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BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Old-Fashioned Garden and Other rerses 
 
 (out of print) 
 
 The Brandywine 
 
 Illustrated by Robert Shaw $o-5o 
 
 Swarthmore Idylls 
 
 Illustrated by Robert Shaw i^o-So 
 
 In a Brandywine Harvest Field. $0-25 
 
 In Memory of Whittier 
 
 Illustrated %^-S'^ 
 
 Brandywine Days, or The Shepherd' s Hour-Glass 
 
 Illustrated $i'5o 
 
 In preparation : 
 
 Collected Poems 
 
 Any of the above sent postpaid on receipt of price 
 
 THE BIDDLE PRESS 
 ^ I o I o Cherry Street 
 
 Philadelphia 
 
OLD QUAKER 
 MEETING-HOUSES 
 
■^ 
 
OLD QUAKER 
 MEETING-HOUSES 
 
 BY 
 
 John Russell Hayes 
 
 Second Edition, Revised and Enlarged 
 With 166 Illustrations 
 
 •/ love Quaker ways and Quaker worship''' 
 
 — Charles Lamb 
 
 THE BIDDLE PRESS 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 1911 
 

 Copyright 1909 
 By John Russell Hayes 
 
TO 
 
 Joseph S. Walton 
 
 Kindest of friends 
 Truest of Friends 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Old Quaker Meeting-Houses 7 
 
 Old Concord Meeting 47 
 
 Old Kennett Meeting-House 51 
 
 "A Haunt of Ancient Peace" 55 
 
 Old Memories, — New Consecration 59 
 
 Ercildoun Meeting 63 
 
 At London Grove Quarterly Meeting 65 
 
 At Plymouth Meeting 67 
 
 In Swarthmore Meeting 70 
 
 West Chester Meeting-Housc 72 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Abington, Pa. 
 
 Alloways Creek, Han- 
 cocks Bridge, N. J. 
 
 Amesbury. Mass. 
 
 Bart, Pa. 
 
 Bear Gap, Pa. 
 
 Benjamlnville, 111. 
 
 Birmingham, Pa. 
 
 Blue River. 
 
 Bordentown, N. J. 
 
 Bristol, Pa. 
 
 Buckingham, Pa. 
 
 Burlington, N. J. 
 
 Byberry, Pa. 
 
 Cain, 
 
 Camden, N. J. 
 
 Cape May, N. J. 
 
 Catawissa, Pa. 
 
 Chester, Pa. 
 
 Chesterfield, 
 
 Chappaqua, N. Y. 
 
 Center, Christiana 
 Hundred, Del. 
 
 Clinton Corners, N. 
 Y. 
 
 Coldstream, Ontario. 
 
 Chichester, Pa. 
 
 Clear Creek, 111. 
 
 Concordville, Pa. 
 
 Cornwall, N. Y. 
 
 Conanicut, 
 
 Concord, near Cole- 
 rain, Ohio. 
 
 Darby. Pa. 
 
 Darlington, Md. 
 
 Crosswicks, N. J. 
 
 Doe Run or Derry, 
 Pa. 
 
 Doylestown, Pa. 
 
 Drumore, Pa. 
 
 East Branch, N. J. 
 
 East Nottingham, 
 
 Easton, Md. 
 
 Easton, N. J. 
 
 Ellicott City. Md. 
 
 Ercildoun, Pa. 
 
 Eversham, N. J. 
 
 Fair Hill, Phila. 
 
 Falls, Pa. 
 
 Fallowfleld, Pa. 
 
 Flushing, L. I. 
 
 Farmington, Pa. 
 
 Frankford, Phila., 
 Pa. 
 
 Germantown, Pa. 
 
 Girard Avenue, 
 Phila. 
 
 Goshen, Pa. 
 
 Grange, Ireland. 
 
 Granville. N. Y. 
 
 Green Street, Phila. 
 
 Gwvnedd, Pa. 
 
 Haddonfleld, N. J. 
 
 Haverford, Pa. 
 
