To the Memory of my Dear and Ever Honored Father

An Anne Bradstreet Poem

Anne Bradstreet's poetry about her family members are beautiful works, perfectly suited for casting a tangible vision of redeemed family relationships. Our culture is largely a culture of spiritual (and physical) bastards, and as such we cannot imagine familial faithfulness spanning multiple generations. We lack strong examples of daughters revering their fathers, fathers protecting their daughters, mothers respecting their sons, sons caring for and obeying their mothers. We are far enough removed from strong family ties that we might even feel the temptations to mock these things.

Anne Bradstreet's family poetry allows us to see the beauty of these relationships fulfilled. It is a powerful thing to see Anne demonstrate such reverence to her father even after his passing. In the opening verse of the poem she makes it clear that she is not writing these verses to her father for the sake of custom, rather she is a debtor to her father's wise care and thus has a duty to honor him. Anne's verses make it apparent that this is not only true of Anne, but many others as well.

Her father, Thomas Dudley, by the account of his closest family, was a righteous man. He took joy in seeing spiritual transformation take root in his country. He remembered his ultimate loyalty was to a heavenly city and he stored up treasure in it. He did not allow pride, vanity, or ostentatiousness take root in his heart. He dispensed wisdom to his progeny, teaching them to number their days joyfully. Dudley toiled on this earth to ensure the heavenly good of his generation. Anne proudly proclaims:

His generation served, his labors cease;
And to his Fathers gathered is in peace

A Worthy Goal

Anne Bradstreet distills years of care, instruction, and loving-kindness from her father in this simple verse

My Fathers God, be God of me and mine.

As Christians we seek to dimly reflect the love of Christ in service to our household and to our neighbor, hoping these acts of love will refresh their soul, and in doing so be a potent apologetic. The truth of Christ can be argued as a syllogism, but water-tight syllogisms do not always move us the same way deep-water sentiments do. The paternal care of Thomas Dudley, a dim and imperfect reflection of Yahweh's paternal care, compelled Anne to call upon God's name. The gravity of this can be seen in the motherly request for this very God to be God not only to Anne, but to her children as well. Our post-modern, demoralized society has influenced us so thoroughly that we do not seek this high standard. Truth is we may not even know this standard exists and is attainable; we need a positive vision for generational faithfulness. Let us renew our minds and remind ourselves that "The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call"¹. The promises the Lord makes to us are not given to us as an isolated point with an expectation of faithlessness and generational division, rather they are given to us as a vector pointing in the direction of generational faithfulness.

My Brothers, may our earthly reflection of the Father's love, however feeble and dim, drive our sons and daughters to the Heavenly Father's arms . May we love, guide, and care for our families in such a way that our children desire that the God who has redeemed us, loved us, cared for us, will be God unto them and their children as well.

What follows is Anne Bradstreet's poem reproduced in full. This poem seems to be analogous to a modern eulogy. A short Epitaph is appended to the end of the Poem, which summarizes some of the previously stated themes in a concise and memorable manner.

I hope that these verses will inspire contemplation. The life you are currently living is the source material that will be used to draft your epitaph. How can we live to be a blessing to our immediate household, posterity, and our generation. How can we build families that will serve as the foundations deep enough, strong enough, to hold the solid structure of sentiments as weighty as these.

To the Memory of my dear and ever honoured Father Thomas Dudley; Who deceased, July 31. 1653

By duty bound, and not by custom led
To celebrate the praises of the dead,
My mournful mind, sore pressed, in trembling verse
Presents my Lamentations at his hearse,
Who was my Father, Guide, Instructor too,
To whom I ought whatever I could do.
Nor is't Relation near my hand shall tie;
For who more cause to boast his worth then I?
Who heard or saw, observed or knew him better?
Or who alive than I a greater debtor?
Let malice bite, and envy gnaw its fill,
He was my Father, and I'll praise him still.
Nor was his name, or life lead so obscure
That pity might some trumpeters procure.
Who after death might make him falsely seem
Such as in life, no man could justly deem.
Well known and loved, where e'ere he lived, by most
Both in his native and in foreign coast,
These to the world his merits could make known,
So needs no testimonial from his own;
But now or never I must pay my sum;
While others tell his worth, I'll not be dumb:
One of thy Founders, him New-England know,
Who staid thy feeble sides when thou wast low,
Who spent his state, his strength, and years with care
That after-comers in them might have share.
True Patriot of this little Commonweal,
Who is't can tax thee ought, but for thy zeal?
Truths friend thou wert, to errors still a foe,
Which caused apostates to malign so.
Thy love to true Religion e're shall shine,
My Fathers God, be God of me and mine.
Upon the earth he did not build his nest,
But as a Pilgrim, what he had, possessed.
High thoughts he gave no harbor in his heart,
Nor honours puffed him up, when he had part:
Those titles loathed, which some too much do love
For truly his ambition lay above.
His humble mind so loved humility,
He left it to his race for Legacy:
And oft and oft, with speeches mild and wise,
Gave his in charge, that jewel rich to prize.
No ostentation seen in all his ways,
As in the mean ones, of our foolish days,
Which all they have, and more still set to view,
Their greatness may be judged by what they shew.
His thoughts were more sublime, his actions wise,
Such vanities he justly did despise.
Nor wonder 'twas, low things ne'er much did move
For he a Mansion had, prepared above,
For which he sighed and prayed & longed full sore
He might be clothed upon, for evermore.
Oft spake of death, and with a smiling cheer,
He did exult his end was drawing near,
Now fully ripe, as shock of wheat that's grown,
Death as a Sickle hath him timely mown,
And in celestial Barn hath housed him high,
Where storms, nor shower's, nor ought can damnify.
His generation served, his labors cease;
And to his Fathers gathered is in peace.
Ah happy Soul, 'amongst Saints and Angels blest,
Who after all his toil, is now at rest.
His hoary head in righteousness was found:
As joy in heaven on earth let praise resound.
Forgotten never be his memory,
His blessing rest on his posterity:
His pious Footsteps followed by his race,
At last will bring us to that happy place
Where we with joy each others face shall see,
And parted more by death shall never be.

His Epitaph.

Within this Tomb a Patriot lies
That was both pious, just, and wise,
To Truth a shield, to right a Wall,
To Sectaries a whip and Maul,
A Magazine of History,
A prizer of good Company
In manners pleasant and severe
The Good him loved, the bad did fear,
And when his time with years was spent
If some rejoiced, more did lament.

1. Acts 2:39