Ml ■ He* m ■ HI ■ m*>M I ■ Hffi W4 1NHHH illiil wmm^m*. FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Divtsfatt ^ CJ~^> -/^, / oJ2a-*~ LsU-^^r, ) ^> / # 9/, "> 0" a JAN ?0 7ns who gratefully revere Our fathers' names and memories dear. Plvmouth. the great mausoleum. Famous for our forefathers' tomb ; Join, join the chorus, one and all. Resound their deeds in Colony Hall ! — JL : Scam "DEMEMBER. Eord. thy folk whom thou " To wilderness hast brought ; Let not thine own inheritance Be sold away for nought. — Amu Bradshreet. 46 Songs of the Pilgrims. HYMN. [1770.] fTX) thee the tuneful anthem soars, To thee, our fathers' God, and ours ; This wilderness we chose our seat ; To rights secured by equal laws, From persecution's iron claws, We here have sought our calm retreat. See ! how the flocks of Jesus rise ! See ! how the face of Paradise Blooms through the thickets of the wild ! Here Liberty erects her throne ; Here Plenty pours her treasures down ; Peace smiles, as heavenly cherubs mild. Lord ! guard thy favors ; Lord ! extend Where farther western suns descend ; Nor southern seas the blessings bound ; Till Freedom lift her cheerful head, Till pure Religion onward spread, And, beaming, wrap the globe around. — Mather Byles. Monday, 11-21. December. 1620. 47 MONDAY, 11-21. DECEMBER, 1620. "A /TORXIXG- was breaking over Gurnet Head ; -l*-*- Up sprang Miles Standish from his hem- lock bed. With cold and anxious forethought hard be- stead. The chilliug shadows of the shortest day Delayed the brightness of the dawning ray. "While round the smolderins; fire his comrades lay. He raked the embers with a branch of fir, Threw o'er the coals pine-knots and juniper, And watched the fragrant, crackling blazes stir. The merry sound, sugorestinor better cheer Of warmth, and light, and comfort waiting near, One and another waked, intent to hear. A tall and slender form, with winsome face — Its fine lines beaming with benignant grace — And aspect gentler than became the place. Stood at his side — to whom then Standish said : " I fear me, governor, lest this rough work, bred Of wave aud winter, shall leave manv dead. 48 Songs of the Pilgrims. " Haste is upon us. Somewhere in this bay It groweth urgent that we fix, this day, Some spot where we may build and make a way." " Even so," replied the governor ; " yet my faith Is strong that, as the ancient Psalmist saith, ' Who cry for help, them He delivereth.' " While 'on the Sabbath day we rested ' here, Giving the hours, as well, to humble prayer, Doubt fled, and to my soul all things grew clear, As, to the eye of faith, that cloudy sign Which Israel followed as its guide benign, Rested, for us, upon that dark shoreline." John Carver pointed, as he spake, away Whither, three miles or more across the bay, The gleam from sunrise on a hillside lay. Spake out then Master Coppin, standing near : '•An' 't please your worships, shallow gulfs, as here, Have this one law : ' Hard by the channel steer.' " Two days of ebb and flood to my close quest Have marked, without mistake, one course as best ; The tide-flow inward maketh south-south-west. Monday, 11-21, December, 1620. 49 "And though yon slopes across these nearer shoals Invite the coming of sea-weary souls, Not that way is it that deep water rolls." " 'T is well," the governor said. "Break first our fast ; With prayer let speed be made ; put sail to mast ; Answer approacheth for our problem vast." Uncovering round the sturdy watch-fire's blaze, He next, accordant to their pious ways, Led them to heaven in speech of prayer and praise. Then turned they, hungry, to their simple cheer, — As in the fatherlands that sent them there, — Thankful for biscuit, cheese, and bitter beer. In haste they bounded o'er the shallop's side. Pushed off with ease upon the rising tide, And to their sail the help of oars supplied. They caught the north-west wind off Saquish sand, And soon the young flood lent its powerful hand To tug their keel toward the long-wished-for strand. 50 Songs of the Pilgrims. By Long Beach Head eastward the channel veered, And for a mile scarcely the mainland neared, While straight before the favoring breeze they steered. That land gave greeting in the young day's light, Well- wooded and well-hilled, and clean and bright ; A home-like look it had — a pleasant sight ! Cleared ground on one side offered homesteads good, While close around it, as grim sentinels, stood Some lofty monarchs of primeval wood. Sharp to the west the tide-way sudden strayed Toward where a bowlder on its side was laid. Near bv an entering stream its music made. "O " Let us debark," impetuous Standish bade ; To whom the governor bowed his willing head, And for the bowlder's side the boat was sped. Shoreward, in sand the rock lay bedded steep, Seaward, it bordered upon waters deep ; Easy the eager crew could on it leap. Monday, 11-21, December, 1620. 51 Landed, they rambled through those forest nooks, Heard something like the "caw" of their own rooks, Found cornfields here and there, and running brooks ; Oaks, pines, beech, walnut, cedar, birch, and ash — As goodly trees as the Old Country has — With plum, asp, cherry, vines, and sassafras ; Sorrel and yarrow, brooklime, liverwort, " Great stores of leekes and onyons," many a sort Of wild herb, good for use of health, or hurt. "A spit's depth of black earth" indorsed the mold ; While, that all Indian " signs" were plainly old, Freedom of entry to new-comers told. And now the brief day stands at its high noon. Spake Carver : " Goodmen ! darkness haste th soon, With small help for us from the waning moon. 52 Songs of the Pilgrims. " These shores beseem ' for scituation good ' ; Here maize, and fowl, and fish plan plenteous food, And desolation offereth quietude. " What harbor for our shipping it can prove, To test and settle doth us next behoove ; So to our soundings let us instant move." As down the bluffs they haste, bound in one thrall, For a brief moment, on a hillock tall, As by a common impulse, lingered all. The scene was winsome, — calm the waters lay, And soft the sweet light stretching far away, — A summer picture for a winter's day. Quoth Bradford : "If to us God blessing gave, Who should die serving here, should comfort have, Nor miss man's benison on his lowly grave." 14 Ay ! " answered Carver. " Ay ! better sleep here" — His word awaiting proof that self -same year — " Than in the Rhine-washed aisles of St. Pierre." From 4i The Present Crisis" 53 The shallop's heavy head was sent about, And, with their fathorn-line and plummet stout, That 't was a harbor fair, put out of doubt. Then toward Clark's Island back their course they lay, The night in bivouac there once more to stay, And hie them to their ship the following day. They had the work in hand done to their best, Yet dreamed not, as that sun went down the west, That to the ages they had made bequest ! — H. M. Dexter. FROM "THE PRESENT CRISIS." 1 /^OUNT me o'er earth's chosen heroes, — they ^-^ were souls that stood alone, While the men they agonized for hurled the . contumelious stone ; Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 54 Songs of the Pilgrims. To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, By one man's plain truth to manhood and to manhood's great design. For humanity sweeps onward ; where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands ; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into history's golden urn. 'T is as easy to be heroes as to sit the idle slaves Of a legendary virtue carved upon our fathers' graves ; Worshipers of the light ancestral make the pres- ent light a crime ; — Was the Mayflower launched by cowards, steered by men behind their time ? Turn those tracks toward past or future that make Plymouth Rock sublime ? — James Russell Lowell. Ode. 55 ODE. IVTOT all the loftiest memories -^ That rose on earlier days, When, with the trump and sacrifice, And swelling pomp of praise, Men gathered to their pillared halls, 'Mid garlands, joy, and wine, To gaze on heroes round the walls, In marble made divine, And pour the deep libation there To victors passed away ; On minds whose wonders, rich and rare, Poured splendor on their day, — Not all in finer hearts can vie With those that summon here To lift, on freedom's clarion high, The anthem of our cheer ! We sing a nobler race than passed In ancient times to glory ; We sing of deeds that shall outlast, In fame, all classic story ; 56 Songs of the Pilgrims. Of men who fought for God, and gave Home for a desert shore, — With hearts too panoplied and brave To quail beneath its roar ! Of exiles of a deathless line And proud, unshrinking brow ; Lone pilgrims to a rocky shrine, Where a people bend them now ; A rocky shrine, unsheltered, rude, Where the wild wolf from his lair Shrieked through the pathless solitude, And broke the voice of prayer ! We sing of heroes who outdid The boast of chivalry ; Whose valor braved the shock amid A stormy sea and sky ; Whose deeds were deeds of mercy, done To persecuted man ; Whose wreaths were wreaths of triumph, won In virtue's fearless van ! New England's fathers ! Men who dared The agony of years ; Whom pale oppression never spared, But could not bow to tears ; Ode. 57 Who, 'mid the howl of winter, fled, And your banner here unfurled, And conscience in her pride outled Unfettered to the world. Pilgrims of glory ! There shall rise Fast praise from heart and tongue Of all for whom in sacrifice, Like martyr-saints, ye sprung ; And their children's children shall outpour From echoing clime to clime, New paeans for the toils ye bore In a nation's morning-time. Two hundred years their cloudy wings Expand above your graves ; And lo, what wide-flashed glory flings O'er all New England's waves ! Fathers of liberty ! To ye We lift the wine-cup now ; Yours be the hallowed memory That consecrates our vow ! And should the voice of prophecy That 's doomed us to the dust E'er chant the requiem of the free, By tyranny accursed, 58 Songs of the Pilgrims. Oh, be a remnant true to her ! Sons whom New England bore, Together seek one sepulcher On Plymouth's sounding shore ! — Grenville Mellen. HYMN. 1 n^HE brittle bark is on the gale, Heaven guides her course and swells the sail ; The Pilgrims reach yon welcome shore, All vocal with the songs they pour. Keen round them blows the winter's air ; The weary wanderers knee! for prayer ; From opening clouds a voice is given ; Pilgrims, there 's nothing true but heaven ! What though no rustic cloud, nor flame, Led on the wanderers as they came? By faith they saw the one true God Was guardian of the way they trod. i Written for December 22, 1831. Hymn. 59 God of our fathers, hear our prayer ! This church be still aud loug thy care ; Aud, grateful at this day's return, Fresh incense at thy shrine shall burn. How long shall erring mortals feel The exclusive, the unholy zeal The golden gates of heaven to close On all they dare to call thy foes? These doors we open fling, and free To all, Great God, who call on thee ; If warm their hearts in Christian deeds, Who shall exclude them for their creeds ? Here may they drink from living springs The light and life the gospel brings ; And, healed by Siloa's waters, deem Thy power and bounty fed the stream. Rise ! Bethlehem's star, and spread thy blaze To every land in cheering rays, Till angels, in the glad employ, Cast down their crowns and shout for joy ! — Anonymous. 60 JSongs of the Pilgrims. ODE FOR THE 22d OF DECEMBER. 1 Tune : America. O ONS of renowned sires ! ^ Join in harmonious choirs, Swell your loud songs ; Daughters of peerless dames ! Come with your mild acclaims, Let their revered names Dwell on your tongues ! From frowning Albion's seat, See the famed band retreat, On ocean tost ; Blue tumbling billows roar, By keel scarce plowed before, And bear them to this shore, Fettered with frost. By yon wave-beaten Rock, See the illustrious flock Collected stand ; i Composed for the Anniversary Festival at Plymouth in 1792. Ode for the 2 2d of December. 61 To seek some sheltering grove, Their faithful partners move, Dear pledges of their love In either hand. Not winter's sullen face, Not the fierce tawny race In arms arrayed ; Not hunger shook their faith, Not sickness' baleful breath, Nor Carver's early death, Their souls dismayed. Watered by heavenly dew The germ of empire grew, Freedom its root. From the cold Northern pine, Far toward the burning line, Spreads the luxuriant vine, Bending with fruit. Columbia ! child of heaven ! The best of blessings given Rest on thy head ; Beneath thy peaceful skies, While prosperous tides arise, Here turn thy grateful eyes, Revere the dead. 62 Songs of the Pilgrims. Afterward revised to: — [Columbia ! child of heaven ! The best of blessings given Be thine to greet ; Hailing this votive day, Looking with fond survey Upon the weary way Of Pilgrim feet.] Here trace the moss-grown stones, Where rest their moldering bones, Again to rise ; And let thy sons be led To emulate the dead, While o'er their tombs they tread With moistened eyes. Sons of renowned sires ! Join in harmonious choirs, Swell your loud songs ; Daughters of peerless dames ! Come with thy mild acclaims, Let their revered names Dwell on your tongues. — John Davis. Hymn for the 2 2d of December. 63 HYMN FOR THE 22d OF DECEMBER. 1 Tune : Ferry. "TTTHEN o'er the billows heaving deep, * f The fathers of our race, The precepts of their God to keep, Sought here their resting-place, That gracious God their path prepared, Preserved from every harm, And still for their protection bared His everlasting arm. His breath, inspiring every gale, Impels them o'er the main, His guardian angel spreads the sail, And tempests howl in vain. For them old ocean's rocks are smoothed ; December's face grows mild ; To vernal airs her blasts are soothed, And all their rage beguiled. When Famine rolls her haggard eyes His ever-bounteous hand Abundance from the sea supplies, And treasure from the sand. 1 Sung at the Foi*efathers' celebration of 1803. 64 Songs of the Pilgrims. Nor yet his tender mercies cease ; His over-ruling plan Inclines to gentleness and peace The heart of savage man. And can our stony bosoms be To all these wonders blind ? Nor swell with thankfulness to thee, O Parent of mankind ? All-gracious God ! inflame our zeal : Dispense one blessing more — Grant us thy boundless love to feel, Thy goodness to adore. — John Quincy Adams. FROM "THE PRESENT CRISIS." 1 rj^HEY were men of present valor, stalwart old iconoclasts, Unconvinced by axe or gibbet that all virtue was the past's ; But we make their truth our falsehood, thinking that hath made us free, 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. From " Tlie Present Crisis." 65 Hoarding it in moldy parchments, while our ten- der spirits flee The rude grasp of that great impulse which drove them across the sea. They have rights who dai*e maintain them ; we are traitors to our sires, Smothering in their holy ashes freedom's new-lit altar-fires ; Shall we make their creed our jailer ? shall we in our haste to slay, From the tombs of the old prophets steal the funeral lamps away To light up the martyr-fagots round the prophets of to-day? New occasions teach new duties ; time makes ancient good uncouth ; They must upward still, and onward, who would keep abreast of truth ; Lo ! before us gleam her camp-fires ! we our- selves must pilgrims be, Launch our Mayflower, and steer boldly through the desperate winter sea, Nor attempt the future's portal with the past's blood-rusted key. — James Russell Loivell. 66 Songs of the Pilgrims. HYMN FOR THE 22d OF DECEMBER. (1799.) Tune: Old Hundred. TT~AIL ! Pilgrim Fathers of our race, With grateful hearts your toils we trace ; Again this votive day returns, And finds us bending o'er your urns. Jehovah's arm prepared the road : The heathen vanished at his nod ; He gave his vine a lasting root ; He loads its goodly boughs with fruit. The hills are covered with its shade ; Its thousand shoots like cedar spread ; Its branches to the sea expand, And reach to broad Superior's strand. Of peace and truth the gladsome ray Smiles in our skies and cheers the day ; And a new empire's splendent wheels Roll o'er the top of Western hills. Hail ! Pilgrim Fathers of our race, With grateful hearts your toils we trace ; Oft as this votive day returns, We '11 pay due honors to your urns. An Ode. 67 AN ODE. (1806.) Ask thy Father, and he will shew thee. — Moses. The Lord hath done great things for us. — Psalmist. "TTTITH sympathetic sway, * * Commemorate the day Our fathers came ; From England's hostile shore, By persecution sore, Crimsoned with martyrs' gore They crossed the main. An asylum to seek, They crossed the raging deep, Conscience their star ; By God's approving grace, It aids them to this place In this drear wilderness. God's name revere. By troubles drove from home, Amid stern winter's gloom, They landed here ; 1 In commemoration of the landing of our Forefathers in Ply. mouth, December 22, 1620. 