Last Verses

In Short

Last Verses is a posthumous compilation of poetry written by Sarah Chauncey Woolsey, known to her readers as Susan Coolidge. It serves as a spiritual capstone to a long, industrious, and deeply observant life. The verses range from narrative myths and allegories to intimate, private reflections on aging, faith, and the nature of the afterlife. The collection has endured because it possesses a rare, unforced clarity; it treats human sorrow and the inevitability of death not as subjects for morbidity, but as natural, essential parts of a wider, benevolent design.

The Story

The narrative arc of the book mimics the trajectory of an individual life as it moves from the restless, productive energy of youth toward the stillness of eternity. In the opening sections, the poems are filled with the urgency of action. There are "souls of Fire" and "souls of Air," figures who engage with the world through high endeavor and romantic imagination. The early portions of the collection hum with the importance of duty—the "Calais Light" must be kept burning, and the "fishermen" must push out into the deep seas of God’s love to find their purpose. It is a life characterized by "vivid purpose and energy," a time when the world is seen as a place of enchantment where "Paradise" is a tangible, reachable playground for the young and the spirited.

As the collection progresses, the tone shifts from the outward-looking, heroic spirit to a more contemplative, inward-looking state. The "shadow" that eventually defined the author's final years begins to appear in the text, not as a source of terror, but as a quiet, inexorable presence. The poetry captures the experience of being "shut in" to a chamber, yet finding that this limitation does not extinguish the light. Instead, the focus narrows to the beauty of immediate, small things—the scent of flowers, the spark of a fire, and the deep, enduring value of sympathy for others. The author moves from a youthful questioning of "If only" moments—where life feels fraught with instability and the constant threat of loss—to a mature, grounded acceptance of these trials as necessary "shelter" for the growth of the soul.

By the final pages, the reader witnesses a gentle, final surrender. The poems transition into a series of meditations on death itself, which is treated not as a disruption, but as a homecoming. The "dear, living dead" are described as being closer than they seem, effectively bridging the distance between the mortal and the eternal. The collection concludes with a sense of "unvexed, reposeful sleep." The final imagery is one of transition—the brooklet finding the sea, the winter snow melting to reveal the spring, and the weary traveler setting down a heavy burden at the "upper table." It is a serene, unwavering conclusion to a life spent in pursuit of "the Promised Land."

How It Unfolds

The morning of life The initial poems celebrate the vitality of the human spirit, treating youth as a season of "high undertakings" and romantic adventure. The world is presented as a place where the "souls of Air" make music and the "souls of Fire" burn with a feverish, productive heat.

The call to duty The middle beats introduce the necessity of labor and the heavy responsibility of the "watch-tower." Duty is framed as a sacred, sometimes lonely service that requires one to ignore the "sordid world" in favor of keeping a light for others who are still at sea.

The arrival of the shadow The focus shifts to the experience of physical decline and the narrowing of one's world to the confines of a single room. Here, the poetry explores the internal struggle to maintain courage and "undimmed" hope despite the encroachment of illness and the deepening of the shadow.

The transition of faith The final movement reconciles the reader to the inevitable end. The poems view death as a "new sensation," a quiet parting of the veil where the "far off" is revealed to have been nearby all along.

The People

The book is populated by archetypal figures who serve as mirrors for the human condition. Susan Coolidge herself remains the primary, though often invisible, guide; she is the "leader of the little tribe" who grew from a visionary child into a woman who "pondered over the lives of her friends with never-ending interest." She is a figure of "stintless, tireless" sympathy, whose own life was a model of the self-sacrifice she describes.

Then there is the figure of the Saint, most notably "Saint Christopher," who appears not as a legendary giant but as a man who spends his life "battling hard to win for weaker souls a pathway through the tide." He represents the ideal of the "steadfast heart." Opposite these active figures are the "souls of Water," described as "elusive" and "grieving," who represent the more fragile, fluctuating nature of the human spirit. Finally, there is the figure of the "Master," the guiding light of the poems, who appears in various guises to urge the reader to "push out into the deep." These figures are not static; they change from the curious, questioning seekers of the early poems into the "contented saints" of the final pages, having found their rest.

In Its Own Voice

The world is not the sordid world we know; It is a happy and benignant spot Where kindness reigns, and jealousy is not.

This reflection on the nature of heaven introduces the collection’s core optimism regarding the afterlife.

If youth could know, what age knows without teaching, Hope’s instability and Love’s dear folly, The difference between practising and preaching.

This stanza captures the author’s perspective on the inevitable wisdom that comes only with the passage of time.

There is the road I used to know, There are the windows still aglow, As when in those old days of welcome They lit the visitants to and fro.

This passage reflects on the poignant, lingering nature of memory as the author looks back upon a house she once inhabited.

What It's Really About

The central argument of the book is that the value of a life is found in its capacity for "selfless" connection. The poems suggest that humanity is divided into different "temperaments"—fire, water, air, and earth—yet all are bound by the same spiritual necessity: the need to move beyond one’s own small, "sordid" concerns to serve others. The book posits that grief is merely the "stem" of joy, and that the "interruptions" of life are not hindrances, but hidden errands from a higher power. It asks the reader to consider whether they are living for themselves or for the "precious fare" that only comes from leaving the "safe shallows" of personal comfort.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate quiet, devotional, and nature-inspired poetry will find this a deeply comforting volume. It is a book to be read slowly, perhaps in the late hours of the day, as its rhythm is intentionally measured and its vocabulary is that of a more formal, turn-of-the-century era. You will encounter occasional references to archaic myths or theological structures that feel distinctly of the 1900s, but these do not obscure the universal human experience of facing the end of one’s strength.

It feels like sitting with an elderly, exceptionally kind relative who has seen much of the world and has reached a state of absolute, unshakable peace. The collection is honest about the "chilling blast" of life’s difficulties, yet it refuses to let those difficulties have the final word. What stays with you long after closing the book is its profound gentleness. It leaves the reader with the distinct impression that life is not a series of scattered, chaotic events, but a purposeful, if mysterious, journey toward a light that is always present, even when obscured by the fog. It is a rare, honest look at the beauty that remains when everything else is stripped away.