Verses upon the Burning of our House

Here follow some verses upon the burning of our house, July 10, 1666, commonly known as Verses upon the Burning of our House, is a poem by Anne Bradstreet. She wrote it to express the traumatic loss of her home and most of her material. However, she expands the understanding that God had taken them away in order for her family to live a more pious life.^[1]

Bradstreet feels guilty that she is hurt from losing earthly possessions. It is against her belief that she should feel this way; showing she is a sinner. Her deep puritan beliefs brought her to accept that the loss of material was a spiritually necessary occurrence. She reminds herself that her future, and anything that has value, lies in heaven. Though she feels guilty, she knows that she is one of the fortunate ones who have salvation regardless; God gives it to his followers, and will help them fight their sin on this earth. The burning of her house was to fight her family's sins of material idols.^[1]

The poem has a couplet-based rhyme scheme. It has many lines with an inverted syntax, making lines sound "odd".^[1]

In silent night when rest I took,

For sorrow near I did not look,

I wakened was with thundering noise

And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice.

That fearful sound of "Fire" and "Fire,"

Let no man know, is my desire.

I, starting up, the light did spy,

And to my God my heart did cry

To strengthen me in my distress,

And not to leave me succourless.

Then coming out, behold a space

The flame consume my dwelling place.

And when I could no longer look,

I blest His name that gave and took,

That laid my goods now in the dust;

Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just.

It was His own; it was not mine.

Far be it that I should repine.

He might of all justly bereft,

But yet sufficient for us left.

When by the ruins oft I passed

My sorrowing eyes aside did cast

And here and there the places spy

Where oft I sat and long did lie.

Here stood that trunk, and there that chest;

There lay that store I counted best,

My pleasant things in ashes lie,

And them behold no more shall I.

Under thy roof no guest shall sit,

Nor at thy table eat a bit;

No pleasant tale shall e'er be told,

Nor things recounted done of old;

No candle e'er shall shine in thee,

Nor bridegroom's voice e'er heard shall be.

In silence ever shall thou lie.

Adieu, Adieu, all's vanity.

Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide:

And did thy wealth on earth abide?

Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust?

The arm of flesh didst make thy trust?

Raise up thy thoughts above the sky

That dunghill mists away may fly.

Thou hast a house on high erect;

Framed by that mighty Architect,

With glory richly furnished

Stands permanent though this be fled.

It's purchased, and paid for, too,

By him who hath enough to do-

A price so vast as is unknown,

Yet, by His gift, is made thine own.

There's wealth enough; I need no more.

Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store;

The world no longer let me love.

My hope and treasure lie above.

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External links

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