 Highland, 
 Homeville, Pa. 
 Hopewell, Va. 
 Hockessln, Del. 
 Horsham, Pa. 
 Jericho, N. Y. 
 Jordans, England. 
 Kennett Square, Pa. 
 Lambertville. N. J. 
 Langhorne, Pa. 
 Lansdowne, Pa. 
 Lincoln, Va. 
 London, Grove, Pa. 
 Little Creek, 
 
 near Dover, Del. 
 Lower Greenwich, 
 
 N. J. 
 Maiden Creek, Pa. 
 Makefield, Pa. 
 Malvern, Pa. 
 Manhasset, L. I. 
 Mansfield, N. J. 
 Maple Grove, Ind. 
 Marietta, Iowa. 
 Marlborough, Pa. 
 Matinecock, L. I. 
 Medford, N. J. 
 Merion, Pa. 
 Middletown, Pa. 
 Mill Creek. Del. 
 Millville, Pa. 
 Milton, Ind. 
 Moorestown. N. J. 
 Mount, N. J. 
 Mount Holly. N. J. 
 Mount Pleasant, 
 
 Ohio. 
 Nantucket, Mass. 
 Neck. Md. 
 New Garden, Pa. 
 Newtown, Pa. 
 Newtown Square, 
 
 Pa. 
 Nine Partners, 
 Norristown, Pa. 
 Northwest Fork, 
 
 Md. 
 .Odessa, Del. 
 Old Concord. Pa. 
 Old Kennett, Pa. 
 Old Radnor, Ithan, 
 
 Pa. 
 Old Springfield, 
 
 Id Spr 
 
 N. J. 
 
 Old Westbury, L. I. 
 Orange Grove. 
 
 Pasadena, Cal. 
 Oswego, N. Y. 
 Parkersville, Pa. 
 Pawling, N. Y. 
 Pendleton, Ind. 
 Penn Hill, Pa. 
 Pennsburg, Pa. 
 Pennsgrove, Pa. 
 
 Pilesgrove, N. J 
 Pine Grove, Md. 
 Plainfleld. N. J. 
 Plumstead, Pa, 
 Plymouth. Pa. 
 Preston Patricks, 
 
 England. 
 Providence, Pa. 
 Purchase, N. Y. 
 Quaker Street, 
 
 N. Y. 
 Quakertown, Pa. 
 Race Street, Phila. 
 Rancocas, N. J. 
 Randolph, Dover. 
 
 N. J. 
 Reading, Pa. 
 Richland, Pa. 
 Roaring Creek, Pa. 
 Romansville, Pa. 
 Sadsbury, Pa. 
 Salem, N. J. 
 Sandy Spring, Md. 
 Schuylkill, Pa. 
 Scipio, N. Y. 
 Short Creek, 
 
 Emerson, Ohio. 
 Shrewsbury, 
 Solebury, Pa. 
 Squan, N. J. 
 Stroudsburg. Pa. 
 Stanton, Del. 
 Swarthmore, Pa. 
 Near Swedesboro, 
 
 N. J. 
 Trenton, N. J. 
 Unlonville, Pa. 
 Upper Dublin, Pa. 
 Upper Greenwich, 
 
 N. J. 
 Upper Springfield, 
 
 N. J. 
 Uwchlan, Lionville, 
 
 Pa. 
 Vincenttown, N. J. 
 Warminster, Pa. 
 Waterford, Va. 
 Waynesville, Ohio. 
 West Chester, Pa. 
 West Grove, Ohio. 
 West Liberty, Iowa. 
 West Meeting House, 
 
 Alliance, Ohio. 
 West Nottingham, 
 Westfield, near 
 
 Camden, Ohio. 
 West Philadelphia, 
 
 Phila. 
 Wilmington, Del. 
 Woodbury, N. J. 
 Woodstown, N. J. 
 Woolwich, N. J. 
 Yardleyvllle, Pa. 
 Wrightstown, Pa. 
 
/SEE them gray among their ancient acres. 
 Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled, — 
 Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, 
 Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled, — 
 Serene among their memory-hallowed acres. 
 
