’s pew! | |
But oh! my first “experience” | |
Will ne’er forgotten be, | 70 |
“While down the stream of life we glide | |
To our eternity.” | |
I’m married now, the gudeman thinks | |
In me he has a prize; | |
Ah, me! “Where ignorance is bliss, | 75 |
’Tis folly to be wise.” | |
Of you, dear Will, he nothing knows | |
And so my heart’s at rest, | |
“And not a wave of trouble rolls | |
Across my peaceful breast.” | 80 |