68 Songs of the Pilgrims. No friend to give relief, Or mitigate their grief, But foes to mercy deaf, With bow and spear. They foes nor dangers fear, Nor winter's cold severe, Nor death's cold hand, That thinned them off apace, Nor godly Carver's death, All could not shake their faith, To quit the land. Then while we tread the soil, The blessings of their toil, We '11 not forget The end for which they came : To spread the gospel's fame ; While we enjoy the same, God's praise repeat. Sons of Columbia, join To praise the hand divine ; Daughters rejoice ; And as ye praise his name, Sing our Forefathers' fame, Who hither laid your claim. Loud raise your voice. The Pilgrims. 69 Though yonder silent tombs Contain their moldering bones, Their names yet live ; The wonders they have done Shall go from son to son, That people yet unborn Shall sing his praise. — F. B. THE PILGRIMS. 1 ~\ /TEN in the middle of life, austere and "*- grave in deportment, Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to heaven, Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent elder of Plymouth. God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting, Then sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a nation ; So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of the people. — Longfellow. 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 70 Songs of the Pilgrims. THE SAINTED SIRES. \\f HILE Pilgrim's sons, a festive throng, * * To sainted sires their homage pay, Be this the burthen, the burthen of their song, And rapture animate the lay : CHORUS. Hail, ye Pilgrims ! Ye sainted Pilgrims, hail ! Till hours, and years, and time shall fail. By heroes led, by virtue warmed, Conducted by the Almighty hand, They braved the ocean, the ocean and the storm, And freedom sought in unknown land. The perils of the ocean past, Fresh dangers quickly thern surround ; Shrill screams the savage, the savage o'er the blast, And rocks and hills repeat the sound. The barbarous foe to battle fly, Intent on bloody deeds and spoil ; Swift flies the arrow, the arrow through the sky, But victory crowns the Pilgrim's toil. From " Interview with Miles Standish." 71 Success atteDd the good and brave, The meed of praise to them belongs ; Virtue shall triumph, shall triumph o'er the grave, And angels join their rapturous songs. Hail, ye Pilgrims ! Ye sainted Pilgrims, hail ! When earth, and sky, and time shall fail. — Anonymous. FROM ''INTERVIEW WITH MILES STANDISH." 1 The ghost drew up his chair And said : " My name is Standish. I come from Plymouth, deadly bored With toasts, and songs, and speeches, As Ions; and flat as mv old sword, As threadbare as my breeches ; TJiey understand us Pilgrims ! They, Smooth men with rosy faces, Strength's knots and gnarls all pared away, And varnish in their places ! 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 72 Songs of the Pilgrims. We had some toughness in our grain : The eye to rightly see us is Not just the one that lights the brain Of drawing-room Tyrtaeuses ; They talk about their Pilgrim blood, Their birthright high and holy ! A mountain stream that ends in mud Methinks is melancholy. — James Russell Lowell. FROM "BIGLOW PAPERS." 1 That famous bark, That brought our sires intrepid, Capacious as another ark, For furniture decrepit ; For, as that saved of bird and beast A pair for propagation, So has the seed of these increased And furnished half the nation. — James Russell Lowell. By permission of Houghton, Mifiiin & Co. Hymn, 73 HYMN. 1 Tune : Old Hundred. f"AUR fathers' God ! to thee we raise, - With one accord, the song of praise ; To thee our grateful tribute pay, Oft as returns this festal day. With tearful eyes we here will trace Thy wonders to the Pilgrim race, And while those wonders we explore, Their names extol, thy name adore. Our fathers' God ! thy own decree Ordained the Pilgrims to be free ; In foreign lands they owned thy care, And found a safe asylum there. When the wide main they traversed o'er, And landed on this sea-beat shore, The Pilgrims' Rock must e'er proclaim Thy guardian care was still the same. Our fathers' God ! while here we trace Our lineage to the Pilgrim race, 1 Sung at Plymouth, 22 December, 1806. 74 Songs of the Pilgrims. Oh, may we like those Pilgrims live, And in the sons the sires revive. Our fathers' God ! to thee we raise, With one accord, the song of praise ; To thee our grateful tribute pay, Oft as returns this festal day. — Abiel Holmes. SONG. 1 Tune : Hail Columbia. npHE Almighty gave the high behest — -*- Rise an empire in the West, Freedom's loved and last abode, Freedom's loved and last abode. Our fathers bowed to his decree, And dauntless braved an unknown sea, Climbed the foaming precipice, Plunged adown the black abyss, Where the maddening tempest raves, Where meet the sk} T the mountain waves. 1 Sung at celebration of 21 December, 1806, New York. Song. 75 CHORUS. Sons of freedom, swell the song ; To sainted sires the notes prolong, Till the echoing skies around Sound the trumpet-note rebound. Lo ! the heaven-protected band Seeks the forest-fringed strand. Roars the rough hybernal blast, Roars the rough hybernal blast. Countless perils wait them here, Sickness pale and famine drear, Pining want and dire disease Float in every blasting breeze ; Desolation's ghastly form Rides in every death-winged storm. Murderous hordes of savage foes Round the pious Pilgrims rose, "With flinty hearts and blood-stained hands, With flinty hearts and blood-stained hands. From horror's haunts, in wilds immense, Lo ! the gloomy bands condense. Hark ! the war-whoop's frantic yell Bursts from yonder dismal dell ; Savage forms of demons dire Wrap the Pilgrims' camp in fire. 76 Songs of the Pilgrims. The God at whose behest Rose an empire in the West, Freedom's loved and last abode, Freedom's loved and last abode, Protected still, with mighty hand, The Pilgrims in a barbarous land. Raise the song of festive mirth To those who gave an empire birth ; Their names and memories shall rest Enthroned in every freeman's breast. — Thomas Greene Fessenden. FROM "BIGLOW PAPERS." 1 QST RANGE new world, thet vit wast never young ! Whose youth from thee by gripin' need was wrung, Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose baby-bed Was prowled roun' by the Injun's cracklin' tread, An' who grew'st strong thru shifts an' wants an' pains, Nussed by stern men with empires in their brains. — James Russell Lowell. 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. H Song. 11 SONG. (December 22, 1807.) AIL ! sons of the Pilgrims, assembled to pay Festivity's rite to our fathers in glory ! May the ardor of friendship enliven the lay, And their virtues be told while we glow with the story. With the patriot's fire Be inflamed each desire, To all that is noble each bosom aspire ; For, long as old earth on her axle shall turn, On the altars of freemen pure incense should burn. When tyranny bigotry's banners upreared, Those fathers, for conscience, for freedom, self-banished, Confiding in heaven, o'er the wild billow steered, And in Holland found refuge, while bigotry vanished ; There, strangers awhile From their friends, from their isle, 78 Songs of the Pilgrims. See them sojourn in hope, in adversity smile ; Till, raising again the white sail to the wind, They plow the rough main their own region to find. Long tossing in doubt o'er the 'wildering wave, The pilot yet timid to brave the commotion ; Them hailing to freedom, from perils to save, Columbia displayed her blue skirt from the ocean. In Plymouth they land, On the bleak, barren strand, Yet they 're strong in their shield — an Omnipo- tent hand : For there to their wanderings a period they find, And their brows with the laurels of freedom first bind. The savage his quiver exhausted in vain ; He rose, but his tomahawk idle descended ; Independent, the Pilgrims moved free o'er the plain ; Magnanimity nerved them, their bravery defended ; Though environed by foes, They found calm repose, Song. 79 While the wilderness blossomed and smiled like the rose ; Till late to the grave as they smoothly declined, To their offspring their virtue, a birthright, resigned. When Albion their heirs to enslave vainly strove, When lunatic committed aggression, They lowered in the combat, the assailants hence drove, Independence they won, of their rights kept possession. Then oft will we tell, In the feast of the shell, The deeds of their fame, till with transports we swell ; And teach the sweet infant that smiles on his sire To pant for like fame, and to glow with like fire. Though society's base were by faction assailed, Or the bane of our safety by flattery were varnished ; Though the veteran be seen in his hamlet unmailed, 80 Songs of the Pilgrims. Retired from the council, his laurels untarnished ; Yet the foe on our coast, Lo ! he flies to his post ; His valor impels, in himself he 's a host ; And with him the sons of New England shall fly, Resolved to live honored, or nobly to die. Yes ; now from the East see aggression impend ! Ye venerable shades, your remembrance shall fire us ; Our rights shall be sacred, our laws we '11 defend ; Our Union shall strengthen, true glory inspire us ; If the bolt be but hurled, Shall our flags be unfurled ; Though few, yet their fame shall extend o'er the world ; While the honors and laurels that deck our brave tars Shall end but with time, and but fade with the stars ! From "The Courtship of Miles JStandish" 81 Thus, oft in our pilgrimage, memory shall glow As the tale of the past comes with pleasure attendant ; And the boast of our nation latest ages shall know — Our fathers in glory, their sons independent ! Then glad be your song, Ye convivial throng ! Roll, roll the full chorus of rapture along ! For, long as old earth on her axle shall turn, On the altars of freemen pure incense must burn. — Joseph Warren Bracket. FROM " THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH." i PRISCILLA. A S he opened the door, he beheld the form of the maiden Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like a snow-drift Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the ravenous spindle, 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 82 Songs of the Pilgrims. While with her foot on the treadle she guided the wheel in its motion. Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm- book of Ains worth, Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music together ; Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the wall of a churchyard, Darkened and overhung by the running vine of the verses. Such was the book from whose pages she sang the old Puritan anthem, She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the forest, Making the humble house and the modest apparel of homespun Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the wealth of her being ! " I have been thinking all day," said gently the Puritan maiden, " Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of the hedge-rows of England, — They are in blossom now, and the country is all like a garden ; From "The Courtship of Mies Standish." 83 Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the lark and the linnet, Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of neighbors Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip together. And. at the end of the street, the village church. with the ivy Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves in the churchyard. Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my religion ; Still my heart is so sad. that I wish myself back in old England. You will say it is wrong, but I can not help it : I almost Wish myself back in old England, I feel so lonely and wretched." THE PROPOSAL. Thereupon answered the youth: ''Indeed, I do not condemn you ; Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in this terrible winter. Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger to lean on ; 84 Songs of the Pilgrims. • So I have come to you now with an offer and proffer of marriage, Made by a good man and true, Miles Stand ish, the captain of Plymouth ! " But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple nnd eloquent language, Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his rival, Archly the maiden smiled and, with eyes over- running with laughter, Said, in a tremulous voice, " Why don't you speak for yourself, John? " THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER. Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows rejoiced at his coming ; Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the mountains ; Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at anchor, Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms of the winter. Loosely against her masts was hanging and flap- ping her canvas, From "The Courtship of Miles Standish." 85 Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands of the sailors. Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the ocean, Darted a puff of smoke and floated seaward ; anon rang Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and the echoes Heard and repeated the sound, the signal gun of departure ! Ah ! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of the people ! Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read from the Bible ; Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fer- veut entreaty. Then from their houses in haste came forth the Pilgrims of Plymouth, Men and women and children, all hurrying down to the sea-shore, Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the Mayflower, Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaviug them here in the desert. 86 Songs of the Pilgrims. Meanwhile the master, alert, but with dignified air and important, Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind and the weather, Walked about on the sands, and the people crowded about him Saying a few last words, and enforcing his care- ful remembrance. Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were grasping a tiller, Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off to his vessel, Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and flurry, Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sick- ness and sorrow,' Short allowance of victual, and plenty of noth- ing but gospel ! Lost in the sound of the oars was the last fare- well of the Pilgrims. O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the Mayflower ! No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to the plowing ! From "The Courtship of Miles Standish." 87 Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs of the sailors Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the ponderous anchor. Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the west wind, Blowing steady and strong : and the Mayflower sailed from the harbor, Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far to the southward Island and cape of sand and the field of the first encounter, Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic, Borne on the send of the sea and the swelling hearts of the Pilgrims. Long in silence they watched the receding sail of the vessel, Much endeared to them all, as something living and human ; Then, as if filled with the Spirit, and wrapt in a vision prophetic, Baring his hoary head, the excellent elder of Ply- mouth 88 Songs of the Pilgrims. Said, " Let us pray ! " and they prayed, and thanked the Lord and took courage. Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the rock, and above them Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of death, and their kindred Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in the prayer that they uttered. Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of the ocean, Gleamed the departing sail like a marble slab in a graveyard : Buried beneath it lay forever all hope of escaping. THE WOOING. " Truly, Priscilla," he said, u When I see you spinning, and spinning, Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others, Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed in a moment ; You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the beau- tiful spinner." Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter and swifter ; the spindle m "I mrtship of Jfile* Standish." 89 :ed an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in bd gars While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued : d are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the Queen : Helvetia : >he whose story I read at a stall in the street S ithampton. Who. is die rode on her palfrey o'er valley and meadow and mountain. - ^ ning her thread from a d> fixed to her saddle. She was ? c thrifty and good that her name passed into a proverb. So shall it be with your own. when the spinning- wheel shall no Ioe^ :-:-. Hum in the house of the farmer and fill its chambers with musj : Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate h: was in their childhood. Praising the good old times and the days nf Fris :'ae spinner ! " Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden. Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him - ; . i ise m - Hk ;--::?:. 90 /Songs of the Pilgrims. Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of her spinning, Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flattering phrases of Alden : Li Come, you must not be idle ; if I am a pattern of housewives, Show yourself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. Hold this skein on your hands while I wind it, ready for knitting ; Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed, and the manners, Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old times of John Alden ! " Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his hands she adjusted, He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms ex- tended before him, She standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his fingers, Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding, Sometimes touching his hands, as she dis- entangled expertly Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares, — for how could she help it? — From "The Courtship of Miles Standish." 91 Sending electrical thrills through every nerve in his body. Even as rivulets twain, from distant and sepa- rate sources, Seeing each other afar as they leap from the rocks, and pursuing Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and nearer, Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the forest ; So these lives, that had run thus far in separate channels, Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and flowing asunder. Parted bv barriers strong, but drawing nearer mi O 1 O and nearer. Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the other. THE MARRIAGE. Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent of purple and scarlet. Issued the sun, the great high priest, in his gar- ments resplendent ; 92 Songs of the Pilgrims. Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his forehead, Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and pomegranates. Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor beneath him Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his feet was a laver ! This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the Puritan maiden. Friends were assembled together ; the elder and magistrate also Graced the scene with their presence and stood like the law and the gospel, One with the sanction of earth and one with the blessing of heaven. Simple and brief was the wedding as that of Ruth and Boaz. Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the words of betrothal, Taking each other for husband and wife in the magistrate's presence, After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom of Holland. On Her Mother. 93 Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent elder of Plymouth Prayed for the hearth and the home that were founded that day in affection, Speaking of life and of death, and imploring divine benedictions. — H. W. Longfellow. ON HER MOTHER. A WORTHY matron of unspotted life, * A loving mother and obedient wife ; A friendly neighbor, pitiful to poor, Whom oft she fed and clothed with her store ; To servants wisely awful, but yet kind, And as they did, so they reward did find ; A true instructor of her family, The which she ordered with dexterity. The public meetings ever did frequent, And in her closet constant hours she spent ; Religious in all her words and waves. Preparing still for death till end of dayes ; Of all her children, children lived to see ; Then dying, left a blessed memory. — Anne Bradstreet. 94 Songs of the Pilgrims. TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 1 Special Music. /"^lOME, listen to my story, ^-^ Though often told before, Of men who passed to glory, Through toil and travail sore ; Of men who did for conscience' sake Their native land forego, And sought a home and freedom here, Two hundred years ago. Oh, 't was no earth-born passion That bade the adventurers stray ; The world and all its fashion With them had passed away. A voice from heaven bade them look Above the things below, When here they sought a resting-place, Two hundred years ago. Oh, dark the scene and dreary, When here they set them down, Of storms and billows weary, And chilled with winter's frown t 1 Sung at Plymouth, 22 December, 1820. Tico Hundred Years Ago. 95 Deep moaned the forests to the wind, Loud howled the savage foe, While here their evening prayer arose, Tico hundred years ago. 'T would drown the heart in sorrow To tell of all their woes ; No respite could they borrow, But from the grave's repose. Yet naught could daunt the Pilgrim Band, Or sink their courage low, Who came to plant the gospel here, Two hundred years ago. With humble prayer and fasting, In every strait and grief, They sought the everlasting, And found a sure relief. Their covenant God o'ershadowed them, Their shield from every foe, And gave them here a dwelling-place, Two hundred years ago. Of fair New England's glory They laid the corner-stone ; This praise, in deathless story. Their grateful sons shall own. 90 Songs of the Pilgrims. Prophetic, they foresaw in time A mighty state should grow From them, a few faint Pilgrims here, Two hundred years ago. If greatness be in daring, Our Pilgrim sires were great, Whose sojourn here, unsparing, Disease and famine wait ; And oft their treacherous foes combined To lay the strangers low, While founding here their commonwealth, Two hundred years ago. Though seeming over-zealous In things by us deemed light, They were but duly jealous Of power usurping right. They nobly chose to part with all Most dear to men below, To worship here their God in peace, Two hundred years ago. From seeds they sowed with weeping Our richest harvests rise ; We still the fruits are reaping Of Pilgrim enterprise. Anniversary Stanzas. 97 Then grateful we to them will pay The debt of farne we owe, Who planted here the tree of life, Two hundred years ago. As comes this period yearly, Around our cheerful fires, We '11 think and tell how dearly Our comforts cost our sires. For them we '11 wake the votive song, And bid the canvas glow, Who fixed the home of freedom here, Two hundred years ago. — James Flint. A 1 ANNIVERSARY STANZAS. 1 (1808.) H ! 't is a barren shore To which we go ; And rough the billows roar, And tempests blow ! Poor Pilgrims have we come Hither to fix our home ; Or must we farther roam Through drifting snow ? 1 Supposed to be sung by the Pilgrims on arrival. 98 Songs of the Pilgrims. No ! by this sheltering hill A log-house rear : With clay each crevice fill, T' exclude the air : There covered from the storm, Our shivering limbs we '11 warm, And then in ample form The feast prepare. Though scanty be our store, And coarse our bread, The God who heretofore Elijah fed Will pity our distress, And for our neediness E'en in the wilderness A table spread. Already he displays His bounteous hand, In hoards of Indian maize Beneath the strand. He fills the empty cruse, Fine fish these seas produce, And treasures for our use Hides in the sand. Hymn. 99 Since thus we freely share His kind supply, And on his guardian care Secure rely, Still may he succor lend, And may his grace descend, Our children to befriend, When we shall die. Author Unknown. HYMN. 1 Ij FATHER supreme of heaven and earth, -*- Creative Source of all ! Whence infant nations spring to birth, And empires rise and fall ! Thy throne, above the circling spheres, Shall stand while centuries roll ; Nor boundless space, nor endless years, Can limit thy control ! To him from whom our blessings flow, Who all our wants supplies, This day the choral song and vow From grateful hearts shall rise ! Sung at the Albany celebration of 22 December, 1820. 100 /Songs of the Pilgrims. 'T was he who led the Pilgrim band Across the stormy sea ; 'T was he who stayed the tyrant's hand, And set our empire free ! When shivering on a strand unknown, In sickness and distress, Our fathers looked to God alone, To save, protect, and bless. Be thou our nation's strength and shield, In manhood, as in youth ; Thine arm for our protection wield, And guide us by thy truth ! ODE FOR 22d DECEMBER. Tune : St. Martins. T~ ET children learn the mighty deeds ~*~^ Their sires achieved of old ; And still, as time to time succeeds, To them the tale unfold. Here while we fondly trace the scene This joyous day recalls, Let youth with reverent age convene Within these hallowed walls. Ode for 22d December. 101 Their pious toils, their just rewards, Returning tributes claim, While faithful history records Each venerable name. Here first the temple's votive fane, Aspiring, sought the skies, And here religion's exiled train Bade sacred altars rise. No longer now the roaming hordes Unhallowed vigils keep ; No more affrighted mothers guard Their cradled infants' sleep : But social arts and peaceful homes This favored land endear, Where fields and masts and rising domes, With scattered grace, appear. Let musing strangers view the ground^ ^ ■^*-; Here seek tradition's lore, Where Pilgrims walked on holy ground With God in days of yore ; And where around the savage tribe Alarmed with horrid veils, 102 Songs of the Pilgrims. Assembling crowds secure imbibe What holy legend tells. Let children emulate their deeds, Their choral praises sing ; So shall the Muse, as time proceeds, Her meed of incense briug. — Samuel Davis. HYMN. 1 "TTTHEN Israel's God had marked the way ' * From persecution's fiery sway, Our fathers left their native land, Sustained by his almighty hand. His providence their trust and guide, Securely through the deep they glide ; A world unknown their hopes explore ; By faith they reach the promised shore. Fervent the Christian Pilgrims raise On heathen soil their shouts of praise ; With thankful hearts aloud proclaim In heathen lands Jehovah's name. 1 Sung at the Albany celebration of 22 December, 1820. Selections from a Hymn. 103 Jehovah's name ! the hills rejoice, Glad nature owns her Maker's voice ; The wilderness breaks forth in songs To him to whom all praise belongs. Let all their children rise, and bring Their grateful incense to our King ; In his fair courts their voices raise, And fill the land with songs and praise ! SELECTIONS FROM A HYMN. 1 f'^\ OD of our Fathers — Zion's King ! ^-* With eye propitious now behold, While in thy house thy praise we sing, And celebrate thy works of old. Like Israel, our New England sires, By cruel persecution driven, Through dearths and deserts, seas and fires, Followed the guiding hand of heaven. To heaven, their home, their prayer ascends, For they were Pilgrims on the earth ; Exiled from country, kindred, friends, They sought the land which gave us birth. 1 Sung at Haverhill, Mass., 22 December, 1820. 104 Songs of the Pilgrims. For this they plowed the wintry main, And braved the dangers of the deep ; Cheerful and patient under pain, For Christ was with them in the ship. Now on Columbia's savage coast, Escaped from shipwreck and from storm, Behold the feeble, shivering host — Their pious hearts alone were warm. Heroic souls ! New England's pride ! For us who could all dangers brave The} 7 toiled, they prayed, they bled, they died Nor found their rest but in the grave. May we, their sons, thy praise acclaim, The God our fathers loved adore ; Our children's children fear thy name, Till suns shall rise and set no more. HHHAT little Mayflower, conveyed by the winds And the rude waters to our rocky shore, Shall scatter freedom's seed throughout the world ; And all the nations of the earth shall come Sinoino; to share the harvest-home of truth. 1 — Lowell. 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. The First Thanksgiving. 105 THE FIRST THANKSGIVING. (1621.) EDWARD WINSLOW'S STORY. "TTTE had gathered in our harvests, * And stored the yellow grain, For God had sent the sunshine, And sent the plenteous rain ; Our barley-land and corn-land Had yielded up their store, And the fear and dread of famine Oppressed our homes no more. As the chosen tribes of Israel, In the far years of old, When the summer fruits were garnered, And before the winter's cold, Kept their festal week with gladness, With songs and choral lays, So we kept our first Thanksgiving In the hazy autumn days. Through the mild months of summer, We had built us pleasant homes, So that now we fear no danger, When the angry winter comes ; 106 Songs of the Pilgrims. We can sit by cheerful firesides, And watch the flickering ray, When the storms of ocean gather, And howl around the bay. We think with grief and sadness Of the gloomy months gone by, When want was in our dwellings, And we saw our loved ones die ; But when our well-filled garners Moved all our hearts to praise, We kept our glad Thanksgiving In the soft October l days. We sent our keen-eyed gunners To the forest-haunts for game, And with ample wealth of wild fowl, Rejoicing home they came ; And our good Indian neighbors, With whom we live in peace. Brought in their gift of hunted deer, Our larder to increase. 1 Mr. Tarbox thinks it probable that the first Thanksgiving took place in October. See article in New England for March, 1S79. The First Thanksgiving. 107 And Massasoit, the chieftain, Was present with us then ; He came to share our banquet, With his ninety dusky men ; So for three days we feasted, With sports, and games, and plays, And kept our first Thanksgiving In the fair autumnal days. The winds breathed gently on us From out the mild south-west ; They come, the Indians tell us, From the islands of the blest ; And the sun and moon looked kindly From the still heights above, As if to cheer our banquet, And bless our feast of love. And our brave Captain Standish, Brought up 'mid war's alarms, Led out his small but trusty band, His sturdy men-at-arms ; He showed the Indian warriors Our military ways ; For so we kept Thanksgiving In those hazy autumn days. 108 Songs of the Pilgrims. We thought of dear old England, Dear, though to us unkind ; Of the fond familiar faces That we had left behind ; But England can not wean us Back from our forest home, Where we lay our sure foundations For the better years to come. So we passed the days in gladness, In social joy and mirth, As those who have their dwelling-place As yet upon the earth ; But to the Lord our God we brought Our gifts of prayer and praise ; So we kept our first Thanksgiving In the dreamy autumn days. — Increase N. Tarbox. THE FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY. A.D. 1622. A ND now," said the governor, gazing abroad •^-^- on the piled-up store Of the sheaves that clotted the clearings and covered the meadows o'er, The First Thanksgiving Day. 109 " 'T is meet that we render praises because of this yield of grain ; 'T is meet that the Lord of the harvest be thanked for his sun and rain. "And therefore, I, William Bradford (by the grace of God to-day, And the franchise of this good people) , gov- ernor of Plymouth, say, — Through virtue of vested power, — ye shall gather with one accord And hold, in the month of November, Thanks- giving unto the Lord. "He hath granted us peace and plenty, and the quiet we 've sought so long ; He hath thwarted the wily savage, and kept him from wrack and wrong : And unto our feast the sachem shall be bidden, that he may know We worship his own Great Spirit, jvho maketh the harvests grow. "So shoulder your matchlocks, masters; there is hunting of alLdegrees ; And fishermen, take your tackle and scour for spoil the seas ; 110 Songs of the Pilgrims. And maidens and dames of Plymouth, your delicate crafts employ To honor our first Thanksgiving, and make it a feast of joy ! " We fail of the fruits and dainties, we fail of the old home cheer ; Ah ! these are the lightest losses, mayhap, that befall us here. But see ! in our open clearings how golden the melons lie ! Enrich them with sweets and spices, and give us the pumpkin-pie ! " So, bravely the preparations went on for the autumn feast : The deer and the bear were slaughtered ; wild game from the greatest to least Was heaped in the colony cabins ; brown home- brew served for wine ; And the plum and the grape of the forest for orange and peach and pine. At length came the day appointed ; the snow had begun to fall, But the clang of the meeting-house belfry rang merrily over all, Tlie First Tlianltsyiving Day. Ill And summoned the folk of Plymouth, who has- tened with glad accord To listen to Elder Brewster as he fervently thanked the Lord. la his seat sate Governor Bradford ; men, ma- trons, and maidens fair ; Miles Standish and all his soldiers, with corslet and sword were there ; And sobbing and tears and gladness had each in its turn the sway, For the grave of sweet Rose Standish o'ershad- owed Thanksgiving day. And when Massasoit, the sachem, sate down with his hundred braves, And ate of the varied riches of gardens and woods and waves, And looked on the granaried harvest, with a blow on his brawny chest, He muttered : ' w The Good Spirit loves his white children best ! " — Margaret J. Preston. 