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Ann Plato

Religion

Religion

by Ann Plato

Religion is the daughter of Heaven–parent of our virtues, and source of all true felicity. She alone giveth peace and contentment; divests the heart of anxious cares, bursts on the mind a flood of joy, and sheds unmingled and pertenatural sunshine in the pious breast. By her the spirits of darkness are banished from the earth, and angelic ministers of grace thicken, unseen, the regions of mortality. She promotes love and good will among men–lifts up the head that hangs down–heals the wounded spirit–dissipates the gloom of sorrow–sweetens the cup of affliction–blunts the sting of death, and whatever seen, felt and enjoyed, breathes around her an everlasting spring.

Religion raises men above themselves: irreligion sinks them beneath the brutes. The one makes them angels; the other makes them evil spirits. This binds them down to a poor pitiable 22 speck of perishable earth; that opens up a vista to the skies, and lets loose all the principles of an immortal mind, among the glorious objects of an eternal world.

The religion of Christ not only arms us with fortitude against the approach of evil, but supposing evils to fall upon us with the heaviest pressure, it lightens the load by many consolations to which others are strangers. While bad men trace in the calamities with which they are visited, the hand of an offended Sovereign, Christians are taught to view them as well-intended chastisements of a merciful father. They hear, amidst them, that still voice which a good conscience brings to their ear: “Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God.”

Where can the soul find refuge but in the bosom of religion? There she is admitted to those prospects of providence and futurity which alone can warm and fill the heart. Lift up thy head, O Christian, and look forward to yon calm, unclouded regions of mercy, unfilled by vapors, unruffled by storms–where celestial friendship, the loveliest form in Heaven, never dies, never changes, never cools! Soon thou shalt burst this brittle earthly poison of the body, break the fetter of mortality, spring to endless life, and mingle with the skies.

How many of us are able to say that we are persuaded that neither life nor death, nor things present, nor things to to come, nor heighth, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord. Religion confers on the mind principles of noble independence. “The upright 23 man is satisfied from himself;” he despises not the advantages of fortune, but he centers not his happiness in them. With a moderate share of them he can be contented; and contentment is felicity. Happy in his own integrity, conscious of the esteem of good men, reposing firm trust in providence, and the promises of God, he is exempted from servile dependence on other things. He can wrap himself up in a good conscience, and look forward, without terror, to the change of the world. Let all things fluctuate around him as they please, that by the Divine ordination, they shall be made to work together in the issue, for his good; and, therefore, having much to hope from God, and little to fear from the world, he can be easy in every state. One who possesses within himself such an establishment of mind, is truly free.

The character of God, as Supreme Ruler of the world, demands our supreme reverence, and our cordial and entire obedience to his will. Hence proceeds our duty to worship him; for worship, external acts of homage, are the means of preserving, in our minds that fear and reverence, a spirit of obedience. Neglect of worshiping God is inevitably followed by forgetfulness of God, and by consequence, a loss of the reverence for his authority, which prompts to obedience. We know that God is love; and love among men is the fulfilment of the law. Love is the principal source of other virtues, and of all genuine happiness. From a supreme love to God, and from a full persuasion of his perfect benevolence and almighty power, springs confidence –a trusting in him for 24 protection, for safety, for support, and for final salvation. This confidence in God, springing from love, implying cordial aprobation of his character, and obedience to his gospel, is Christian faith. This is the anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast; the foundation of the Christian’s hope; it is this alone which sustains the good man amidst all the storms of life, and enables him to meet adversity, in all its forms, with firmness and tranquility.

It is impossible to love God without desiring to please him, and as far as we are able, to resemble him; therefore, the love of God must lead to every virtue, in the highest degree. We may be sure we do not truly love him, if we content ourselves with avoiding flagrant sins, and not strive, in good earnest, to reach the greatest degree of perfection of which we are capable. Thus do these few words direct us to the highest Christian virtue. Indeed, the whole tenor of the gospel is to offer us every help, direction and motive that can enable us to attain that degree of faith, on which depends our eternal good.

There are many circumstances in our situation that peculiarly require the support of religion to enable us to act in them with spirit and propriety. Our whole life is often a life of suffering. We can not engage in business, or dissipate ourselves in pleasure and riot as irreligious men too often do: We must bear our sorrows in silence, unknown and unpitied. We must often put on a face of serenity and cheerfulness when our hearts are torn with anguish, or sinking in despair.