 Madison Cawein 
 
OLD QUAKER MEETING-HOUSES 
 I 
 
 XLOVE old Meeting-houses, — how my heart 
 Goes out to those dear silent homes of prayer 
 With all their quietude and rustic charm, 
 Their loved associations from old days, 
 Their tranquil and pathetic solitude, 
 Their hallowed memories! O I could roam 
 Forever in old Quaker neighborhoods 
 And muse beneath the oaks and sycamores 
 That shade those quiet roofs, the evergreens 
 That guard the lowly graves, — and meditate 
 Upon the kindly hearts that softly sleep 
 Beneath the violets and wandering vines 
 And mossy turf, the kindly hearts and true 
 That in old years gone by were wont to come 
 To First-day and to Mid-week Meeting here 
 To worship and to pray and find new strength 
 For daily duties. Many a tranquil face 
 I see in fancy as I ponder here, — 
 The blessed mothers with their eyes of love 
 And tenderest sympathy, the fathers kind 
 And serious and generous-souled to all. 
 And hosts of rosy boys and budding girls — 
 The youthful scions of old Quaker stock. 
 
 [7] 
 
The great old trees around the Meeting-house, 
 Hoar patriarchs of eld, chant low to me 
 Their centuried recollections of the sires 
 Who tilled the far-spread farms that lie around. 
 And matrons who have made, in years long gone. 
 These grey farm-houses centers of true peace 
 And friendly cheer, in days when son to son 
 Succeeded, and the ancient well-loved farms 
 Became ancestral lands round which were twined 
 What love, what veneration, what deep faith! 
 
 O mighty oaks and noble sycamores, 
 
 With trunk moss-silvered and with lichened limb, 
 
 Breathe soft to me the storied memories 
 
 And treasured records of the long rich years 
 
 That blessed the Meeting-house at London Grove 
 
 Gazing across the fertile townships there, — 
 
 A grand old house of grand old memories. 
 
 Tell me of Salem near the river shore 
 
 Far in south Jersey, with its giant oak, 
 
 Type of its people's age-long strength and charm; 
 
 Of Lincoln in Virginia's tranquil dales; 
 
 Of Centre and of genial Rising Sun ; 
 
 Of that old Meeting-house at Wilmington, 
 
 A peaceful island 'mid the city's noise; 
 
 Of little ancient solitary Cain 
 
 Dreaming upon its solitary hill; 
 
 Of Kakiat and Schuylkill, — old Dutch names; 
 
 Of Purchase 'neath its mighty sycamores. 
 
 Where ^old-time Quaker kindliness prevails; 
 
 [8] 
 
Wyoming and Odessa, quaint old shrines; 
 
 Poughkeepsie, steadfast, friendly and antique; 
 
 Of Newtown's cheerful, sunny Meeting-house; 
 
 Tell me of Ercildoun so friendly-kind; 
 
 Of dear Penn Hill, precious in memory; 
 
 Of Concord high among the peaceful farms, 
 
 "The mother fond whom many hearts revere, 
 
 Since from her fold they went to bless the world 
 
 With kindled lights of Peace and hallowed Love"; 
 
 Of Warminster among the maple shades; 
 
 Of Gwynedd in the old Welsh settlement, 
 
 Heart of a region where old faith still lives. 
 
 And old tradition and old friendliness; 
 
 Of Warrington among the ancient woods. 
 
 Where Friends from Ireland worshipped in old days; 
 
 And Langhorne in its friendly neighborhood. 
 
 O mighty oaks and lordly sycamores. 
 
 Ye venerable warders, tell to me 
 
 What happiness, what sorrows cluster round 
 
 Solebury's Meeting "sacrosanct with love," 
 
 Where late we laid one noble soul to rest 
 
 After a rich full life of blessedness; 
 
 "The Light's great peace upon each fervent face," — 
 
 Yea, such the Light he knew and followed well! 
 