112' Songs of the Pilgrims. ODE. 1 rpHE Pilgrim Fathers — where are they ? -*- The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray As they break along the shore ; Still roll in the bay as they rolled that day When the Mayflower moored below, When the sea around was black with storms, And white the shore with snow. The mists that wrapped the Pilgrims' sleep Still brood upon the tide ; And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep, To stay its waves of pride ; But the snow-white sail, that he gave to the gale When the heavens looked dark, is gone : As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud Is seen, and then withdrawn. The Pilgrim exile — sainted name ! The hill, whose icy brow Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now. 1 For the celebration of 22 December, 1824. Ode. 113 And the moon's cold light as it lay that night, On the hill-side and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head ; But the Pilgrim — where is he ? The Pilgrim Fathers are at rest. AVhen summer 's throned on high, And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed, Go, stand on the hill where the} 7 lie. The earliest ray of the golden day On that hallowed spot is cast : And the evening sun, as he leaves the world, Looks kindly on that spot last. The Pilgrim spirit has not fled : It walks in noon's broad light ; And it watches the bed of the glorious dead, With the holy stars by night. It watches the bed of the brave who have bled, And shall guard this ice-bound shore, Till the waves of the bay where the Mayflower lay Shall foam and freeze no more. — John Pierpont. 114 Songs of the Pilgrims. H HYMN. 1 Tune : Scots, tolia ha\ OLY spot ! where glowing choirs Oft have wakened grateful lyres, Oft have kindled grateful fires, O'er the Pilgrim's grave. Once again we press the shore Where our fathers sternly swore Ocean should forget to roar, Ere they would be slaves. Hail the dawn when Freedom's rays Hushed Columbia's icy face, Sweeter strains arise of praise Than from Memnon's harp. Hail the spot — our sires' retreat ! Hail the waves that round them beat ! Hail the rock that bore their feet, When their wanderings ceased ! Fancy paints in yonder bay The bark that broke the Pilgrims' way, The cradle where our nation lay In her infant days. 1 Sung at Cilgrim Hall at the celebration of 1824. Hymn. 115 See the boat approach the land, Freighted with the pious band, See, they kneel upon the strand, Warm with gratitude. Vent your fury, wind and flood, Freedom's bark is safely moored, Freedom's sons with hearts assured, Now their work begin. Gloomy scenes await the brave ; Savage foes around them rave ; Carver fills an early grave ; Hope well-nigh expires. But to Faith's reluming eye, Visions bright in prospect lie ; E'en a triumph 't were to die, If in conscience free. Still above the sacred dead, Future crowds shall yearly tread ; Blooming youth and hoary head Meet around their urns. Oft shall Genius' fluent tongue Trace the story, swell the song ; Oft amidst the listening throng Thrill the feeling soul. 116 JSongs of the Pilgrims. Ye who 've sprung from noble blood, Men who spurned the tyrant's rod, Men who bowed to none but God, Here your vows repeat : " By their pious shades we swear,' By their toils and perils here, We will guard with jealous care Law and Liberty." — William P. Lunt. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF DECEMBER. (1S29.) "TTTILD was the day ; the wintry sea * ^ Moaned sadly on New England's strand, When first the thoughtful and the free, Our fathers, trod the desert land. They little thought how pure a light, With years, should gather round that day ; How love should keep their memories bright, How wide a realm their sons should swav. Original Hymn. 117 Green are their bays ; but greener still Shall round their spreading fame be wreathed, And regions, now untold, shall thrill With reverence, when their names are breathed. Till where the sun, with softer fires, Looks ou the vast Pacific's sleep, The children of the Pilgrim sires This hallowed day like us shall keep. — William Cullen Bryant. ORIGINAL HYMN. ONG- persecuted and oppressed, -^ The exiled Pilgrim band, In search of liberty and rest, Came to a desert land. God deigned their enterprise to bless, And gave the wished repose ; And, glad for them, the wilderness Soon blossomed as the rose. 118 /Songs of the Pilgrims. Schools, churches, and the ministry Their earliest cares engage ; The glory of their times to be, And of each coming age. The benefits which hence arise, On us heaven kindly showers, And shows us, by the rich supplies, Our fathers' God is ours. — Thaddeus Mason Harris. THE PRICE OF A LITTLE PILGRIM. (A.D. 1621.) /~1 O, wind the signal-horn, and bid ^-^ My band of trusty men Come stern and grim, in fighting trim, That I may choose me ten. '* They may not wait to kiss their wives, For there 's a life at cost, — A tender one, — the widow's son, Ralf Billiugton, is lost \ The Price of a Little Pilgrim. 119 u The pretty lad that often drew My sword, and vowed that yet He 'd march away some summer day And capture Aspinet." So spake the Plymouth governor, And at the signal sound Forth came the band at his command, And crowded eager round. " Ten only," Governor Bradford said, " Will fill the boat enow ; I want but ten strong-handed men, Now which of you will go ? " They shouted, "I!" " And I ! " " And I ! " " Nay, hold ! " he bade, " I '11 find Some Gideon test to mark the best ; The rest shall bide behind. " Ye who are fathers, — ye whose homes Are glad with children's joy, — Your quest, I wot, will slacken not, Till ye have found the boy." The shallop manned, they searched the coast, They beat the tangled wild ; And sought to trace, in many a place, Some tidings of the child. 120 Songs of the Pilgrims. They steered through silent, sheltered coves, They skimmed the marshes wide ; And all around the shallows wound, With Squanto for their guide. At length they saw a curl of smoke Float o'er the distant trees ; And all about, the whoop and shout Came blown upon the breeze. Scarce had they landed, when the cry Of " Yengese ! " rent the air ; And even before they touched the shore, The foe was yelling there, Each with his arrow drawn to head. 4t Stay ! stay ! " cried Squanto, " Let True braves be friends ; our sachem sends To you his calumet. " The mother in her wigwam weeps, Bereft of peace and joy ; Now we would know if it be so That ye have found her boy ? " " Ugh ! " growled the wily Aspinet ; " What will the Yengese grant, If I set loose the white papoose, And bring; him from Nahant? " The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. 121 " Name what ye will ! " the captain cried, " So much we prize his life ! " The sachem heard, and with brief word Muttered, " A knife ! a knife ! " " Good ! " and the captain grimly smiled Aside ; "and yet I trow The dame will be scarce pleased that we Should rate her boy so low ! " Go, Squanto, hither fetch the lad ; And lest it will not do, For one jack-knife to buy a life, Why, Squanto, give him two ! " — Margaret J. Preston. THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. fTTHE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed ; 122 Songs of the Pilgrims. And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true hearted, came ; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame ; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear ! They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea ! And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free ! The ocean-eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared — This was their welcome home ! There were men with hoary hair, Amidst that Pilgrim band ; Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood's land ? New England. 123 There was woman's fearless eye, Lit by her deep love's truth ; There was manhood's brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's pure shrine ! Ay ! call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod ! They have left unstained what there they found, Freedom to worship God ! — Mrs. Felicia Hemans. NEW ENGLAND. TZTAIL to the land whereon we tread, Our fondest boast ; The sepulcher of mighty dead, The truest hearts that ever bled, Who sleep on glory's brightest bed, A fearless host. 124 Songs of the Pilgrims. No slave is here ; our unchained feet Walk freely as the waves that beat Our coast. Our fathers crossed the ocean's wave To seek this shore ; They left behind the coward slave To welter in his living grave ; With hearts unbent, aud spirits brave, They sternly bore Such toils as meaner souls had quelled, But souls like these such toils impelled To soar. There is no other land like thee, No dearer shore ; Thou art the shelter of the free ; The home, the port of Liberty, Thou hast been, and shalt ever be, Till time is o'er. Ere I forget to think upon My land, shall mother curse the son She bore. • — J. O. Percival. The First Proclamation of Miles Standish. 125 THE FIEST PROCLAMATION OF MILES STANDISH. (November, a.d. 1620.) I I O ! " quoth the stout Miles Standish, - J — L As he stood on the Mayflower's deck, And gazed on the sandy coast-line, That loomed as a misty speck On the edge of the distant offing, — " See ! yonder we hare in view Bartholomew Gosnold's headlands. 'T was in sixteen hundred and two "That the Concord of Dartmouth anchored Just there where the beach is broad, And the merry old captain named it (Half-swamped by the fish) Cape Cod. "And so, as his mighty headlands Are scarcely a league away, What say you to landing, Sweetheart, And having a washing-day? "For did not the might} 7 leader, TTko guided the chosen band, Pause under the peaks of Sinai, And issue his strict command 126 Songs of the Pilgrims. " (For even the least assoilment Of Egypt the Spirit loathes) , Or ever they entered Canaan, The people should wash their clothes ? "The land we have left is noisome, And rank with the smirch of sin ; The land that we seek should find us Clear-vestured without and within." Dear heart — and the sweet Rose Standish Looked up with a tear in her eye ; She was back in the flag-stoned kitchen Where she watched, in the da} 7 s gone by, Her mother among her maidens (She should watch them no more, alas !), And saw as they stretched the linen To bleach on the Suffolk grass. In a moment her brow was cloudless, As she leaned on the vessel's rail, And thought of the sea-stained garments, Of coif, and of farthingale ; And the doublets of fine Welsh flannel, The tuckers and homespun gowns, And the piles of the hosen knitted From the wool of the Devon Downs. The First Proclamation of Miles Standish. 127 So the matrons aboard the Mayflower Made ready with eager hand To drop from the deck their baskets As soon as the prow touched land. And there did the Pilgrim mothers, On a Monday, the record says, Ordain for their new-found England The first of her washuig-days. And there did the Pilgrim fathers, With matchlock and axe well slung, Keep guard o'er the smoking kettles That propt on the crotchets hung. For the trail of the startled savage Was over the marshy grass, And the glint of his e} 7 es kept peering Through cedar and sassafras. And the children were mad with pleasure As they gathered the twigs in sheaves, And piled on the fire the fagots, And heaped up the autumn leaves. Do the thing that is next, saith the proverb, And a nobler shall yet succeed : 'T is the motive exalts the action ; 'T is the doing, and not the deed; 128 Songs of the Pilgrims. For the earliest act of the heroes Whose fame has a world-wide sway Was — to fashion a crane for a kettle, And order a washing-day ! — Margaret J. Preston. THE PILGRIMS' DAY. 1 "TTTITH joy I heard them say * ' When roving far abroad, On this their landing-day We '11 praise the Pilgrims' God. I knew the cry, I '11 join the song, Thy courts we '11 throng, O Thou most high ! This day let all awake, And sing the mighty dead Who, first, for Zion's sake, O'er raging oceans fled. Had not our God Preserved that flock, Safe on the rock They ne'er had trod. iBy a member of the New England Society of New York. Ode. ' 129 At once their temples rose, Our schools were founded then, Nor could their mightier foes Withstand those valiant men : But vain, their skill, And vain their sword, Had not the Lord Upheld them still. Peace to that holy ground ! That consecrated spot ! The first our fathers found Where tyrants trouble not. We '11 sound abroad, Where'er we roam, The Pilgrims' home, The Pilgrims' God. ODE. 1 Tune: America. O ONS of New England sires ! ^ Why do your altar-fires Flame up on high ; 1 For the 34th Anniversary of the New England Society. 130 Songs of the Pilgrims. Why from your festal board Wakes the loud anthem, pour'd Joyous, with one accord, Winged for the sky? Not for the voice that spoke Triumph, when Britain's yoke Burst with your chains ; Not for the heroes brave, Bleeding by Charles's wave, Not for the patriots' grave, Wake ye your strains ; But for the Pilgrim band, They who from Leyden's land Dared the rough sea ; Braving the ocean vast, Scorning the wintry blast, So they might find, at last, Room for the free. Hark, how the thunder peals ! See, how the brave ship reels, Whirled in the brine ! Courage ! the God that wears Storm-robes, the good man spares. Pilgrim ! he hears your prayers, Joy to your line ! Ode. 131 Nobly the Mayflower bows, While the dark wave she plows On to the West ; Till, from the tempest's shock, Proudly she lands her flock, Where on old Plymouth Rock, Freedom found rest. Lo ! from yon starry sphere, Spirits in light appear, Glorious, but few. Pilgrims ! we see you now, Fathers ! to you we bow, Hear, then, your children's vow Still to be true. Join, brothers, heart and hand, Sons of the Pilgrim band ! Swear now to be All that your fathers sought, All that their virtue wrought, So shall your sons be taught How to be free ! — Rufus Dawes. 132 Songs of the Pilgrims. THE PILGRIM FATHERS: AN ODE. rpHEY come — that coming who shall tell? The eye may weep, the heart may swell, But the poor tongue in vain essays A fitting note for them to raise. We hear the after-shout that rings For them who smote the power of kings ; The swelling triumph all would share ; But who the dark defeat would dare, And boldly meet the wrath and woe That wait the unsuccessful blow? It were an envied fate, we deem, To live a land's recorded theme, When we are in the tomb. We, too, might yield the joys of home, And waves of winter darkness roam, And tread a shore of bloom, Knew we those waves, through coming time, Should roll our names to every clime ; Felt we that millions on that shore Should stand, our memory to adore. But no glad vision burst in light Upon the Pilgrims' aching sight ; The Pilgrim Fathers: An Ode. 133 Their hearts no proud hereafter swelled ; Deep shadows veiled the way they held ; The yell of vengeance was their trump of fame ; Their monument — a grave without a name. Yet. stroug in weakness, there they stand, On yonder ice-bound Rock, Stern and resolved, that faithful band, To meet fate's rudest shock. Though anguish rends the father's breast, For them, his dearest and his best, AVith him the waste who trod ; Though tears that freeze, the mother sheds, Upon her children's houseless heads, The Christian turns to God. In grateful adoration now Upon the barren sands they bow. What tongue of joy e'er woke such prayer As bursts in desolation there ? What arm of strength e'er wrought such power As waits to crown that feeble hour ? There into life an infant empire springs ; There falls the iron from the soul ; There Liberty's youug accents roll Up to the King of kings. 