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Upon The Burning of Our House

By Anne Bradstreet And them behold no more shall I. Under thy roof no guest shall sitt,

In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow neer I did not look, I waken'd was with thundring nois And Piteous shreiks of dreadfull voice. That fearfull sound of fire and fire, Let no man know is my Desire. I, starting up, the light did spye, And to my God my heart did cry To strengthen me in my Distresse And not to leave me succourlesse. Then coming out beheld a space,

The flame consume my dwelling place.

And, when I could no longer look, I blest his Name that gave and took, That layd 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 Ruines oft I past, My sorrowing eyes aside did cast, And here and there the places spye Where oft I sate, and long did lye.

Here stood that Trunk, and there that chest;

There lay that store I counted best: My pleasant things in ashes lye,

Upon The Burning of Our House

By Anne Bradstreet In silent night when rest I took, For sorrow near I did not look, Nor at thy Table eat a bitt.

No pleasant tale shall 'ere be told, Nor things recounted done of old. No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee,

Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall bee.

In silence ever shalt thou lye; Adieu, Adeiu; All's vanity.

Then streight I gin my heart to chide, And didst 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 skye That dunghill mists away may flie.

Thou hast an house on high erect Fram'd by that mighty Architect, With glory richly furnished,

Stands permanent tho' this bee fled. It's purchased, and paid for too By him who hath enough to doe.

A Prise so vast as is unknown,

Yet, by his Gift, is made thine own. Ther's wealth enough, I need no more; Farewell my Pelf, farewell my Store. The world no longer let me Love, My hope and Treasure lyes Above.

I waken'd was with thund'ring noise

And piteous shrieks of dreadful voice. That fearful sound of \Let no man know is my Desire. I starting up, the light did spy,

And to my God my heart did cry No pleasant talk shall 'ere be told To straighten me in my Distress Nor things recounted done of old. And not to leave me succourless. No Candle 'ere shall shine in Thee, Then coming out, behold a space, Nor bridegroom's voice ere heard shall The flame consume my dwelling place. bee. In silence ever shalt thou lie. And when I could no longer look, Adieu, Adieu, All's Vanity. I blest his grace that gave and took, That laid my goods now in the dust. Then straight I 'gin my heart to chide: Yea, so it was, and so 'twas just. And did thy wealth on earth abide, It was his own; it was not mine; Didst fix thy hope on mouldring dust, Far be it that I should repine. The arm of flesh didst make thy trust? Raise up thy thoughts above the sky He might of all justly bereft That dunghill mists away may fly. But yet sufficient for us left. When by the Ruins oft I past Thou hast a house on high erect My sorrowing eyes aside did cast Fram'd by that mighty Architect, And here and there the places spy With glory richly furnished Where oft I sate and long did lie. Stands permanent, though this be fled. It's purchased and paid for too Here stood that Trunk, and there that By him who hath enough to do. chest, There lay that store I counted best, A price so vast as is unknown, My pleasant things in ashes lie Yet by his gift is made thine own. And them behold no more shall I. There's wealth enough; I need no more. Under the roof no guest shall sit, Farewell, my pelf; farewell, my store. Nor at thy Table eat a bit. The world no longer let me love; My hope and Treasure lies above.

Analysis of Upon the Burning of Our House by Anne Bradstreet

Anne Bradstreet, whom most critics consider America?s first “authentic poet”, was born and raised as a Puritan. Bradstreet married her husband Simon at the tender age of eighteen. She wrote her poems while rearing eight children and performing other domestic duties. In her poem “Upon The Burning Of Our House, July 10th, 1666”, Bradstreet tells of three valuable lessons she learned from the fire that destroyed her home.

The first lesson Bradstreet learns from the fire occurs when she decides to thank God in the midst of her house burning: 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;

She explains that everything that was on fire she did not actually own, for they belonged to God?s. Therefore, she could not mourn the lost because He had the right to take them away.

Another lesson Bradstreet learns from the fire is earthly pleasures are fleeting. In Stanzas 31-36, she realizes material possessions are easy to gain as well as loose. 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.

She continues to reminisce on the things that might have taken place in the house but will no longer since it now consist mainly of ashes.

Bradstreet?s last learned lesson is her wealth does not come from the things she gains on earth but her true wealth lies in heaven. She begins Stanzas 37-42 rebuking her thoughts of what will no longer take place in her ash filled home. Furthermore, Bradstreet gives her depiction of the “heavenly” place in Stanzas 43-48; which is built on permanent grounds and consist of expensive furniture all financed by God. In the last Stanzas of the poem Bradstreet begins focusing on the place where wealth is defined:

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 lies above.

Bradstreet?s strong Puritan background often influenced her writing, which is evident in this particular poem. Although she often questioned the harsh concept of a judgmental God, Bradstreet never doubted the actual existence of a higher being. Her acknowledgement of God through out this poem shows her respect and devotion to her Puritan beliefs as well as her love for the spiritual world.