 Tell me, great trees that shade the quiet roofs 
 And guard the lowly graves among the grass. 
 Tell me of all the simple country faith 
 And grace and kindliness that long have blest 
 The old-time Quaker colonies afar — 
 In fertile Indiana's sunny glades, 
 
 [9] 
 
In Loudoun's meadows warm and dreamy-fair, 
 
 In old Long Island and in Canada, 
 
 And every region where our Faith endures. 
 
 Love links us all across the sundering leagues. 
 
 Love makes us brothers in our cherished creed 
 
 In many an ancient Quaker neighborhood, 
 
 In many a well-loved kindly Meeting-house 
 
 Far up and down the land, where'er we come 
 
 And gather in the peaceful First-day morns. 
 
 Waiting in quietude upon the Lord, 
 
 Waiting and praying, — "Children of the Light." 
 
 [10] 
 
II 
 
FAIR First-day mornings, steeped in summer calm 
 Warm, tender, restful, sweet with woodland balm. 
 Came to him, like some mother-hallowed psalm. 
 
 There, through the gathered stillness multiplied 
 And made intense by sympathy, outside 
 The sparrows sang, and the gold-robin cried, 
 
 A-swing upon his elm. A faint perfume 
 Breathed through the open windows of the room 
 From locust-trees heavy with clustered bloom. 
 
 Whittier 
 
II 
 
 I LOVE old Meeting-houses ; — O what charm, 
 What tender benediction and what peace 
 Dwell in the very sunlight streaming down 
 Across their quiet aisles! An ancient calm 
 And phantom fragrance fill the sun-lit air 
 That shimmers from the softly-humming stove 
 In winter days and gives a dreamy grace 
 And radiance to the far-off snowy hills 
 And old homesteads and sleepy villages 
 And lonely woods seen through the little panes. 
 And in the golden summer First-day morns 
 How sweet the drowsy air that softly flows 
 Through open windows from the harvest fields 
 And garden walks, scenting the quiet house 
 With fragrance faint of honeysuckle vines 
 And pungent clover-tops and spicy pinks ! 
 
 The winter sunlight and the flower-sweet air 
 
 Of golden summer sabbaths add a grace, 
 
 An unsuspected solemn spiritual charm, 
 
 To all the blessed meditations there 
 
 And tranquil thoughts; they are the visible form. 
 
 Harmonious with inward righteousness. 
 
 That heighten, strengthen, make it fair to all. 
 
 O can there be perfection of the soul 
 
 [13] 
 
If God's sweet sunshine smiling down from heaven, 
 Or birds and flowers beneath the tranquil blue, 
 Meet no response? I cannot think it so. 
 How poor of spirit he whose heart warms not 
 O'er the calm beauty and benignity 
 That musical silence and sweet country peace 
 And balmy odors lend to those still hours 
 In old-time Meeting-houses! 
 
 Well I know 
 What dignity breathes from the lofty space 
 And amplitude of hospitality 
 In these old-fashioned simple Quaker shrines ! 
 Most friendly seems the long, high, sturdy roof. 
 Most friendly the all-welcoming old walls, 
 Seen through the sheltering trees across the hills. 
 As driving cheerily the families come 
 To this sequestered sanctuary dear. 
 Forgetful of the week's routine and trials. 
 To find fresh consolation and fresh peace. 
 — I love those spacious and all-welcoming walls 
 Built for whole countrysides to gather there; 
 They seem the very soul and warm dear heart 
 Of all the Quaker region, — every hearth 
 And chimney-nook and cosy family room 
 In all the old farm-houses round about 
 Find here their essence and their sum of warmth 
 And human consecration kind and true, — 
 So strongly knit is the old Meeting-house 
 With every neighborly and friendly tie. 
 
 [14] 
 
So seems the Meeting sober and benign 
 
 Of calm Old Kennett by the country road, 
 
 Ancient and storied, — from the days of Penn 
 
 To ours, a home of deepest Quaker peace. 
 
 So seems the Meeting at dear Nottingham, 
 
 In Calvert's province founded long ago. 
 