154 Songs of the Pihjrims. To fair creation's farthest bound That thrilling summons yet shall sound ; The dreaming nations shall awake, And to their center earth's old kingdoms shake. Pontiff and prince, your sway Must crumble from that day ; Before the loftier throne of heaven The hand is raised, the pledge is given^ One monarch to obey, one creed to own — That monarch, God, that creed, his Word alone. Spread out earth's holiest records here, Of days and deeds to reverence dear ; A zeal like this what pious legends tell ! On kingdoms built In blood and guilt, The worshipers of vulgar triumph dwell ! But what exploits with theirs shall page "Who rose to bless their kind, Who left their nation and their age Man's spirit to unbind ! Who boundless seas passed o'er, And boldly met, in every path, Famine, and frost, and heathen wrath, To dedicate a shore The Pilgrim Fathers : An Ode. 135 Where Piety's meek train might breathe their vow, And seek their Maker with an nnshamed brow ; Where Liberty's glad race might proudly come, And set up there an everlasting home ! Oh, many a time it hath been told, The story of those men of old. For this fair Poetry hath wreathed Her sweetest, purest flower ; For this proud Eloquence hath breathed His strain of loftiest power ; Devotion, too, hath lingered round Each spot of consecrated ground, And hill and valley blessed ; There, where our banished fathers strayed, There, where they loved, and wept, and prayed, There, where their ashes rest. And never may they rest unsung While Liberty can find a tongue. Twine, Gratitude, a wreath for them, More deathless than the diadem, Who to life's noblest end Gave up life's noblest powers, And bade the legacy descend Down, down to us and ours ! Charles Sprague. 136 jSowjs of the Pibjrlius. THE PILGRIM MOTHERS. r I ^HE sculptor's art has striv'u And bards have strung their lyres To celebrate the deeds Of our brave Pilgrim vires; But written in the sand, As fleeting their few names, The virtues who shall paint Of our meek Pilgrim dames f Wife, widow, matron, maid — Who braved the stormy sea, And worthy to become The mothers of the free ! With their more hardy mates — Age leaning upon youth, From whose soft eyes beamed forth The soul of love and truth ! And when the Ma3'flower's bark Neared the unfriendly strand, Was not a icomcni first Upon the Rock to land ? The Pihjrim Mothers. 137 While later o'er the deep, Her infant by her side, Sweet Alice Southworth came To be the Governor's bride. As from the vessel's side The Pilgrims disembark. Borne o'er the waves dry shod, Eeligion's sacred ark, So, hallowed by their feet Yon islet at length trod, The Lord's day first they spent In prayer and praise to God ; Then sent a chosen few Each inlet to explore, And find a place to land Upon the hostile shore. Miles Staxdish — - captain bold, Who was no carpet knight, And modest still as brave. — A hero in the fight, — (Whose " Courtship " our loved bard So quaintly could rehearse, Its memory enshrined In his idyllic verse, 138 Songs of the Pilgrims. And tell by proxy how John Alden ill had sped His wooing, who, maid's wit, Priscilla. Mullins wed) , First offering thanks to God Upon his bended knee, With grave and anxious mien Supporting tenderly A woman's fragile form ? Amid December's snows, Transferred to alien soil — New England's loveliest Rose ! Around whose rugged stem Its tendrils close entwine, Grace wedded still with strength, The oak clasped by the vine. Vain were it, too, to tell Of that first fainter dread, When scarce enough survived E'en to inter the dead. With pining want and pain And sickness oft laid low ; Assailed by savage beasts, And the more savage foe. The Pilgrim Mothers. 139 » When Carver first of all — Who led the little band, The pillar of the state — Went to the better land, With " Elder Brewster," sage, Whose " Chair " too we revere. Next, Bradford, annalist, Its chief who knew no fear ! So, let the shaft arise, Of native granite wrought, To our brave sires devote, And lofty as their thought, Upon yon windy height, With pious tears besprent, Which speaks of faith and hope — The Pilgrims' Monument ! Nor less the gentler sex, In modest garb arrayed, Who both could " toil " and " spin," The matron and the maid. The " age of homespun" theirs, Of which we glibly prate, Whose virtues — " homespun ," too — We well may imitate ! 140 Songs of the Pilgrims. On that lone ancient hill Whose base the ocean laves, Concealed from friend or foe, They sleep in " unmarked graves." Save the few spirits rare Whose names to our lips rise, Who live to bless the race With loving ministries ; Before whose luster bright The warrior's glory pales : The Clara Bartons famed, Or Florence Nightingales ! With anthem and with psalm So celebrate their worth — The heroines whose type Is perished from the earth ! God of our Pilgrim sires, For their faith we praise thee ! Joined with our Pilgrim dames, Through blest eternity ! — E. W. Bobbins. Song of the Pilgrims. 141 "SONG OF THE PILGRIMS. rpHE breeze has swelled the whitening sail, -*- The blue waves curl beneath the gale, And, bounding with the wave and wind, "We leave old England's shores behind. Leave behind our native shore, Homes, and all we loved before. The deep may dash, the winds may blow, The storm spread out its wings of woe, Till sailors' eyes can see a shroud Hung in the folds of every cloud ; Still, as long as life shall last, From that shore we '11 speed us fast. For we would rather never be, Than dwell where mind can not be free, But bows beneath a despot's rod Even where it seeks to worship God. Blasts of heaven, onward sweep ! Bear us o'er the troubled deep ! Oh, see what wonders meet our eyes ! Another land, and other skies ! Columbian hills have met our view ! 142 Songs of the Pilgrims. Adieu ! Old England's shores, adieu ! Here, at length, our feet shall rest, Hearts be free, and homes be blessed. As long as yonder firs shall spread Their green arms o'er the mountain's head — As long as yonder cliffs shall stand, Where join the ocean and the land — Shall those cliffs and mountains be Proud retreats for liberty. Now to the King of kings we '11 raise The paean loud of sacred praise ; More loud than sounds the swelling breeze, More loud than speak the rolling seas ! Happier lands have met our view ! England's shores, adieu ! adieu ! — T. C. Upham, O THE MAYFLOWER. LITTLE fleet ! that on thy quest divine Sailedst from Palos one bright autumn morn, Say, has old Ocean's bosom ever borne A freight of Faith and Hope to match with thine ? The Mayflower. 143 Say, too, has heaven's high favor given again Such consummation of desire as shone About Columbus, when he rested on The new-found world, and married it to Spain? Answer, thou refuge of the freeman's need, Thou for whose destinies no kings looked out, Nor sages to resolve some mighty doubt, Thou simple Mayflower of the salt sea mead ! When thou wert wafted to that distant shore, Gay flowers, bright birds, rich odors, met thee not ; Stern nature hailed thee to a sterner lot, God gave free earth and air, and gave no more. Thus to men cast in that heroic mold Came empire such as Spaniard never knew, Such empire as beseems the just and true ; And, at the last, almost unsought, came gold. But He who rules both calm and stormy days Can guard that people's heart, that nation's health, Safe on the perilous heights of power and wealth, As in the straitness of the ancient ways. — Lord Houghton. 144 Songs of the Pilgrims. HYMN.i Tune: Tamworth. O ! the rising star of Freedom ~^ Once our Pilgrim Fathers blest ; By her light ordained to lead them To the land of promised rest. Star of heaven ! Star of heaven ! Traveling towards the distant West. While their countless toils enduring, Faith the promise kept in sight ; For themselves and sons securing Home and country, truth and light. Star of heaven ! Star of heaven ! Pointing to Jehovah's might. Now the relics round us lying, Grateful children guard their clay ! While their spirits, never dying, Hope has borne on wings away. Star of heaven ! Star of heaven ! Guiding to a brighter day. i For 22 December, 1831. St. Botolph's Chimes. 145 Raise we honors to their merit, Temples sculptured with their uame ? No ! their virtues to inherit, Seals their bright and conscious fame. Star of heaven ! Star of heaven ! High they shine with ceaseless flame. See the lights around us gleaming, Still to guide the pilgrim's eyes ; See the star of empire beaming, Bids their children's glory rise ! Star of heaven ! Star of heaven ! Glowing still in Western skies. — Samuel Deane. ST. BOTOLPH'S CHIMES. (A.D. 1640.) A PURITAN AND HIS LITTLE DAUGHTER SPEAK ON THEIR CHURCHWARD WAT. /~\ father, I wish I could go to church ^-^ As we did in the dear old times, When we waited to hear the Sunday cheer Of St. Botolph's morning chimes ! 146 Songs of the Pilgrims. 'T was lovely to walk through the leafy lanes In the beautiful English May ; And I marvel now, as I think of it, how You ever could come away. I want to go back to my oaken seat, "Where the great round oriel shed Its crimsons and blues and golden hues, All over my hands and head. As I watched their glory, the service seemed So holv and rich and bright ! How tender the glow beside this snow. All sheeted and dead and wj^ite ! And the carbines, father ; they only hung, At home, in the great oak hall ; Here, we take them abroad to the house of God, Yet shiver with fear, for all ! Oh, to mix with the crowd in the dear old street, In safety and warmth and ease ! Oh, to wait for the swells of St. Botolph's bells, In Boston beyond the seas ! Nay, daughter ! It irks my heart to hear Thee hanker as those of old, With tears on thy cheeks, for Egyptian leeks, Because thou art scared and cold. St. Botolph's Chimes. 147 Why, where is the hero-spirit, child? Thy mother forsook her Devon For an exile here, with a trust as clear As if she were going to heaven ! Yea, over thy face the oriel's glint Might shimmer with warming glow ; But for me the touch of the priestly clutch Was chiller than Shawmut's snow ! I 'm willing to fight for leave to pray, And wade with my carbine slung On my shoulder, and so all chimes forego St. Botolph hath ever rung, To carry thee thus to church to-day, As stoutly my strong arm can, And order m}? faith as my conscience saith, A free and a fearless man ! But, sweetheart, patiently thou must wait, For I dream of an end of pains, In which thou shalt walk in tender talk, Through better than English lanes, With comrades as kind as ever strayed Beside thee o'er Lincoln leas, Or listened betimes to St. Botolph's chimes, In Boston beyond the seas ! — Margaret J. Preston. 148 Songs of the Pilgrims. I ANNIVERSARY HYMN. 1 Tune : St. Martins. O ! where of old the fathers dwelt, -^ From home and temples dear, And oft in prayer devoutly knelt, Their children would appear. And round thine altar, God of grace ! With reverent homage stand, Through ages past thy love to trace In this our favored land. By faith inspired with steadfast mind, To shun oppression's rage, The Pilgrims here their steps inclined, Bright heralds of their age. No golden mines their visions lured, No conqueror's pride was theirs ; The soul's pure worship once secured, Repays their generous cares. Here Freedom's sacred altars rose, Reared by the Pilgrim sires ; We '11 guard them still from threatening foes, And light anew their fires. 1 For the celebration 22 December, 1834. The Men of Plymouth. 149 Great God ! thine all-pervading sway, Each passing age controls. Oh, may thy grace illume our day, And ever cheer our souls ! — William S. Russell. THE MEN OF PLYMOUTH. 1 rpHESE are the iron men that broke -*- Ground, where the Indian's war-fire curled ; These spurned the princely, priestly yoke, These are the fathers of a world. O men of God's own image, say ! Can glorious men thus pass away? No, never ! Send expansive sight ! From Labrador to Carib's Sea — That vision, so sublime and bright, Of regions teeming with the free, Shows but the influence of these men Who sought the sands of Plymouth then. 1 An extract from a loajrer poem. 1836. 150 Songs of the Pilgrims. No, never ! Each traditional spot Tells where they wept, or sank to rest ; Yet were such silent, or forgot The place their Pilgrim footsteps pressed, Their names should live, nor Time would mock The record of the Plymouth Rock. — William B. Tappan. FOR FOREFATHERS' DAY. Tune : Old Hundred. (~\ God ! beneath thy guiding hand, ^-^ Our exiled fathers crossed the sea ; And when they trod the wintry strand, With prayer and psalm they worshiped thee. Thou heard'st, well pleased, the song, the prayer, Thy blessing came ; and still its power Shall onward to all ages bear The memory of that holy hour. Ode. 151 What change ! Through pathless wilds no more The fierce and naked savage roams ; Sweet praise, along the cultured shore, Breaks from ten thousand happy homes. Lands, freedom, truth, and faith in God Came with those exiles o'er the waves ; And where their Pilgrim feet have trod, The God they trusted guards their graves. And here thy name, O God of love ! Their children's children shall adore, Till these eternal hills remove, And spring adorns the earth no more. — Leonard Bacon. ODE. ]\JEW ENGLAND ! receive the heart's trib- -^-^ ute that comes From thine own Pilgrim sons far away. More fondly than ever our thoughts turn to thee, Upon this thine old festival day. We would rescue with social observance and song, 152 /Songs of the Pilgrims. Awhile from oblivion's grave, The loved scenes of our youth, and those bless- ings recall Which our country and forefathers gave. Can distance efface, or can time ever dim Remembrances crowding like these? They have grown with our growth, and have ministered strength, As the roots send up life to the trees. Then be honored the day when the Mayflower came, And honored the charge that she bore, The stern, the religious, the glorious men, Whom she set on our rough native shore. New England, advance in thine onward career, With thine inborn, all-conquering will : Still triumph o'er nature's unkindiiest form By thine energy, patience, and skill. Thou shalt grow to thy height as thou ever hast grown, O'er the storms of ephemeral strife, And thy spirit, undying, shall cease not to be The dee}) germ of a continent's life. — Samuel Gilman. Burial Hill. 153 BURIAL HILL. 1 rpHEY in storms of dark December, -*- Scions of a martyr stock, Praised the Lord for all his mercies, Kneeling there upon the rock. Praised him while the blast was roaring, While the surges smote the strand ; Praised him while their hearts were yearning With their love for fatherland. In the wilds of death they wrestled, Seeking what by faith they saw ; " Little matter what the} 7 died on — Beds of down, or locks of straw." Little recked they pain or peril, Ocean wave or scaffold block, They who bore the name of Pilgrim, They who built upon the rock. For afar they caught a vision — Morning merging into noon ; Snow-wreaths melting into blossoms, Dark December changed to June. John Milton Holmes. 1 From a longer poem. 1865. 154 JSonys of the Pilgrims. THE PILGRIM'S VISION. 1 FN the hour of twilight shadows, "■- The Puritan looked out ; He thought of the ' ' bloody savages " That lurked all round about, Of Wituwamut's pictured knife, And Pecksvot's whooping shout ; For the baby's flesh was tender, Though his father's arms were stout. His home was a freezing cabin, Too bare for the hungry rat ; Its roof was thatched with ragged grass, And bald enough of that. The hole that served for casement AVas glazed with an ancient hat ; And the ice was gently thawing From the log whereon he sat. Along the dreary landscape, His eyes went to and fro ; The trees all clad in icicles, The streams that did not flow. 1 For the Plymouth celebration, 22 December, 1846. The Pilgrim's Vision. 