There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and triumphant consideration in religion, than this: 25 of the perpetual progress which the soul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength to consider that she is to shine forever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity; that she will be adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge; carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that ambition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it must be pleasing to God himself, to see his creation forever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer to him by greater degrees of resemblance. With what astonishment and veneration may we look into God’s own word, where there are such hidden stores of virtue and knowledge, such inexhaustable sources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be; nor has it ever entered into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will be always in reserve for him.

Thus make our lives glide on serenely; and when the angel of death receives his commission to put a period to our existence, may we receive the summons with tranquility, and pass without fear the gloomy valley which separates time from eternity. May we remember that this life is nothing more than a short duration, a prelude to another, which will never have an end.

Happy thou to whom the present life has no charms for which thou canst wish it to be protracted. Thy troubles will soon vanish like a dream, which mocks the power of memory; and what signify all the shocks which thy feeling spirit can meet with in this transitory world? A few moments longer, and thy complaints will be forever at 26 an end; thy disease of body and mind shall be felt no more; the ungenerous hints of churlish relations shall distress, fortune frown, and futurity intimidate no more. Then shall thy voice, no longer breathing the plaintive strains of melancholy, but happily attend, attuned to songs of gladness, mingle with the hosts, mortals or immortals sung: “O, Death! where is thy sting? O’ Grave! where is thy victory? Thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ;–blessing and honor, glory and power, be unto him that sits upon the throne, and unto the Lamb forever and ever.”

Public domain. Source: New York Public Library scan.
Ann Plato

To the Reader

TO THE READER.

Preface to Essays; Including Biographies and Miscellaneous Pieces, in Prose and Poetry by Ann Plato

by James W. C. Pennington

I Have now taken up my pen to introduce to the notice of the public, a book containing productions of an interesting young authoress. The occasion is one relatively of importance, and certainly of great interest to myself.

I am not in the habit of introducing myself or others to notice by the adjective “colored,” &c., but it seems proper that I should just say here, that my authoress is a colored lady, a
member of my church, of pleasing piety and modest worth.

The book contains her own thoughts, expressed in her own way. The best way to do justice to young writers, is to weigh their thoughts without so strict a regard to their style as we should pay in the case of elder writers.

The matter of this book is miscellaneous, in prose and poetry. The topics are judiciously selected, and it must be pleasing to the friends of youthful piety to see that religion is placed first; and the more so when it is known, that in this, the writer has followed her renewed turn of mind. The article on religion is full of piety and good sense.

This is itself a high commendation to the book. It contains the pious sentiments of a youth devoted to the glory of God, and the best good of her readers. This is an example worthy to be imitated. I know of nothing more praise-worthy than to see one of such promise come
before the public, with the religion of Christ uppermost in her mind. It will be well for our cause when many such can be found among us. In her biographical sketches, she shows in a very interesting way, her social piety. She has paid a just tribute to the memory of a number of her departed companions. This has been well conceived. Departed worth deserves permanent tributes. If they were youth, what is more fit than that their surviving youthful companions should pay those tributes?

My authoress has a taste for poetry. And this is much to the advantage of any one who makes an effort in this difficult part of literature. The opinion has too far prevailed, that the talent for poetry is exclusively the legacy of nature. Nature should not be charged of withholding her blessings, when the only cause of our barrenness is our own indolence. There is no doubt that the talent for poetry is in a high degree attainable. My authoress has evinced her belief in this position. She is willing to be judged by the candid, and even to run the hazard of being severely dealt with by the critic, in order to accomplish something for the credit of her people. She has done well by what nature has done for her, in trying what
art will add. The fact is, this is the only way to show the fallacy of that stupid theory, that nature has done nothing but fit us for slaves, and that art cannot unfit us for slavery!

My authoress has followed the example of Philis Wheatly, and of Terence, and Capitain, and Francis Williams, her compatriots.

These all served in adversity, and afterwards found that nature had no objection, at least, to their serving the world in high repute as poets. She, like as Philis Wheatly was, is passionately fond of reading, and delights in searching the Holy Scriptures; and is now rapidly improving in knowledge.

Should her book which is here offered, meet with due encouragement, her talents will receive an impetus which will amply repay her patrons, and the generation in which she lives.

To those with whom my authoress is more particularly identified, I must remark, that so far from having a pretence to disparage her book, we have many considerations which enforce the obligation to give it a prompt and ready patronage. To some of these I beg leave to
advert, in conclusion.

1. Young writers are always in peculiar need of patronage to enable them to set out in a successful and useful career. It is often the case, that their fortune turns upon their first attempt, and that they fail, not so much for want of merit, as for want of that patronage which their merit deserves. Elder writers, in general, have gained a reputation, and therefore have this acquisition to augment their chance for patronage in any particular effort. But the young writer has no such capital to begin with. In their first effort for patronage the odds is against them, since they have, at the same time, to try for reputation. Under these circumstances they more naturally look to those whose sympathies ought to be in favor of their success.