 Child of New Garden in Penn's ancient shire, 
 
 So peaceful, kindly, and so well-beloved; 
 
 Such, Christiana, and New York's calm house, 
 
 Peaceful alike 'mid streets or rural fields; 
 
 Such, old, old Flushing, simple, venerable. 
 
 Sad with great memories of the bygone years; 
 
 Such, ivied Abington's serene old house, — 
 
 How spacious and all-welcoming its walls. 
 
 How steeped in antique calm the air that flows 
 
 Around that ample, cheery Quaker shrine ! 
 
 What sweet remembrance wreathes round every name, 
 
 What reverence, what tenderness, what love! 
 
 And like to these and equally endeared 
 
 The Meetings with melodious Indian names. 
 
 Or titles drawn from forms of stream and field. 
 
 Orchard and lawn and hill and shadowy wood: — 
 
 Old Octoraro's simple woodland fane, 
 
 Manhassett, Saratoga, Manasquan 
 
 Where good Job Scott attended meeting once. 
 
 That Friend so "deep in heavenly mysteries;" 
 
 Oswego, quaint Hockessin's little shrine. 
 
 Lone Catawissa's olden log-built house, 
 
 Rancocas with its walls of antique brick, 
 
 Miami, Chappaqua, Greenfield, Short Creek, 
 
 [15] 
 
Mansfield and Little Falls and Waterford, 
 Peach Pond with all its quaint simplicity, 
 And Little Creek so ancient and serene; 
 Mount Holly by our sainted Woolman's home, 
 Coldstream, Westfield, and Plumstead quaint and old; 
 Fairhill, in whose green shade was laid to rest 
 Lucretia Mott; Whitewater, Haverford, 
 Old Springfield, Valley, Ridge, and Mullica Hill, 
 Pleasant Fawne Grove, and White Plains well-beloved, 
 Quaint Amawalk, Doe Run, and Dunning's Creek, 
 Green Plain where gather many gentle Friends, 
 Forest and Roaring Creek and Orchard Park, 
 Antique Mill Creek, Eastland, and Hancock's Bridge, 
 Deer Creek, West Grove the olden, dear Woodlawn, 
 Bear Gap, Pipe Creek, and Richland far away. 
 Friendly Pennsgrove and dearly-loved Broad Creek, 
 And Brooklyn, stronghold of most kindly Friends. 
 
 — Forever could I roam, forever muse 
 Around these olden haunts, forever dream 
 Upon the dear hearts sleeping silently 
 Below the violets and the tangled grass. 
 Where weep the rains and sob the murmuring leaves 
 And chant the wistful birds at vesper hour. 
 
 [16] 
 
Ill 
 
A SIMPLE country meeting-house, 
 ^1. Roofed in with mossy stone. 
 Built in the days of Fox and Penn, 
 All grey and lichen-grown. 
 
 And round about, the old Friends sleep. 
 
 Grave women, earnest men. 
 Who kept the faith 'mid hate and scorn 
 
 In the brave days of Penn. 
 
 If love and faith and dauntless truth 
 
 Can shed an influence round. 
 Then these are consecrated walls. 
 
 And this is holy ground/ 
 
 Fanny Peirson 
 
Ill 
 
 I LOVE old Meeting-houses: — where on earth 
 Is more of gracious charm and piety 
 And saintly goodness seen than gathers here 
 In quiet First-day meetings? Many a child, 
 I know, is stirred to life-long righteousness 
 By sight and memory of the dignity 
 And peaceful spiritual beauty in the forms 
 And faces of the venerable sires 
 And placid grand-dames in the gallery seats. 
 Wrapt round with tranquil sweet solemnity 
 And peace and gentleness, they represent 
 The Quaker faith made visible to all, 
 
 *One such there was whose memory is most dear: — 
 
 Friendly of soul was she, and all who came 
 
 Within the sunlight of her kindliness 
 
 Were richer for her friendship and her love. 
 