155 A sudden thought flashed o'er him — A dream of long ago — He smote his leathern jerkin, And murmured, " Even so ! " " Come hither, God-be-glorified, And sit upon my knee ; Behold the dream unfolding, Whereof I spake to thee By the winter's hearth, in Leyden, And on the stormy sea ; True is the dream's beginning, So may its ending be ! ' ' I saw in the naked forest, Our scattered remnant cast ; A screen of shivering branches Between them and the blast ; The snow was falling round them, The dying fell as fast ; I looked to see them perish, When, lo ! the vision passed. "Again mine eyes were opened, The feeble had waxed strong ; The babes had grown to sturdy men, The remnant was a throng. 156 Songs of the Pilgrims. By shadowed lake and winding stream, And all the shores along, The howling demons quaked to hear The Christian's godly son° - . "They slept, the village fathers, By river, lake, and shore ; When, far adown the steep of time, The vision rose once more. I saw, along the winter snow, A spectral column pour ; And, high above their broken ranks, A tattered Has; thev bore. " Their leader rode before them, Of bearing calm and high ; The light of heaven's own kindling Throned in his awful eye. These were a nation's champions, Her dread appeal to try ; God for the right ! I faltered, And lo ! the train passed by. "Once more, the strife was ended, The solemn issue tried ; The Lord of hosts, his mighty arm Had helped our Israel's side. The Pilgrim's Vision. 157 Gray stone and grassy hillock Told where the martyrs died ; And peace was in the borders Of Victory's chosen bride. "A crash, as when some swollen cloud Cracks o'er the tangled trees ! With side to side, and spar to spar, Whose smoking- decks are these ? I know St. George's blood-red cross, Thou Mistress of the seas, But who is she whose streaming bars Roll out before the breeze ? "Ah, well her iron ribs are knit, Whose thunders try to quell The bellowing throats, the blazing lips That pealed the Armada's knell ! The mist was cleared, a wreath of stars Rose o'er the crimsoned swell, And wavering from its haughty peak, The cross of England fell ! " Oh, trembling Faith ! though dark the morn, A heavenly torch is thine ; While feebler races melt away And paler orbs decline, 158 Soiu/s of the Pilgrims. Shall still the fier}^ pillar's ray Along thy pathway shine, To light the chosen tribe that sought This Western Palestine. "I see the living tide roll on, It crowns with flaming towers The icy cape of Labrador, The Spaniard's ' land of flowers.' It streams beyond the splintered ridge That parts the Northern shores, From Eastern rock to sunset wave The continent is ours ! " He ceased, the grim old Puritan, Then softly bent to cheer The Pilgrim child whose wasting face Was meekly turned to hear ; And drew his toil-worn sleeve across, To brush the manly tear From cheeks that never changed in woe, And never blanched in fear. The weary Pilgrim slumbers, His resting-place unknown ; His hands were crossed, his lids were closed, The dust was o'er him strewn. The Pilgrim's Vision. 159 The drifting soil, the moldering leaf, Along the sod were blown, His mound has melted into earth, His memory lives alone. So let it live unfading, The memory of the dead, Long as the pale anemone Springs where their tears were shed, Or raining in the summer's wind, In flakes of burning red, The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves The turf where once they bled ! Yea, when the frowning bulwarks That guard this holy strand Have sunk beneath the trampling surge In beds of sparkling sand, While in the waste of ocean One hoary rock shall stand, Be this its latest legend : Here was the Pilgrim's land. — Oliver Wendell Holmes. 160 Songs of the Pilgrims. A HYMN FOR 22d DECEMBER. Tuue : Lyons. ROCK in the wilderness welcomed our sires, From bondage far over the dark rolling sea ; On that holy altar they kindled the fires, Jehovah, which glow in our bosoms for thee ! Thy blessings descended in sunshine aud shower, Or rose from the soil that was sown by thy hand ; The mountain and valley rejoiced in thy power, And heaven encircled and smiled on the land. The Pilgrims of old an example have given Of mild resignation, devotion, and love, Which beams like the star in the blue vault of heaven, A beacon-light hung in the mansions above. In church and cathedral we kneel in our prayer, Their temple and chapel were valley aud hill ; But God is the same in the aisle or the air, And he is the Rock that we lean upon still. — Author Un Jen o urn . Burial Hill. 161 BURIAL HILL. 1 A H ! then all tenderly we thought, -£-*- We thought with pride and wonder, How — Freedom's price divinely taught — They stood unflinching yonder ; Though wintry chillness reigned around, And wintry winds were howling, Though only savage man was found, And savage beasts were prowling. Anew we felt their hopes and fears, When want and sickness wasted ; As through the lingering weary years, Of sorrow's cup they tasted. Grand souls ! that with heroic will The waves of trouble breasted ; Not e'en did women falter, till Beneath that turf they rested. For God, for truth, for man, they bore Loss, exile, grief, and danger ; As Christ, the Lord they loved, of yore Accepted earth's low manger. 1 A portion of a longer poem. 1865. 162 Songs of the Pilgrims. And there above their sacred dust Whose names shall never perish, We vowed their faith, a holy trust For all mankind, to cherish. O God, who heard'st our prayer and song 'Neath heaven's high dome ascending, Bid us in thine own might be strong, For that pure faith contending. Oh, wake, ye sons of Pilgrim sires ! Go, live in power and beauty The life sublime their faith inspires ; Its watchword — God and duty ! — May Palmer. THE MAYFLOWER. QAD Mayflower ! watched by winter stars ^ And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, . And leaves of frozen sails ! The Mayflower. 163 What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wildwood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May ? Yet " God be praised ! " the Pilgrim said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry. and dead, " Behold our Mayflower here ! " " God wills it, here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o'er, For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more." O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, Unchanged, vour leaves unfold Like love behind the manly strength Of the brave hearts of old. So live the fathers in their sons, Their sturdy faith be ours, And ours the love that overruns Its rocky strength with flowers. 164 Songs of the Pilgrims. The Pilgrims' wild and wintry day Its shadow round us draws ; The Mayflower of his stormy bay, Our Freedom's strus^fflinff cause. But warmer suns erelong shall bring To life the frozen sod ; And, through dead leaves of hope, shall spring Afresh the flowers of God ! — John G. Wliittier. FAST DAY SPORT. (A.D. 1648.) OHAME, shame upon ye, godless lads, ^ To take your matchlocks down, And to the forest hie for game, When all the folk in town Were gathered in the meeting-house, In Sabbath garb arrayed, To fast aud pray this solemn day, As Governor Winthrop bade ! Fast Day Sport. 165 Ye think, perchance, I failed to mark Some empty places there ; Nay, nay, I do my duty, lads, Though ye may mock and stare. I ween, despite your many smirks, When all is said and done. Ye '11 think the hare ye dangle there Was hardly worth the fun/ I 've copied fair your names, young sirs, Trespass, — one shilling nine, — And governor's orandsons though ve be, I wot ye '11 pay the fine ; It should be doubled for the sin Of such example set : I 'm sorely sad a Boston lad So strangely could forget. Ye did not ? ha ! the bold offence Was a deliberate one? Ye meant to scout the Fast day, when Ye went with dos; and o-un ? Out on such worldly lawlessness ! Ye well deserve to be Left in the lurch with king and church In Suffolk bv the sea ! 166 /Songs of the Pilgrims. It ought to make the crimson shame Your braggart faces flood, When ye remember that your veins Are warm with Winthrop blood ! Now had ye been Sir Harry's chicks, To do and dare with such Pert looks as send my hair on end, I had not cared so much. But Governor Winthrop's grandsons ! heigh ! How godless folk will prate ! He can not make his household keep The Fast day of the state ! Nay, do I hear aright? ye say He gave ye leave to go To-day and track (alack! alack!) The rabbits through the snow? Ye look so roguish, scarce I think Ye mean the word ye spake ; But since ye 've dared with bold affront The righteous law to break, Though even the governor's self forgot His bounden duty, mine Is clear ; ye '11 pay this very day Each farthing of your fine. — Margaret J. Preston. The Puritan Maiden's May-day. 167 THE PURITAN MAIDEN'S MAY-DAY. (A.D. 1686.) A H, well-a-day ! the grandains say -*— *- That they had merry times AYhen thev were young, and gavlv rung The May-day morning chimes. Before the dark was gone, the lark Had left her grassy nest. And, soaring high, set all the sky Athrob from East to West ! The hawthorn bloom with rich perfume Was whitening English lanes, The dewy air was every-where Alive with May-day strains ; And laughing girls with tangled curls, And eyes that gleamed and glanced, And ruddy boys with mirth and noise Around the May-pole danced. Ah me ! the sight of such delight, The joy. the whirl, the din, Such merriment, such glad content — How could it be a sin ? 168 Songs of the Pilgrims. When children crowned the May-pole round With daisies from the sod, What was it, pray, but their child's way Of giving thanks to God ? The wild bee sups from buttercups The honey at the brim ; May I not take their buds and make A posy up for him ? If, as I pass knee-deep through grass This May-day cool and bright, And see away on Boston Bay The lines of shimmering light, I gather there great bunches fair Of mayflower as I roam, And with them round my forehead crowned, Go ladened with them home ; And then, if Bess and I should dress A May-pole with our wreath, And just for play, this holiday, Should dare to dance beneath, My father's brow would frown enow : " Child ! why hast thou a mind For popish days and Romish ways, And lusts we 've left behind? " Forefathers 1 Day. 160 Our grandam says that her May-days, AVith mirth and song and flowers. And lilt of rhymes and village chimes, Were happier far than ours. If. as I ween, upon the green She danced with merry din. Yet lived to be the saint I see. How can I count it sin ? — Margaret J. Preston. FOREFATHERS' DAY. 1 n^HE wandering sun. ranging through south- -^ ern skies, lias touched his wintry solstice. O'er the north Fall the chill shadows, and the sickly days. Tale-faced and wan. are quickly lost in night. From the cold heavens, through lonelv midnight hours, The glittering stars look down on fields of ice. On plains and mountains wrapped in robes of snow. 1 Read at Boston Congregational Club Festival. December, 170 Songs of the Pilgrims. Along the headlands of our rock-bound coast Tne wild waves roll, and the hoarse murmurs break, Telling the lonely dwellers by the sea Of far-off winds and storms and tossing barks. Now is the midnight of our northern year. Nature has laid aside her flowery robes, And clothed herself in soberest attire. All sights and sounds, in earth and air and heaven, Recall those stern historic days of old When our brave Pilgrim sires, battling with waves, Struggling with icy winds and adverse fate, Made their rude entry on these western shores. Now, in our well-filled homes, by genial fires, We read the tale, — tell o'er the honored names, Those grand and simple names that can not die, And proudly trace our ancient lineage. We read the critics too, those sharp-eye 1 men, Who search all precious ointments through and through, Not for the ointment's sake, to prove its worth, But, if so be, to find out and report Some smallest fly that may have lodged therein. Forefathers' Day. 171 Our Pilgrim critics are an ancient brood, Hovering about the rock from age to age, With nods portentous and with croaking voice. 'T is well to read these critics, well to know Their inmost thought, and follow where they lead. Guided by them and walking in their light, Let us now re-construct our Pilgrim sires, And show" what men our fathers should have been. The Pilgrim Father should have been a man Who had no private prejudice to smother, Built on a large, expansive, liberal plan, To whom one thing were good as any other ; Who, had he lived, back when the race began, Would not have minded when Cain killed his brother ; A man so very round and full and pious As to be free from every shade of bias. He should have patronized with equal zeal Every adventurous and random rover ; Have freely shared his dear-bought common weal With everv renegade that might come over : 172 Songs of the Pilgrims. Ready to grant each wanderer's appeal, Whether he came from Holland, Dublin, Dover ; A man who held it strict impartiality Not to distinguish virtue from rascality. Once here, our Pilgrim's first and foremost thought Ought to have been to please his Indian neigh- bor ; What though the cunning, lazy savage sought To gain his living without care or labor ; Still, our good Pilgrim ought not to have brought To this new world his musket and his saber ; It surely was not generous and good To frighten these poor children of the wood. They were the dwellers on this western soil Centuries before the Mayflower went a-cruis- ing; If they preferred to live exempt from toil, Who had the right to hinder them from choos- ing? Or, if they forced their wives to slave and moil, Beating or killing any one refusing, The Pilgrim Father was a stranger here, What arrogance in him to interfere ! Forefathers' Day. 173 He should have landed on this western shore With less of Bible, and with more of science ; Bible is good, but had he pondered o'er What science taught, and made that his reli- ance, He could have reared, from his exhaustless store, An empire grand, to bid the world defiance ; Great pity that with chances so prodigious He should have been a trifle too religious. Given, just scientific lore enough Simply to analyze that famous bowlder Called Plymouth Rock, where " breaking waves dashed " — rough — That rock which thrills with awe each new beholder ; Given, the mica, quartz, and other stuff Employed and used by the primeval molder To forge, by aid of underground caloric, That marvelous rock now grown to be historic ; Given, the power to tell, like modern sages, Somewhere within five hundred thousand years How old that bowlder is, and what the stages By which it journeyed to these Plymouth piers, 174 Songs of the Pilgrims. To trace its starting-point in by-gone ages, And show how easy every thing appears, — Items like these are solid information, Well fitted to build up a mighty nation. But we go prating on about this rock, Its mental, moral, and religious uses ; We treat it like some huge aesthetic block, Whose very name to boundless good conduces : We feel a kind of sentimental shock When any scoffer offers his abuses : From sixteen hundred twenty to this day, The rock has served in this peculiar way. Here endeth the first lesson. Turn the page And we may find all freshly spread before us The counter-charges of a later age, Which may, by contrast, comfort and restore us; Critics in war with critics will engage Long as the centuries go rolling o'er us : o Co If we could tarry till their strife were ended, Our Pilgrim sires would surely be defended. These counter-charges which we have in hand Seem, in their contrasts, just a little fuuny. The Pilgrims, now, are not a pious band ; They came, it seems, intent on making money. Forefathers'' Day. 175 They fancied that this rough New England land Might prove to them a land of milk and honey ; And so they ventured o'er a stormy ocean To pay at Mammon's shrine their pure devotion. They were a wandering clan that could not rest Or live contented in their own condition ; And when they left their ancient English nest, They only showed their restless disposition ; Ready to journey east or journey west Upon their money-making expedition, They tried old Holland, and, ignobly failing, Away to Plymouth Rock they went a-sailing. But know ye well, O critics, ye spend your strength for nought ; All harmless fall the weapons your cunning hands have wrought ; The men ye seek to injure have reached a height sublime, Whereon they sit secure against the accidents of time : The rolling years have tried them, the centuries have passed, And clothed them with a glory that shall forever last. 176 Songs of the Pilgrims. The wandering birds that fly afar are wise to know their hour ; Seeking the fields of upper air and thwarting human power, They voyage on unguided by compass or by chart Along these clear and azure heights, safe from the hunter's dart ; A law thev know not moves them straight to their distant nest, Unerringh T they journey and find their promised rest. So the old patriarchs journeyed, moved by the call of God, Earth's wanderers, unknowing the pathway which the} 7 trod : And so the Pilgrims journeyed, leaving their native land, Going they knew not whither by some divine command ; With faith and loving patience they trod their weary way, And so their names stand glorified before our eyes to-day. The Pilgrims. 