Revised Jun 22 2021
The Chaplain of Pitcairn has not only the power of expressing himself well and clearly in prose: he also possesses the happy art of framing his thoughts in verse. This talent he has often exerted, on subjects of national and religious interest, at the wish of members of the Pitcairn community. As a suitable conclusion of this chapter, a few poems from the Pastor's pen are inserted by his permission. These being considered as simple strains of the HARP OF Pitcairn, will not be subjected to severe criticism. On the contrary, the piety, loyalty, and evident desire for the happiness of others, which are manifested in the following stanzas, will commend them to the candid Christian reader. They may even tend, as an addition to the specimens of Mr. Nobbs's sermons and letters, to excite a feeling of thankfulness, that, in the course of God's providence, such a man should have been called to such a post, at the very time that a teacher and friend was most urgently needed by the islanders.
FATHER, let our supplications
Find acceptance in thy sight;
Free from Satan's foul temptations,
From the perils of the night,
Oh, preserve us,
Till return of morning light.
Jesus, friend of dying sinners,
Ere we close our eyes m sleep,
Let the hope that dwells within us
Prove thou dost thy people keep;
Gracious Shepherd!
From the wolf defend thy sheep.
Holy Ghost, be ever near us,
Make our hearts thy blest abode;
Strengthen, purify, and cheer us.
Raise our waking thoughts to God;
With sweet visions
Gild the hours on sleep bestow'd.
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Us into thy keeping take;
Not for our deserts or merit,
Solely for thy mercy's sake,
Oh, protect us,
When we sleep and when we wake.
I WILL not encumber my verse
With metaphor, figure, or trope;
Nor will I the praises rehearse
Of aught in creation's wide scope;
My Bible shall furnish the theme,
My subject will angels applaud,
My soul shall rejoice in his name,
My Brother, my Saviour, my God.
My Brother! how grateful that sound
When sorrow preys deep on the heart;
When malice and discord abound,
What balm can a brother impart!
A tender, unchangeable friend,
On whose bosom 'tis sweet to recline,
Ever prompt to assist or defend;
Such a Friend, such a Brother is mine.
My Saviour! Thrice-glorious name!
But who of the children of men
The wondrous appointment may claim?
Or who can the title sustain?
Immanuel, Jesus, alone
Doth fulness and fitness combine,
He only for sin can atone,
And He is my Saviour, e'en mine.
My God! what a mystery is this;
Jehovah appears as a man!
Truth, wisdom, grace, mercy, and peace,
Devised the inscrutable plan;
He came to redeem us from hell,
He died to effect his design,
He reigns where the glorified dwell,
And he is my God, ever mine.
Then what upon earth need I fear?
My Brother partakes my distress,
My Saviour attends to my prayer,
My God deigns to pardon and bless.
Through life as I journey along,
Sustained by thy staff and thy rod,
Thy love shall give life to my song,
My Brother, my Saviour, my God.
Pitcairn's Island, South Pacific Ocean,
Lat.25° 4′, Long. 130° 8′.
ENSLAVED by sin, in league with hell,
Prompt to obey, should Satan call,
Thine own deceivings please thee well; —
Opprest, yet held in willing thrall:
The gall of bitterness is thine,
Still dost thou not thy state discern;
Though more degraded than the swine,
Thou wilt not to thy home return.
The crown is fallen from thy head,
The gold of Ophir, oh, how dim!
Burning appears in beauty's stead.
And all thy garb in wretched trim.
Alas, alas ! how art thou changed,
Yet angels thy rebellion mourn;
Though from thy Saviour-God estranged,
He still invites thee to return.
What is thy hope? What canst thou find
To equal thy Redeemer's love?
Riches are fleeting as the wind,
And pride and lust will adders prove.
Oh stay, oh stay thy mad career,
Ere to destruction thou art borne;
Infatuated sinner, hear;
Deluded wanderer, return.
