Rachel Elizabeth Patterson.
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Rachel Elizabeth Patterson, better known as Lizzie Patterson, is the daughter of William Patterson and Sarah (Catts) Patterson, and was born in Port Deposit, February 2, 1820. She is also the granddaughter of an Englishman who settled on Taylor’s Island, in Chesapeake Bay, where he owned considerable property, which by some means seems to have been lost by his family.
Her father at one time kept a clothing store in Port Deposit, where he died when the subject of this sketch was quite young, leaving a family of helpless children, who were soon scattered among strangers. Elizabeth was placed in a family residing a short distance south of the village of Rising Sun. While in this family she was seized with a violent illness, which confined her to bed for many months and from which she arose a cripple and a sufferer for life.
Her poetic talent began to manifest itself in those early days of suffering, and during subsequent years of confinement she found solace and recreation by composing her “Songs in Affliction,” which about thirty years ago, in accordance with the advice of her friends, she published in a small volume bearing that name. The first edition consisted of eight hundred, and was so well received as to warrant the publication of another one of five hundred copies. In 1872 she published another small volume, entitled “The Little Streamlet,” which contained some poems written since the publication of the first volume. Miss Patterson at present and for many years past has resided in Baltimore.
“Judge Not!”
How, poor frail and erring mortal, Darest thou judge thy fellow-man And with bitter words and feelings, All his faults and frailties scan?
Why rake out from time’s dull ashes, And before the world display Deeds, it may be, long repented And forgiven, ere this day?
Canst thou search his secret feelings? Canst thou read his inmost soul? Canst thou tell the hidden motives Which his actions here control?
Is he erring? seek in kindness, Then, to win him back to peace; Is he weak? oh try to strengthen; Sad? then bid his sorrows cease!
Lay thou not a heavier burden By an unkind look or word, On a heart which may by anguish To its inmost depths be stirred.
O! forbear thy hasty judging! Should thy righteous God demand Half the justice which thy brother Is receiving from thy hand,
What, oh what would be thy portion, Though more righteous thou than he, Would not the glad gates of mercy Soon their portals close on thee?
The Wish.
I do not wish thee worldly wealth— For it may flee away; I do not wish thee beauty’s charms— For they will soon decay.
I do not wish for thee the joys Which from earth’s pleasures spring; These give at best a fleeting bliss, And leave a lasting sting.
I do not wish thee mortal fame— This, like a meteor bright, Gleams but a moment on the sky, And leaves behind no light.
I wish for thee that richer wealth, No earthly mines reveal, “Which moth and rust cannot corrupt, And thief can never steal.”
I wish for thee the sweeter joys, Which from religion flow; These have the power to soothe and bless, In hours of deepest woe.
I wish for thee the honor pure, Descending from on high; To lift thy soul away from earth, And raise it to the sky.
I wish that peace through all thy life, May on each step attend; May rapture crown its closing hour, And perfect bliss its end.
The Christian’s Anchor.
How oft when youthful skies are clear, And joy’s sweet breezes round us play, We dream that as through life we steer, The morrow shall be like to-day.
We paint each scene with rainbow hues, And gaily sail on stormless seas, While hope, through life’s bright future, views The port she thinks to make with ease.
But ah! how soon dark clouds of woe Spread o’er those skies a deepening shade, And waves of sorrow overflow, And all the rainbow glories fade.
’Tis thus earth’s hopes, however bright, Expire and vanish, one by one, E’en as the shore recedes from sight, When glides the free bark swiftly on.
Yet the redeemed, with anchor firm, Time’s swelling billows shall outride, And far beyond the raging storm Shall make the port on Canaan’s side.
Oh, may this bright and blissful hope Fill my poor heart with joy and peace, Bid me ’mid all life’s storms look up To yon blest land, where storms shall cease.
And when with life’s last gale I’ve striven, And all its raging waves have pass’d, Oh, may I, in the port of heaven, My anchor Hope securely cast.