Author: Anne Bradstreet

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In secret place where once I stood
Close by the Banks of Lacrim flood,
I heard two sisters reason on
Things that are past and things to come.
One Flesh was call'd, who had her eye
On worldly wealth and vanity;
The other Spirit, who did rear
Her thoughts unto a higher sphere.
"Sister," quoth Flesh, "what liv'st thou on,
Nothing but Meditation?
Doth Contemplation feed thee so
Regardlessly to let earth go?
Can Speculation satisfy
Notion without Reality?
Dost dream of things beyond the Moon
And dost thou hope to dwell there soon?
Hast treasures there laid up in store
That all in th' world thou count'st but poor?
Art fancy sick or turned a Sot
To catch at shadows which are not?
Come, come. I'll show unto thy sense,
Industry hath its recompence.
What canst desire, but thou maist see
True substance in variety?
Dost honour like? Acquire the same,
As some to their immortal fame;
And trophies to thy name erect
Which wearing time shall ne'er deject.
For riches dost thou long full sore?
Behold enough of precious store.
Earth hath more silver, pearls, and gold
Than eyes can see or hands can hold.
Affects thou pleasure? Take thy fill.
Earth hath enough of what you will.
Then let not go what thou maist find
For things unknown only in mind."

Spirit.

"Be still, thou unregenerate part,
Disturb no more my settled heart,
For I have vow'd (and so will do)
Thee as a foe still to pursue.
And combat with thee will and must
Until I see thee laid in th' dust.
Sister we are, yea twins we be,
Yet deadly feud 'twixt thee and me;
For from one father are we not.
Thou by old Adam wast begot,
But my arise is from above,
Whence my dear Father I do love.
Thou speak'st me fair but hat'st me sore.
Thy flatt'ring shews I'll trust no more.
How oft thy slave hast thou me made
When I believ'd what thou hast said
And never had more cause of woe
Than when I did what thou bad'st do.
I'll stop mine ears at these thy charms
And count them as thy deadly harms.
Thy sinful pleasures I do hate,
Thy riches are to me no bait.
Thine honours do, nor will I love,
For my ambition lies above.
My greatest honour it shall be
When I am victor over thee
And Triumph shall, with laurel head,
When thou my Captive shalt be led.
How I do live, thou need'st not scoff,
For I have meat thou know'st not of.
The hidden Manna I do eat.
The word of life it is my meat.
My thoughts do yield me more content
Than can this world's most rich content.
They're cloth'd with righteousness and glory,
More splendid than th' May-flower tree.
Why dost thou thus oppose thyself?
What unto me canst do no good.
It thou couldst change thy common suit
To rich apparel, gay and good,
And would'st not thou do'st know thee I
In robes of perfect glory die.
What thou dost gain, for me is loss,
For all thy goods I count but dross.
Yes, though thou weep and wail in woe,
And take such pleasure for thyself,
Still will I follow Christ the more,
The rougher seas, the more I endure.
And I am bent to run my race
Nor will at last give thee place.
Though th' floods bear my earthly house away,
I'll enter Heaven for its decay."

Thus with herself she did contend
To keep her heart at peace and end.
When to the truth of their dispute,
She closed in hope her soul confute.

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Type of Poem: Lyric Poem

Date Written: 1678-01-01

Date Published: 1678-05-01

Language: English

Keywords: Flesh, Spirit, Worldly, Faith, Struggle

Source: The Works of Anne Bradstreet

Publisher: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press

Rights/Permissions: Public Domain

Comments/Notes: A dialogue between the Flesh and the Spirit, representing the inner conflict between worldly desires and spiritual aspirations.