"Though thy earth be as the iron, and thy heaven a brazen wall, Trust still His loving-kindness whose power is over all." We paused at length where at my feet the sunlit waters broke On glaring reach of shining beach, and shingly wall of rock; The merchant-ships lay idly there, in hard clear lines on high Tracing with rope and slender spar their net-work on the sky. And there were ancient citizens, cloak-wrapped and grave and cold, And grim and stout sea-captains with faces bronzed and old, And on his horse, with Rawson his cruel clerk at hand, Sat dark and haughty Endicott, the ruler of the land. And, poisoning with his evil words the ruler's ready ear, The priest leaned o'er his saddle, with laugh and scoff and jeer; It stirred my soul, and from my lips the seal of silence broke, As if through woman's weakness a warning spirit spoke. I cried; "The Lord rebuke thee, thou smiter of the meek, Thou robber of the righteous, thou trampler of the weak! Go light the dark cold hearth-stones-go turn the prison lock Of the poor hearts thou hast hunted, thou wolf amid the flock!" Dark loured the brows of Endicott, and with a deeper red O'er Rawson's wine-empurpled cheek the flush of anger spread. "Good people," quoth the white-lipped priest, "heed not her words so wild; Her master speaks within her-the Devil owns his child!" But grey heads shook, and young brows knit, the while the sheriff read That law the wicked rulers against the poor have made Who to their house of Rimmon and idle priesthood bring No bended knee of worship nor gainful offering. Then to the stout sea-captains the sheriff turning said: "Which of ye, worthy seamen, will take this Quaker maid? In the Isle of fair Barbadoes, or on Virginia's shore, You may hold her at a higher price than Indian girl or Moor." Grim and silent stood the captains; and when again he cried, "Speak out, my worthy seamen."—no voice or sign replied; But I felt a hard hand press my own, and kind words met my ear: "God bless thee and preserve thee, my gentle girl and dear!" A weight seemed lifted from my heart,-a pitying friend was nigh, I felt it in his hard rough hand, and saw it in his eye; And, when again the sheriff spoke, that voice, so kind to me, Growled back its stormy answer like the roaring of the sea: "Pile my ship with bars of silver-pack with coins of Spanish gold, From keel-piece up to deck-plank, the roomage of her hold, By the living God who made me! I would sooner in your bay Sink ship and crew and cargo than bear this child away!" "Well answered, worthy captain, shame on their cruel laws!" Ran through the crowd in murmurs loud the people's just applause. "Like the herdsman of Tekoa, in Israel of old, Shall we see the poor and righteous again for silver sold?" I looked on haughty Endicott; with weapon half-way drawn, Swept round the throng his lion glare of bitter hate and scorn; Fiercely he drew his bridle-rein, and turned in silence. back, And sneering priest and baffled clerk rode murmuring in his track. Hard after them the sheriff looked in bitterness of soul; Thrice smote his staff upon the ground, and crushed his parchment roll. "Good friends," he said, "since both have fled, the ruler and the priest, Judge ye if from their further work I be not well released." Loud was the cheer which, full and clear, swept round the silent bay, As, with kind words and kinder looks, he bade me go my way; For He who turns the courses of the streamlet of the glen, And the river of great waters, had turned the hearts of men. Oh at that hour the very earth seemed changed beneath my eye, A holier wonder round me rose the blue walls of the sky, A lovelier light on rock and hill and stream and wood land lay, And softer lapsed on sunnier sands the waters of the bay. Thanksgiving to the Lord of life!—to Him all praises be, Who from the hands of evil men hath set his handmaid free; All praise to Him before whose power the mighty are afraid, Who takes the crafty in the snare which for the poor is laid! Sing, O my soul, rejoicingly; on evening's twilight calm Uplift the loud thanksgiving-pour forth the grateful psalm; Let all dear hearts with me rejoice, as did the saints of old When of the Lord's good angel the rescued Peter told. And weep and howl, ye evil priests and mighty men of wrong; The Lord shall smite the proud, and lay His hand upon the strong. Woe to the wicked rulers in His avenging hour! Woe to the wolves who seek the flocks to raven and devour! But let the humble ones arise, the poor in heart be glad, And let the mourning ones again with robes of praise be clad, For He who cooled the furnace, and smoothed the stormy wave, And tamed the Chaldean lions, is mighty still to save! MY PLAYMATE. THE pines were dark on Ramoth hill, The blossoms drifted at our feet, The sweetest and the saddest day For, more to me than birds or flowers, And took with her the laughing spring, She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She left us in the bloom of May: Their seasons with as sweet May morns, I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring, She lives where all the golden year There haply with her jewelled hands The wild grapes wait us by the brook, And still the May-day flowers make sweet The lilies blossom in the pond, The bird builds in the tree, I wonder if she thinks of them, And how the old time seems,— K |