Recal to mind those precious hours
When in the truth thy footsteps trod;
When heart, and mind, and all thy powers
Were dedicated to thy God.
Sweet, sweet it was to hear thee then,
In grateful strains to heaven upborne;
And shall they not ascend again?—
O prodigal, return, return!
High on presumption's tottering mast,
Held by a thread in reckless sleep,
Thou fear'st not, though th' approaching blast
May whirl thee headlong to the deep.
Awake, awake, no longer dare
The vengeance thou affect'st to scorn,
Lest thy enraged Creator swear,
"Thou never, never shalt return!"
Canst thou 'midst endless burnings dwell?
Or with eternal fire abide?
That thou wouldst madly doom to hell
The soul for which Immanuel died.
Arise, arise, repent, believe,
The Spirit's call no longer spurn;
Thy Saviour will the welcome give,
And angels joy at thy return.
This hymn was composed at the request of several of our little community, who wished to have one of their own, which they might sing to the pathetic air of "Bonny Doon." G. H. N.
"How are you to-day, Polly?" said I to the wife of George Adams, who had long been grievously afflicted with a cancer in her breast, and was rapidly approaching the grave.
"I shall soon be at home, sir" she said.
"On whom is your hope placed at this time?" I asked.
"On the blessed Saviour who died for me, and has redeemed me."
And then she went on to declare her faith and hope, of which the accompanying verses are the substance.
You ask how I feel in the prospect of death,
And whether the grave has no terrors for me?
If bright are my hopes, and unshaken my faith,
And to whom for relief in my sufferings I flee?
The questions are weighty, and I am so weak,
Yet will I endeavour an answer to give;
And this is the substance of what I would speak—
I believe, I believe.
On the brink of the grave it has pleased my Lord
To keep me long waiting the word to depart;
And though for dismission I oft have implored,
Yet He has forgiven the thought of my heart.
Though often impatient and prone to complain,
Much love in this chastening 1 plainly perceive.
Our Father afflicts not his children in vain:
I believe, I believe.
This body so wasted by ling'ring disease,
That scarce to the worms it can furnish a meal,
Insatiate death as a trophy may seize,
And in me the sad fruits of transgression reveal—
But must I for ever continue his prey?
No,—Jesus my dust from his grasp shall retrieve;
The call to arise I shall gladly obey:
I believe, I believe,
I know, on this earth my Redeemer shall stand,
And these eyes, though now dim, shall his glories behold;
My powers so reduced shall with knowledge expand,
And this heart throb with rapture, which now beats so cold—
His voice I shall hear, and in accents divine,
ShaU I, then made worthy, a welcome receive;
In his presence to dwell 'twill for ever be mine:
I believe, I believe.
This then is my hope; and I am not deceived,
On the word of my God I can fully depend:
I know by the Spirit, on whom I've believed,
That fle will support and console to the end;
Immanuel's death hath Jehovah appeased;
That death on the cross did my ransom achieve;
That death is my passport when I am. released:
I believe, I believe; yes, I firmly believe.
POLLY, the wife of GEORGE ADAMS, departed this life December 17th, 1843, aged 48 years.
I have merely verified part of the foregoing conversation. It is in sum and substance a reply to an inquiry made by me concerning her state of mind in the prospect of death, which was then rapidly approaching. Assuredly, her end was peace.
GEORGE H. NOBBS,
Pastor and Schoolmaster.
AMONGST the original poems composed on the island, is a singularly wild effusion, described as having been "sung on the sixtieth anniversary of the foundation of the colony." In this poem reference is made to local names and circumstances, conveyed partly in Otaheitan forms of thought and language, such as can be thoroughly understood only by the islanders themselves. "Fenua Maitai," with which each stanza concludes, are Otaheitan words, and mean, THE GOOD LAND.