177 The best and purest wisdom is wisdom of the heart Untouched by human cunning, unstained by earthly art ; He that by craft will save his life shall lose it at the end ; He that will lose his life shall find an everlasting . friend : God has his chosen children, his favorites on the earth, Raised out of toil and sorrow by an immortal birth. — Increase N. Tarbox. THE PILGRIMS. /"ANCE a handful, brave and daring ^-^ As young eagles from their nest, Sought for human right and freedom Over ocean's foaming crest. Giving friendship, love, and kindred. All the sacred worth of tears, Giving God their faith as treasure, Stored for all the coming years. 178 Songs of the Pilgrims. God and Freedom," was the watchword Of that noble Pilgrim band, And God led them to that freedom By his own almighty hand. Rocked by cold winds, lashed by billows, Plunging where the white waves seethe, He who rules the tempest guides them, His strong arm is underneath. O'er that ship an angel hovered As the stormy voyage ran ; Caught the tears of suffering woman, Heard the sighs of suffering man. Round that ship a glory lingers, Sailing on from year to year ; Round its masts bright rainbows circle, Caught from every sacred tear. Not the Rock alone is holy, AVhere their chrismal prayer was made, For the hand of God, in blessing, Over all the land was laid. Though the Pilgrim Fathers slumber, Still their spirits are not dead ; Far beyond the inland rivers Now their children's children tread. Memory of our Fathers. 179 Now agnation calls them blessed, For the freedom which they bought, And the world has been made better For their lesson, nobly taught. Hope, O Christian, through all trials ; Through life's tempests on the way ; Hearts will bless you on the morrow, For your triumphs yesterday. Like the sword of Standish, bearing Only God's grand message, " Peace," Spreading love among the nations Until wars and tumults cease. — Sylvia Broivn. MEMORY OF OUR FATHERS. TN pleasant lands have fallen the lines -*~ That bound our goodly heritage, And safe beneath our sheltering vines Our youth is blest, and soothed our age. What thanks, O God, to thee are due, That thou didst plant our fathers here ; And watch and guard them as they grew, A vineyard to the Planter dear. 180 Songs of the Pilgrims. The toils they bore our ease have wrought ; They sowed in tears — in joy we reap ; The birthright they so dearly bought We '11 guard, till we with them shall Bleep. Thy kindness to our fathers shown In weal and woe through all the past, Their grateful sons, O God, shall own, While here their name and race shall last. — Flint. THE MAYFLOWER ON NEW ENG- LAND'S COAST. rpiIK Mayflower on New England's coast has -*- furled her tattered sail, And through her chafed and moaning shrouds December's breezes wail ; Yet on their icy deck behold a meek but daunt- less band, Who, for the right to worship God, have left their native land ; And to this dreary wilderness this glorious boon they bring — A church without a bishop, and a state ivithout a king ! The Mayflower on New England's Coast. 181 Those daring men, those gentle wives, say, wherefore do they come ? Why rend they all the tender ties of kindred and of home? 'T is heaven assigns their noble work, man's spirit to unbind : They come not for themselves alone, they come for all mankind ; And to the empire of the West this glorious boon thev brinsj — A church without a bishop , and a state without a king ! Then prince and prelate, hope no more to bend them to your sway ; Devotion's lire inflames their breasts while free- dom points their way ; And in their brave heart's estimate, 't were bet- ter not to be Than quail beneath a despot where the soul can not be free ; And therefore o'er a wintry wave those exiles come to bring ^1 church ivithout a bishop, and a state without a king ! 182 Songs of the Pilgrims. And still their spirit, in their sons, with freedom walks abroad ; The Bible is our only creed, our only sovereign, God! The hand is raised, the word is spoke, the joyful pledge is given, And boldly on our banner floats, in the free air of heaven, That motto of our sainted sires, and loud we '11 make it ring : A church without a bishop, and a state tuithout a king ! — Charles Hall. MEMORIAL HYMN. 1 T7URM as the rock beneath their feet, ~*~ The saintly Pilgrims stood ; On thee, O God, their trust was stayed, Thy voice their steadfast souls obeyed, And thou didst answer when they prayed Beside the wintry flood ; Didst give them strength in faith sublime To work the noblest work of time ! 1 Written for, and sung at, the memorial celebration in Bos- ton, 21 December, 1870. Memorial Hymn. 183 To-day by centuries we count The slowly measured years ; And lo ! wide o'er a smiling land Fair homes and sacred temples stand ; Where frowned rude wastes and forests grand, A peopled realm appears ; O'er hills and plains, from sea to sea, Sweep thronging millions of the free ! Tears for the days of deadly strife ; Tears for the young and brave, Who, fired by freedom's battle-cry, Flung broad her banner to the sky, Content on gory fields to lie, That they her home might save ; That chains from everv hand might fall, And love's wide arms encircle all ! As thou didst hear, O faithful God, The prayer our fathers said, So hear us while, like them, to thee We for our children bend the knee ; Let them to distant ages be As if the Pilgrims, dead, In them did wake and live again ; Their shields the shields of mighty men ! 184 Songs of the Pilgrims. O Christ ! be thine the Pilgrims' land ! Reign thou from shore to shore ; Here let thy Church, beneath thy sway, Grow fairer till her bridal day, AVlien thou shalt come in glad array — Her Lord — as mountains o'er, In splendor robed, the morning sun Ascends his flaming course to run ! Praise God ! praise him who changeth not ! Our fathers' God and ours ; To thee our thankful praise we bring, Ancient of days ! Our glorious king ! Let earth and heaven together sing With all their raptured powers, Till listening stars shall catch the strain, And shout the chorus back again ! — May Palmer FOREFATHERS' DAY. 1 A LMIGHTY God ! to thee we raise -^— *- Our hymn of thankfulness and praise, Within the hollow of whose hand The Pilgrim sought his promised land ! 1 For the celebration of 1SS2. Forefathers 1 Day. 185 Not the. rich pastures of the vine, Flowing with honey, milk, and wine, But bleak shores sought by storm and sea, Their rude, sole welcome — Thou art free! With corn he wooed the sullen soil, But more with learning, home, and toil ; Till now no vineyard of the sun Blooms like the wilderness he won. Inspired by faith, in purpose great, He steadfast set his Church and State, Made them to stand 'gainst flood and shock, For both he built upon the rock. One taught — to God and conscience true — More light to seek the right to do ; The other broadened to the span Of man's equality with man. Children of fathers such as he, Be ours the true nobility ! Lords of the realm, they served its growth ; To serve be still the freeman's oath. ■ — John D. Long. 186 /Songs of the Pilgrims. HYMN FOR 21 DECEMBER, 1870. /~1 REAT God of all ! in bumble, grateful ^-^ prayer We come before thee now on bended knee, And thank thee that thou didst our fathers spare From the wild dangers of a wintry sea. We thank thee that, when dangers greater far Encompassed them, that brave hearts might appall, Thou didst support them, and didst let the star Of hope shine on their hearts and strengthen all. And we, their children, on this joyous day, No longer peril-driven or tempest-tossed, Approach thy throne in thankfulness, and pray Our fathers' bright examples be not lost. May we, like them, have strength and courage given, Bear bravely up e'en though we feel the rod ; Know that a life wed spent leads on to heaven, And duties' paths are but the paths to God. — Nathaniel Spooner. Hymn. 187 HYMN. 1 npO Thee, O God ! whose guiding hand -*~ Our fathers led across the sea, And brought them to this barren shore, Where they might freely worship thee ; To thee, O God ! whose arm sustained Their footsteps in this desert land, Where sickness lurked and death assailed, And foes beset on every hand ; To thee, O God ! we lift our eyes ; To thee our grateful voices raise, And, kneeling at thy gracious throne, Devoutly join in hymns of praise. Our fathers' God ! incline thine ear, And listen to our heartfelt prayer ; Surround us with thy heavenly grace, And guard us with thy constant care. Our fathers' God ! in thee we '11 trust ; Sheltered by thee from every harm, We 'U follow where thy hand shall guide, And lean on thv sustaining arm. — William T. Davis. 1 Sung at Plymouth at the 250th anniversary, 21 December, 1S70. 188 Songs of the Pilgrims. DEDICATION OF HITCHCOCK LIBRARY. (December 21, 1874.) m i. f~^\ OD of our Pilgrim sires, to thee *-* All might and majesty belong ; Before thy face we bow the knee, And lift aloud our grateful song. By thy strong arm the Pilgrim band Were kept in all their stormy way Until they trod this goodly land And gave to us this happy day. We bring our gift before thy throne, This labor which our hands have wrought, And consecrate to thee alone This treasure-house of sacred thought. Choicer than gold though thrice refined, Or all the gems that ocean rolls, Are these fair riches of the mind, This garnered wealth of holy souls. God of our sires, still let that grace, That strength, which made the fathers bold Descend upon the Pilgrim race, As coming years shall be unrolled. Dedication of Hitchcock Library. 189 ii. We sing our gladsome hymn of praise, And bless our fathers' God, TThile we recount the former days, And trace the pathway trod. How many hearts this hope has filled, The living and the dead ! How many hands have wrought to build This temple where we tread ! But one our warmest praise demands, His gift we here recall, By whom this finished structure stands, Whose name adorns our hall. He gave, and passed from earth away To his unseen employ E'er he could see this crowning day, Or share our festive joy. But here, embalmed, his gift shall last, His substance shall endure ; And as the rolling years go past, His heritage is sure. — Increase N. Tarbox. 190 Songs of the Pilgrims. THE BOYS' REDOUBT. (October, 1775.) |~N continental buff-ancl-blue, -^ AYith lappets richly lacecl, Beneath the shade the elm-trees made, A martial figure paced. Along the sluggish Charles's banks He bent at length his way, Just as the gun, at set of sun, Went booming o'er the bay. His soul was racked with doubt and strife, Despondence gloomed his eye ; He needs must bear his weight of care Out to the open sky. The breeze that flapped his soldier's cloak, The woods so broad and dim, The tides whose sway no bonds could stay, All seemed so free to him ! Yet the young nation that had wrung, Beyond the angry seas, From savage grace a refuge-place To pray as they might please, The Boys' Redoubt. 191 Must it be hounded from its haunts? Be fettered at the stake ? Be forced again to wear the chain It risked its all to break ? His step grew heavier with the thought, His lips less firm were set ; It could not be that such as he Must yield ! and yet — and yet — How could they even hope to win A sino-le fio-ht in lack Of every thing, while England's king- Had Europe at his back ? Thus musing sad beside the Charles, He saw the Cambridge boys, An eager band, pile up the sand With roar of riot noise. " Ha ! lads, what do you here? " he said, Arrested by their shout. tb What do we here? why, give us cheer ; We 're building a redoubt ! " Who knows how soon Lord Howe may come, And all his lion cubs, With growls and snarls, straight up the Charles, In his old British tubs ? 192 Songs of the Pilgrims. " And creeping from them in the dark, As quiet as a mouse, Now what if they should snatch away, Right out of Vassal House l - Our new-made chief, before a man Has leave to fire a gun? That ends it ! for there '11 be no war Without a Washington ! '* Our fathers' hands are filled with work ; Besides, they 're grieving still For Warren and the gallant band That fell at Bunker Hill. " So we will help them as we can ; You wear the buff-and-blue ; Yet we aver that we 're ready, sir. To fight as well as you. " May be you 're on the general's staff ; Then say we Cambridge boys Will yell and shout from our redoubt With such a savage noise *"' That all the vessels in the bay Will hear the wild uproar And swear again that Prescott's men Are lining all the shore ! " Forefathers' Day. 193 " Brave lads ! " the soldier said, and raised The cap that hid his brow ; " Some day, some day, I '11 surely pay The debt I owe you now ! " Your high, heroic, mettled hearts, Your faith that wavers not, To me are more than cannon's store, Or tons of shell and shot. u What people ever fails to gain The patriot's dearest prize, When ' die or win - is blazing in The very children's eyes? ' - No need to bear the general word Of tasks so rich in cheer ; He makes his due salute to you — You see the General here ! " — Margaret J. Preston. FOREFATHERS' DAY. /^~\N this low rock beside the bay, With lonely woods and waters round, The steps once heard at break of da} T Fill every village with their sound. 194 Songs of the Pilgrims. Again we tell how great the deed Of those who here their journey stayed, And, building cabins for their need, Foundations of an empire laid. We see again, to these wild shores, Their vessel sail the path of light, And hail the morning's golden floors Above the winter and the night. In God their dwelling-place they made ; They toiled supremely him to please ; So, ever in their toil they prayed, And built this nation on their knees. — Albert Bryant. THE SPIRIT OF FOREFATHERS' DAY. FAITH ROBINSON. r ~PHEY called her Faith, this winsome babv -L girl, With soft blue eyes and cheek of rose and pearl, Born in old Holland, where the Pilgrims stayed Until the Mayflower frail her anchor weighed For the strange country far across the sea, Where faith in God taught them their home should be. The Spirit of Forefathers'' Day. 195 u Faith is a comfort, both in word and deed, A gift from heaven ; " in this they all agreed. " Whether on sea or land, she has the grace Of golden sunshine in a gloomy place." The years flew by, and Faith grew brave and tall, A comfort still was this sweet maid to all. Whate'er perplexed them she was wont to say : " The Bible tells us in such times to pray." One year no rain fell. All the fields were dry. k< The corn and grass and sheep will surely die, And when the winter comes, ah, sorry day ! " " Why, grandsire dear, the people all must pray. " I '11 call them now, from house to house I '11 go ; They '11 come, I'm sure, if we but let them know At four o'clock, on Deacon Fuller's hill, We '11 pray for rain enough to turn the mill ; For some there are now almost out of bread." These were the words the little maiden said. The people came ; the sky was hot and clear, No breath of rain nor sign of cloud was near ; They climbed the hill with faces worn and sad : Faith followed singing like a birdling glad. To her granddame and mother straight she came. 196 Sonys of the Pilgrims. U I went," said she, ''to fetch these for the rain," — She 'd brought a cloak, and blankets two had she, — "These are for you, the cloak will cover me." " Faith is a comfort ! " all the women said. " Such faith!" the elder sighed and bowed his head. The people lingered long upon their knees With prayers and sobs. A shiver stirred the trees, The air grew cool, the sun was clouded in. " The want of faith in us is deadly sin," The deacon said. " Let us not err again ! " Then patter, patter came the welcome rain. That was the spirit of Forefathers' Day. " Give it to us," let all the children pray ; " Lord, give us faith and keep us pure and strong, Help us to serve the right, to right the wrong. Oh, make us worthy of those Pilgrim sires Who prayed for us about their first camp-fires, While wintry skies bent o'er them cold and gray." In faith they prayed — that made Forefathers' Day. — Annie A. Preston. Oar Father^. 