In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Anne Bradstreet
The grieving poetry of Anne Bradstreet
In this installment of Anne Bradstreet's Family Poetry series, we will be looking at some mourning verses penned for another one of her granddaughters. You can see all previous posts in this series here.
Loss is an inevitable part of our fallen world, yet not all loss is equal. A grandchild experiencing the death of their grandparent is tragic, yet it seems more fitting than the inverse. There is tragedy in an expected death, but there is gnawing tragedy when those expected to live are taken from us.
We have an expectation of the course of life guided by our mental benchmark of the median lifespan. We are particularly devastated when we experience the loss of life which deviates from this norm. This is not an innately sinful impulse, but It must not undermine our belief that all life and all death is guided by The Maker's hand.
Anne Bradstreet wrestles with deferred expectations after the passing of her second granddaughter. Anne had already experienced the death of her granddaughter Elizabeth who passed in the August of 1655. Anne Bradstreet's grandchild, also named Anne, was born three months after Elizabeth's passing November of 1655. We can imagine what a consolation this would have been to Mrs. Bradstreet. The energy of new life fills the grandparent's heart with joy, and often gives a renewed sense of hopeful expectation.
The Lord called the child back to himself when Anne was just 3 years and 7 months old. Surely, the Bradstreet family felt splintered and wasted from this loss. One can imagine Anne Bradstreet Sr. spending many hours in prayer, bringing her sorrows before the Lord, asking that he would mold her heart to accept every gift from His hand.
In all the loss Anne has experienced, she never profanes the name of the Lord. She always relents, clinging to the Lord for comfort. Let us learn how to grieve righteously from Anne. This world is unstable, and its joys are impermanent. He gives and takes. Deo gratias
Below is the Poem reproduced in full.
In Memory of My Dear Grandchild Anne Bradstreet, Who Deceased June 20, 1669, Being Three Years and Seven Months Old. Anne Bradstreet
With troubled heart and trembling hand I write,
The heavens have changed to sorrow my delight.
How oft with disappointment have I met,
When I on fading things my hopes have set.
Experience might ‘fore this have made me wise
To value things according to their price.
Was ever stable joy yet found below?
Or perfect bliss without mixture of woe?
I knew she was but as a withering flour,
That’s here to-day, perhaps gone in an hour;
Like as a bubble, or the brittle glass,
Or like a shadow turning, as it was.
More fool, then, I to look on that was lent
As if mine own, when thus impermanent.
Farewell, dear child; thou ne’er shall come to me,
But yet a while and I shall go to thee;
Meantime my throbbing heart’s cheered up with this:
Thou with thy Savior art in endless bliss.