O Pitcairn, I love thee, though, lone 'midst the ocean,
Thou standest exposed to the tempest and storm,
Though thy shore, ever white with the surf's rude cornmotion,
Rugged lava and wide-yawning chasms deform;
Yet oft, Amongst those chasms, with joy have I rambled,
In the "Pools" down "the Rocks,"' and down "Isaac," have gamboll'd,
Or have join'd my companions, by moonlight assembled,
To sing forth thy praises, FENUA MAITAI!
Though discord and strife mark'd the dawn of existence,
Nor yet were the days of our children more bright,
And, but for the efforts of female assistance,
The black man had surely o'erpowered the white.
But why harrow up recollections of sorrow?
From the past for the future a lesson we'll take;
And draw a close veil o'er those dread scenes of horror,
When blood stain'd thy valleys, FENUA MAITAI !
To happier moments now memory turning,
When Youth, Hope, and Love gave to Fancy full scope,
I have climb'd the rude cliffs at the first break of morning,
To see the sun rise from "the ridge of the Rope:"
Or down "T'other side," with his last ray ascending,
Over mountain and valley, in one glory blending,
My rapturous gaze o'er the prospect extending,
I have fancied thee "Eden," FENUA MAITAI!
By torch-light the haunts of the white bird exploring,
Perch'd high on the "big tree's " aerial bridge,
How quick beat each heart, as the death-wail came soaring,
From the ghost that still lingers on "Talaloo's ridge!"*
Or with arrow aud grains, on the calm nights of summer,
When the "Davy" recedes from the shores ot Tahtama,
The tribes of the ocean, allured by the lamma,
Are the meed of thy children, FENUA MAITAI !
∗Talaloo, an Otaheitan, who landed with the mutineers on the island, was barbarously murdered by his wife, and one of his countrymen, Menalee, who is mentioned in the next stanza, was in his turn put to death by two of the mutineers.
"Ship-landing"—"St. Paul's"—"Water-drop"—" Vaibebea's"—
"Eteaa"—"Arlehow"—"Menalee's-stone"—
"Alah," where the lore of the Indian appears,
Memento of hordes, long extinct and unknown;
From the heights of " Look-out," where the wild goats are bounding,
To the coralline groves where the "Toaw " is sounding,
Sweet Rosebud of Ocean, FENUA MAITAI!
Our sires to their mem'ry this day is devoted;
Our friends may they prosper in every land;
Ourselves may our blessings be gratefully noted,
Our errors deplored, and Religion expand!
May the flag of old England for ages wave o'er us!
Be Victoria our Queen! May our Queen be victorious,
And this Rock of the West oft resound with the chorus.
"Pitarnia hinaaro, FENUA MAITAI!"
Air—"ROUSSEAU'S DREAM."
MID the mightv Southern Ocean
Stands an isolated rock,
Whiten'd by the surf's commotion,
Riven by the lightning's shock,
Hark ! those strains to heaven ascending,
From yon slopes of vivid green;
Old and young their voices Blending,
God preserve Britannia's Queen!
Ha ! that flash yon grove illuming,
Long impervious to the sun;
Now the quick report comes booming
From the ocean-rescued gun.
List! the bell is gaily ringing,
Where a white-robed* train is seen!
Now they all unite in singing
God preserve our gracious Queen !
∗ In allusion to the Tappa-cloth dresses.
THE Queen! the Queen! our gracious Queen!
Come raise on high your voices,
And let it by your smiles be seen,
That every heart rejoices.
Her natal day we'll celebrate
With ardour and devotion,
And Britain's festal emulate
In the Pacific Ocean,
Now let old England's flag be spread,
That flag long famed in story;
And, as it waves above our head,
We'll think upon its glory.
Then fire the gun, the Bounty's gun,
And set the bell a-ringing,
And then, with hearts and voices one,
We'll all unite in singing”
The Queen! the Queen! God bless the Queen!
And all her royal kindred;
Prolong'd and happy be her reign,
By faction never hindered.