197 OUR FATHERS. "TTTE own that guiding hand. * ^ Which, in the years of old, Led to this chosen land Our fathers, firm and bold, Brought them across the stormy sea, To build this empire of the free. They came with faith in God. They came with faith in man ; On this fresh virgin sod To try their untried plan ; To give this realm of freedom birth And shed new light around the earth. Soon as our godly sires These new-found shores had trod, They lit their altar-fires And claimed the land for God ; They filled the forest shades with light, And turned to day the savage night. — Increase A x . Tarbox. 198 Songs of the Pilgrims. FOREFATHERS' DAY, 1883. THE EVERLASTING REMEMBRANCE. "TTTHY die ye not? Ye men of God, * ' Ye women saintly, who beside Husband and brother fearless trod Where Plymouth Rock the sea defied ! Where'er I turn my eyes, behold Change ruleth all things ; dull decay Treads on the heels of life ; and cold In the still tomb forever laid, The best and loveliest of to-day. The noblest in God's image made, To-morrow straight have passed away ! Where Art has reared her massive towers Storied with names renowned of yore, Crumbled by Time's slow-wasting powers, Lie heaps of moss-grown ruins hoar ; And Thebes and Athens all too well The tale of perished grandeurs tell. Warriors of might and monarchs proud, Before whom trembling nations bowed, Whose dust grand mausoleums keep, In dark oblivion silent sleep, Yet live ye on ; your praises found On reverent lips the w r orld around. Forefathers' Day, 1883. 199 So, as in thoughtful mood I stood "Where Burial Hill o'erlooks the tide, Came visions of the great and good "Who bravely lived and nobly died ; Who, dauntless, to this lonely strand God's holy ark of freedom bore ; Self-exiled from that motherland Whose shores their eyes should greet no more, Firm as the rock on which they trod, In faith sublime and purpose high, For unborn ages and for God, They dared to suffer and to die. Beneath thy turf, O sacred hill, Their canopy the changeful sky, They sleep while years their circuits fill, And the slow centuries go by ; Nor mind they wintry tempests more, Nor heed the angry ocean's roar ; But ever o'er that peaceful sleep Their faithful watch the angels keep. Illustrious band ! whose future then In God's deep counsels hidden lay, Ye faltered not, but followed, when Through deepest darkness led the way i 200 Songs of the Pilgrims. A way of anguish though it seemed, Yet, heaven inspired, ye hoped ; and dreamed That on, beyond that dismal gloom, Should rise at last a joyous morn, When the waste wilderness should bloom, And children's children, freemen born, Should throng in countless millions o"'er The vast expanse from shore to shore ; When, for the savage yell and knife, Should come just laws and cultured life ; And cities rise with spire and dome, The marts of commerce and the home Of men whom loftiest thoughts inspire, Born of religion's heavenly fire ; Where none would quench the sacred flame Of freedom, none consent to bear, On mind or hand enchained, the shame Which only the debased can wear. Oh ! if from these calm skies to-day, The mighty voice of God should say : , " Ye sleepers, wake ! To life arise, Ye great in soul ! Ye nobly good ! Stand up as when of old ye stood, And with clear vision lift your eves ! " Forefathers' Day, 1S83. 201 As ye again to life should start, The same in mind, in thought, in heart, As when, o'erborne with ills, ye gave Your wasted bodies to the grave ; Ah ! on those eyes at once awake From death's long sleep, what wonders break !" Behold what then ye dreamed ! Ye wept Willi sickness, care and sorrow worn, With hopes and fears alternate torn. As near yon Rock your watch ye kept. To-day, as here ye stand, once more Before you the same surf-beat shore, A:>ove you the same heavens and sun Which saw your glorious work begun ; Ye look, — O bliss without alloy, — Ye weep again, but now for joy ! The griefs that in your Pilgrim years Wrung from the bravest many a sigh ; That wet uplifted eyes with tears, When none could help save God on high, Seem troubled visions of the night That vanished with the morning light. Beyond your dreams, your hopes, your thought, Lo ! what God's faithful love hath wrought ! 202 Songs of the Pilgrims. Before your raptured eyes ye see A refuge for the world's opprest ; A i)o!)le empire strong and free, Where the poor exile finds his rest ; Land of all lands most richly blest ! Ye can not die ! Around your names The splendor of true glory flames ; That glory, matchless and sublime, Not bought with blood, not stained with crime, O'er the wide world its radiance throws, And, all undimmcd by change or time, On through the ages brighter glows ! As from fresh beds of flowers at morn Perfumes are breathed that fill the air ; That on the genial breezes borne, Bear grateful sweetness every-where, So from this soil ye wet with tears, Where wrestled faith through lingering years, Forces divine have silent sprung, Whose influence, like sweet odors flumz; O'er distant realms, hath kindly wrought, Hath quickened life and hope and thought, Made glad humanity, and broke Cold tyranny's dread, hateful yoke, Forefathers' Day. 203 With truths by God's own wisdom taught. Goodness and truth, with God allied, As his eternal throne abide ! The glory won by guilt shall fade ; Its proud memorials turn to dust ; But fresh, immortal, undecayed, Shall live the glory of the just ! — Hay Palmer. o FOREFATHERS' DAY. PORTUGUESE HYMN. H, strong is our God in the might of his sway, He speaks, and the seas and the tempests obey ; He guides the frail bark on its perilous path, And holds back the surges that break in their wrath. Oh, strong is our God, for he casteth down kings, But broods o'er the humble with sheltering wings ; He shames and dishonors the pride of the throne, But lifts up the lowly and makes them his own. 204 Songs of the Pilgrims. Oh, strong is our God, for this realm of the west He guarded and kept for a refuge and rest, lie gave to our fathers these fountains and rills, The wealth of the valleys and strength of the hills. Oh, strong is our God, and what song shall unfold The wonders he wrought for our fathers of old ? Through sorrow and gladness, in sunshine and storm, Their faith still beheld his invisible form. Oh, strong is our God, and the nations are strong That bow in his temples with worship and song ; The fear of the Lord is the strength of the state, And blest are the men at his altars who wait. — Increase N. Tarbox. THE PILGRIM FOREFATHERS. '^VTEATH hoary moss on crumbling stones -^ Their names are fading day by day ; The fashions of their lives and speech From sight and sound have passed away. The Pilgrim Forefathers. 205 The shores they found so bleak, so bare, Shine now with riches gay and proud ; And we, light-hearted, dance on ground Where they in anguish wept and bowed. Unto the faith they bought so dear, We pay each day less reverent heed ; And boast, perhaps, that we. outgrow The narrowness which marked their creed. A shallow boast of thankless hearts, In evil generation born ; By side of those old Pilgrim men The ages shall hold us in scorn. Find me the men on earth who care Enough for faith or creed to-da} T , To seek a barren wilderness For simple liberty to pray ; Men who for simple sake of^ God All titles, riches, would refuse, And in their stead, disgrace and shame And bitter poverty would choose. We find them not. Alas ! the age, In all its light, hath blinder grown ; In all its plenty, starves because It seeks to live by bread alone. 206 Songs of the Pilgrims. We owe them all we have of good : Our sunny skies, our fertile fields ; Our freedom, which to all oppressed A continent of refuse yields. And what we have of ill, of shame, Our broken word, our greed for gold, Our reckless schemes and treacheries, In which men's souls are bought and sold, — All these have come because we left The paths that these forefathers trod ; The simple, single-hearted ways In which they feared and worshiped God. Despise their name and creed who will ! Pity their poverty who dare ! Their lives knew joys, their lives wore crowns We do not know, we can not wear. And if so be that it is saved, Our poor republic, stained and bruised, 'Ticill be because we lay again Their corner-stones which ice refused. — H. H. December 21st, 1620-1870. 207 DECEMBER 21st, 1620-1870= ~V7"E children of New England, -*- Wherever ye may be, Whether ye keep the ancient homes Down by the ancient sea ; Treading the rocky pathways Your fathers trod before, Hearing the wild Atlantic break Along her stormy shore ; Or if afar ye wander O'er the prairies of the west, Or down the wide Pacific slopes, Your weary footsteps rest : Come, listen to my story, The grand ancestral lay, Which, as the world grows older, Grows newer every day ; Which touches men with pity, And touches men with pride, In the memory of those noble souls, For God who lived and died. 208 Songs of the Pilgrims. This is no play of fancy To catch a listless ear ; No strange and shadowy legend For idle minds to hear ; No tale of love and sorrow To rob the eye of sleep, O'er which pale sickly maidens May weep and read and weep. 'T is a tale of faith and patience, And a tale of cruel wrong, When the good to earth were trampled By the haughty and the strong ; The brave, heroic Pilgrims Could find no place of rest Save o'er the stormy ocean, In the forests of the west. Behold these storm-tost Pilgrims On a rough and barren shore ; With the sounding sea behind them, And the wilderness before ; Hungry and cold they house them In their dwellings rude and low, While the night winds howl around them With their drifting clouds of snow. December 21st. 1620-1870. 209 In these nights of care aud watching, Long nights noblest with sleep. What strange, fantastic terrors Over the spirits creep ! Out from these unknown forests Come stealing on the ear. Weird and mysterious voices, That chill the soul with fear. Oh, the terrors of that winter, "When men sickened day by day. And one by one, as weeks rolled on. They dropped and passed away ! There was no harsh and murmuring voice, Xo sad. complaining cry. But silently they heard the call And laid them down to die. Meekly as to the slaughter The patient lamb is led. Meekly before the shearers As the sheep bows down her head, So bowed these humble Pilgrims Before the chastening rod. And opened not their moutli to doubt The goodness of their God. 210 Songs of the Pilgrims. Strong men and gentle women, The maiden in her bloom, The little child, the gray-haired sire, Slept in their hill-side tomb ; They were buried there in darkness, And the living smoothed their bed, That the fierce savage might not tell The number of the dead. And when the genial sun came back, And these dark months were o'er, When through the budding forests The soft winds blew once more, Half of their number could not feel Its sweet reviving breath, — They slept upon the burial hill The icy sleep of death. But these days of fiery trial, Of scorn and hate, are o'er, And now these grand old Pilgrim sires Shall live to die no more ; Men kindle at their virtues, They tell with swelling pride The story of those men of old, For God who lived and died. Elder Faunce at Plymouth Rock. 211 And as the years roll onward, Through the ages yet to be, As wider grows and wider This empire of the free, Grander shall grow the story Of those men, true and tried, Those noble and heroic souls, For God who lived and died. — Increase N. Tarbox. ELDER FAUNCE AT PLYMOUTH ROCK. A N old, old man ! ■* * His hair is white as snow, His feeble footsteps slow, And the light of his eyes grown dim. An old, old man ! Yet they bow with reverence low, With respect they wait on him. They gather at his side, And in his way they throng : Greet him with love and pride The aged and the young. 212 Songs of the Pilgrims. And the children leave their play As he passes on his way, And afar off they follow This old, old man. He has gone down to the rock, He is lying by the shore ; He hath silent sate him down ; And the young man, whose strong arm Hath shielded him from harm, Will not disturb the dream That his spirit hovers o'er ; And the gathered throng beside him Group him on the shore. Long he sits in silence, The old, old man ; While the waves with silvery reach Go curling up the beach, Or dash against the rocks in spray — The huge rocks bedded deep At the base of the proud steep, Where the green ridge of Manomet Grandly rises far away. All the air is still, And every distant hill Its summit veils in soft, misty blue ; Elder Faunce at Plymouth Rock. 213 Across the wide-spread bay, Five-and-twenty miles away, The white cliffs of Cape Cod hang in air, As some mysterious hand, Or enchanter's lifted wand, Had suspended them, and charmed them there ; And o'er all the waters wide, And the hills in summer pride, And the islands in the bay that rise, And over Saquish Head And the Gurnet's breakers dread, The mild, soft sunlight like a blessing lies. The old man's eyes grow bright With the light of by-gone days ; His voice is strong and clear, His form no more is bowed, He stands erect and proud, And, dashing from his eye the indignant tear, He turns him to the crowd that wait expectant near, And reverent on him gaze ; For they know that he has walked In all the Pilgrim ways. 214 Songs of the Pilgrims. " Mark it well ! " he cries, "Mark it well! This rock on which we stand : For here the honored feet Of our fathers' exiled band Pressed the land ; And not the wide, wide world, Not either hemisphere, Has a spot in its domain To freedom half so dear ! " — Caroline Frances Orne. FIRST LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS. "^AYS pass, winds veer, and favoring skies -^ Change like the face of fortune ; storms arise ; Safely, but not within her port desired, The good ship lies. Where the long sandy cape Bends and embraces round, As with a lover's arm, the sheltered sea, A haven she hath found From adverse sales and boisterous billows free. First Landing of the Pilgrims. 215 Now strike your sails, Ye toil- worn mariners, and take your rest Long as the fierce north-west In that wild fit prevails, Tossing the waves uptorn with frantic sway. Keep ye within the bay, Contented to delay Your course till the elemental madness cease, And heaven and ocean are again at peace. How gladly there, Sick of the uncomfortable ocean, The impatient passengers approach the shore ; Escaping from the sense of endless motion, To feel firm earth beneath their feet once more, To breathe again the air With taint of bilge and cordage undefiled, And drink of living springs, if there they may, And with fresh fruits and wholesome food repair Their spirits, weary of the watery way. And oh ! How beautiful The things on earth appear To eyes that far and near For many a week have seen Only the circle of the restless sea ! 216 Songs of the Pilgrims. With what a fresh delight They gaze again on fields and forests green, Hovel, or whatsoe'er May bear the trace of man's industrious hand ! How grateful to their sight The shore of shelving sand, As the light boat moves joyfully to land ! "Woods they behold, and huts, and piles of wood, And many a trace of toil, But not green fields or pastures. 'Twas a land Of pines and sand ; Dark pines that from the loose and sparkling soil Rose in their strength aspiring : far and wide They sent their searching roots on every side, And thus, by depth and long extension, found Firm hold and grasp within that treacherous ground : So had they risen and flourished, till the earth, Unstable as its neighboring ocean there, Like an unnatural mother, heaped around Their trunks its wavy furrows white and high, And stifled thus the living things it bore. Half -buried thus they stand, Their summits sere and dry, First Landing of the Pilgrims, 217 Marking like monuments the funeral mound; As when the masts of some tall vessel show Where, on the fatal shoals, the wreck lies whelmed below. — Robert Southey. r r i fs n ^ ^ v w) %k Jf«j )5' 1-7 i< 2>£ /** % f^r *SI flip Jatf*T»Nliw RHHH wwl 1 Mm WtWmffl HUB Bfl illHHi ■ ii'&i i ■'"''■ ■■■■■■ , Eggl I H GHHUi WWMm- eJHI ^H If & mJ ■■ H Bin HH mgHHL ■■■■■ HKE& mm mm HH