| |
I
FEW men of hero-mould | |
| The Quaker counts amid his ranks to-day; | |
| But, in the troublous times of old, | |
| Before commodity’s loud gold | |
| Drowned with its clank the clash of steel, | 5 |
| The Quaker held no devious way; | |
| For him to see was but to feel, | |
| To feel was but to say. | |
| |
II
All hail those men of yore! | |
| Amid innumerable disasters true | 10 |
| To that brave standard which they bore; | |
| Whether amid the maddened roar | |
| Of priest-led mobs, or scourged and flung | |
| To die in gaols, or where the few | |
| Sat waiting for the cloven tongue, | 15 |
| But one straight path they knew. | |
| |
III
Yet peace breeds doubtful virtues. When the flame | |
| Of persecution flickered, fell, expired, | |
| So dimmed the old lustre; no hot shame | |
| The wavering conscience fired. | 20 |
| So, when wild storms are past, and winds grow tame, | |
| And the foiled tempest holds his hand, | |
| The vessels cast safe anchor near the strand; | |
| And sweet it seems a gentle sea to ride, | |
| While lapping waters lave | 25 |
| The weary, battered side:— | |
| “Ah, linger thus,” the shipmen cry, “near land, | |
| Nor tempt again the buffets of the wave!” | |
| They will not heed the voice | |
| That calls from far and chides their choice: | 30 |
| He must not dally with the shore | |
| Who thinks on noble gain, | |
| But bend him stoutly to the oar, | |
| And seek the midmost main, | |
| And wrest their treasure from the clasp of wave and hurricane. | 35 |
| |
IV
Ho! pilot of the roaring seas! | |
| No summer sailor thou; | |
| It was no idle breeze | |
| That set those manly lines upon thy brow; | |
| For thou hast done what all to do are fain, | 40 |
| Yet few, ah, few attain,— | |
| Hast never struck thy sail | |
| And fled before the gale | |
| Till it had spent its force,— | |
| But sawest clear upon the chart of life | 45 |
| Thy straight-drawn track; and though the storm blew loud, | |
| And elemental strife | |
| In one mad whirl joined sea and cloud, | |
| Thou hast but lashed thy helm and held thy course. | |
| And for the manly heart and manly deed | 50 |
| Thy country loves thee,—gives | |
| Honor unstinted as thy meed; | |
| And they that still can hold | |
| The Quaker name rejoice that one man lives | |
| Who fills the measure of their hero-mould. | 55 |
| |
V
At glimpse of wrong, thy voice that knows not fear, | |
| As sword from scabbard still hath leapt, and fills | |
| With noblest echoes these wide halls of time. | |
| We too, when tempests shook our western clime, | |
| And all the air was rife with bodings grave, | 60 |
| Have felt new hope to hear | |
| That voice of manly cheer, | |
| And mark the signal of a friendly hand | |
| From yon far strand | |
| Where thy bluff England dashes back the wave. | 65 |
| |
VI
Brief be our word, yet strong. | |
| So we this greeting send, | |
| Stout English heart, across the severing sea, | |
| Whose chainless waters blend | |
| The breezes of two nations that are free; | 70 |
| Free, free for evermore! | |
| And shore shall call to shore | |
| In sister freedom till the end of time; | |
| And still the thunder chime | |
| Of that vast sea shall chorus the same song. | 75 |
| Ay, he who bends his ear | |
| To those great tones, shall hear | |
| Exultant voices, swelling high, proclaim | |
| That thou, undaunted heart, | |
| Hast played a hero’s part, | 80 |
| Joining with freedom’s deathless song thy deathless name. | |
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