May high and low, the rich and poor,
The happy or distressed,
O'er her wide realm, from shore to shore,
Arise and call her blessed.
Our friends, and oh! they love us well,
Unnumber'd favours say so;
Our hearts are with them where they dwell,
And first in Valparaiso;
New Zealand, Sydney, Hobart Town,
And those upon their journey,
With many more already down
In golden Californy.
We've pass'd o'er some whom we respect,
Of varied name and nation,
But not from coldness or neglect,
Or want of inclination.
God bless them all, wherever seen,
On ocean or on dry land.
Now give three cheers for Britain's Queen,
And three for Piteairn's Island.
THE Coralline Isles in the deep blue sea
At daybreak how beauteous to look upon!
As over the reef the surge rolls free,
Like a circlet of pearls round an emerald stone.
And giant forms of rocks and trees[1]
Burst through the veil of mist and spume
And oft the fitful fresh'ning breeze
Comes redolent of rich perfume.[2]
And the man-of-war Hawk, and the Tropic Bird,
Sweep over the track where the dolphin shines,[3]
And the plaintive voice of the dove is heard
In the evergreen groves of the Corallines.
The Coralline Isles in the troublous sea
At noontide are awful to gaze upon;
When the tempest louring fearfully
Environ the sea with a lurid zone.
And the waterspout and the whirlwind urge
Their devious way through sea and air,
And the cachalots huge from the deep emerge,
Attracted by the lightning's glare.[4]
And the man-of-war Hawk, and the Tropic Bird,
Impell'd by fear, disgorge their spoils,[5]
And the curlew's piercing wail is heard
And danger is rife round the Coral Isles.
The Coralline Isles in the glittering sea
At evening are glorious to muse upon,
As Sol's last ray to lake and tree
Imparts the hues of the topaz stone;
And the crested surge in triple row
Bounds over the reel with deafening roar,
And the vivid tints of the Covenant Bow
With mosaic decks the blanched shore,
And the man-of-war Hawk, and the Tropic Bird
Speed homeward, rang'd in length' ning files;
For the cry of their callow brood is heard
From their grassy beds on the Coral Isles.
The Coralline Isles in the tremulous sea
At midnight are lovely to look upon,
As the moon from her zenith beams splendidly
O'er the Parian strand, and the smooth lagoon.
And he who adventures to sojourn there,
Amid scenes so strange, so beautiful.
Might fancy he breath' d enchanted air,[6]
Where gnomes preside and genii rule.
For the man-of-war Hawk, and the Tropic Bird
Seem petrified by magic wiles,
And nought but the Tupa's click is heard,
Whose myriads traverse the Coral Isles.
The Coralline realms in the deep blue sea
Are wonderful to gaze upon,
For the latent powers of Deity
Are there in rich profusion shown;
Parterres that storms can ne'er disturb,
Nor winter's frigid hand undress;
Pillars and pyramids superb,
And vestibules of palaces.
Oh, let the ingrate atheist come;
See and confess a power Divine;
And then refer the clique at home
To the gorgeous fane of the Coralline. G. H. N.
[(1)] A thin mist or haze greatly magnifies the appearance of rocks or trees; this is especially the case among the low islands in the Pacific.
[(2)] At early morning, the wind, when blowing from the land, brings with it a gush of pleasant odours.
[(3)] These birds are constantly on the watch for the dolphin, whose presence is betrayed by his flashing scales; and the agile birds pounce upon the flying fish, of which he is in chase.
[(4)] A singular phenomenon sometimes attending these squalls is the sudden appearance of the spermaceti whales, beating the water furiously with their tails.
[(5)] So alarmed do these birds become, either from the intense glare of the lightning, or the astounding crash of the thunder, that they eject from their gullets the fish they had swallowed.
[(6)] "I remember," says the author of the Coral Isles, "passing a night on one of these islands. I became so captivated with the lovely scene that sleep did not approach my eyelids the whole of that night."