2. From the above general principle, our young authoress justly appeals to us, her own people, (though not exclusively,) to give her success. I say the appeal is just. And it is just because her success will, relatively, be our own. A mutual effort is the legitimate way to
secure mutual success. Egypt, Greece and Rome, successively, gave their own authors success, and by a very natural consequence, the reputation which they secured to their authors became their own. The history of the arts and sciences is the history of individuals, of individual nations. When Egypt was a school for the world, all the Egyptians were not teachers of the arts and sciences. The Romans were not all Ciceros, nor were the Greeks all Homers, or Platos. But as Greece had a Plato why may we not have a Platoess?

3. This book has a claim upon our youth, and especially those of the writers own sex. She has a large heart full of chaste and pious affection for those of her own age and sex; and this affection is largly interspersed over the pages of her book. If you will reciprocate this
affection you will, I doubt not, read this book with pleasure and profit. With these remarks, and my best wishes to you and our authoress, I close, that you may pass on to her own pages, and read for your improvement.

JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON,
Pastor of the Colored Congregational Church.
Hartford , June 1st, 1841.

Public domain. Source: New York Public Library scan.
Latine Poets

Cultivo

Cultivo

by Luisa Caycedo-Kimura

once mourning doves   made me think

of graveyards

 

today        they peck     at weed seeds

clean        my land

 

the oldest on record     lived 30 years    and 4 months

from the time          it was tagged

 

until         it was shot

how many mates           did it mourn

 

American toads       breed

at the neighbor’s pond

 

I wring       laundry     to hang     on a clothesline

mostly black

 

when I was eight

a man trapped me    in the stairwell

 

to our New York        apartment

the note from his pocket     loose-leaf cutout

 

blue ink print      said I was       beautiful

a scalpel      in his pocket

 

how many      would die

in a war        without weapons

 

I was born        in the middle

of an Andean hurricane     the first time

 

I saw mamá      her blue eyes

reflected green            from the flame

 

of a candle    the last time   in Florida

her eyes         were shut

 

yesterday       Aaron and I      planned

a garden         for our new         Connecticut home

 

asparagus and blueberries can’t be harvested

for two years

 

seeds must avoid      hickory taproots

cilantro      has to be        direct seeded

 

doesn’t like       to be moved

my older sister bought           her first house

 

after med school

lived there               twenty years

 

before renting it out            I’ve moved

twenty times       from rental to rental

 

clouds dissipate        on our ridge

we buy spades      trowels

 

pruners         window sheers

fog on the trees        lingers

 

coats        the open grass

droplets      vaporize       burn the fog

 

how does one quench         an instinct

to bolt

 

Copyright 2021 Luisa Caycedo-Kimura

From All Were Limones (The Word Works, 2025); originally published in Shennandoah, Spring 2021

Used by permission of the author.
Latine Poets

Unbound

Unbound

by Shakira R. Perez

In this life, there is no room for me.
No room for dark skin, tangled hair and romantic accents.
No room for bedroom eyes, infectious laughter and bare shoulders.
No room for spiritual warriors, coconut shells and omens.
No room for brujeria, palo santo and mal de ojo.
No room for the rogue, rebellious or the raunchy.

So you set rules.

Because you are afraid.

Afraid that even the darkest skin will emit the brightest light.
Afraid that your husband will lose himself in my magic
Afraid that I am protected by ancestral blessings and an army of angels.
Afraid that I will make you see yourself for who you really are
Afraid that what you despise about me is what you wished you loved about yourself.

So you cage me in and limit the sky.
But little do you know that within this cage,
I am free.

Free
to dream of galaxies and supernovas,
  to remember that I was chosen,
    to heal from others and heal myself,
      to seek God’s face,
        to live.

You can’t contain me.

I am too much for this world.

(2021)

Used by permission of the author.
Ann Plato

Lines, Written Upon Being Examined In School Studies for the Preparation of a Teacher.

Lines, Written Upon Being Examined In School Studies for the Preparation of a Teacher.

by Ann Plato

Teach me, O! Lord, the secret errors of my way,
Teach me the paths wherein I go astray,
Learn me the way to teach the word of love,
For that’s the pure intelligence above.
As well as learning, give me that truth forever–
Which a mere worldly tie can never sever,
For though our bodies die, our souls will live forever. Continue reading Lines, Written Upon Being Examined In School Studies for the Preparation of a Teacher. →