 We say the saints have gone from earth long since ; 
 
 But she, I think, was saintly, — if to be 
 
 Devoted to high truth, to hear from heaven 
 
 The Voice ineffable, and tell its words 
 
 With pleading power and fervent eloquence 
 
 To us who listened to her ministry. 
 
 To live a blameless life, and shed around 
 
 ♦Lydia Heald Price 
 
 [19] 
 
Sweet peace and friendliness and gracious cheer, — 
 If this be saintliness, the gift was hers. 
 God sends such souls among us now and then 
 To show that heaven is not remote and strange, 
 But here about us on this beauteous earth; 
 And never can discouragement or gloom 
 Becloud our vision while companioned here 
 With friends like her, whose simple kindliness 
 And cheering love seem touched with grace divine. 
 
 And many a kindly reverend good old man 
 
 Of equal saintship have I known, now gone 
 
 Unto his heavenly home. One such there was* 
 
 Whose blameless tranquil years reached nigh five-score 
 
 Before they laid him in the quiet earth 
 
 Among the hills above the Brandywine, 
 
 At little, lonely, well-loved Romansville. 
 
 He was a farmer of the olden school, 
 
 A man of friendly heart and wholesome cheer, 
 
 Sturdy and steadfast through all trials; and now 
 
 In his old age a noble veteran. 
 
 He sat among the elders much revered, 
 
 A true old-fashioned Friend ; all ages loved 
 
 His converse, for his venerable head 
 
 Belied his youthful heart, — he was as fresh 
 
 In sympathy as any boy, and drew 
 
 Young folk and children round him by the charm 
 
 Of cheerfulness unfailing, and his kind 
 
 Warm interest in all their joys and griefs. 
 
 •A composite memory of John Worth and Jacob Hayes 
 
 [20] 
 
— O when they laid him in the quiet earth, 
 
 I thought, in childish fashion, that no more 
 
 Of kindness lived, now this good man was gone! 
 
 Among the ancient graves at Solebury 
 
 We lately laid, — upon a wintry day 
 
 Of weeping clouds and sadly moaning winds 
 
 And sighing trees, — the earthly form of one* 
 
 Beloved beyond the usual lot of men. 
 
 So venerable and benign, so kindly he. 
 
 So cheerful-hearted and so young of soul, — 
 
 He seemed a Quaker of the olden time. 
 
 Gentle and steadfast, honorable and true, 
 
 Grounded in virtue and integrity. 
 
 And guided ever by an inner light; 
 
 Yet no stern and unbending puritan; — 
 
 We knew him genial, friendly, meekly wise. 
 
 Childlike in his simplicity, naive 
 
 And quaintly humorous, — such a man, I think. 
 
 As Horace might have loved, so well he blent 
 
 Sound lore and home-bred sense, contentment sweet 
 
 And fine humanity. Yea, he had learned 
 
 These Quaker virtues at his mother's knee; 
 
 And through the long course of his fruitful life 
 
 Her maxims he remembered; and in him 
 
 Were human power and grace of soul so fused 
 
 That long his happy memory shall endure 
 
 Engraven in our hearts who loved him well, — 
 
 The good old man, so venerable and benign, 
 
 So cheerful-hearted and so young of soul. 
 
 ♦Edward Hicks Magill 
 
 [21] 
 
And like to these dear well-remembered Friends, 
 
 I think of many another: — Mary Hicks, 
 
 A woman of great heart and sympathies 
 
 And cheerful sweetness, meeting every cross 
 
 With Christian fortitude, a friend indeed 
 
 To all the poor and suffering ones around her,— 
 
 A fountain she of helpfulness and love. 
 
 — From childhood recollection still I see 
 That tenderest and kindliest of men. 
 Whose comforting, benign and winning grace, 
 His gentle ministry and mild appeal. 
 His voicing of his visions and his hopes, 
 Must live indelibly in many hearts, — 
 Darlington Hoopes; — he truly seemed to me 
 An old-time Quaker of the purest type. 
 
 — And I recall a man of sunny faith 
 And charity unbounded, — Cyrus Linton, 
 Who left the memory of an honest life 
 Of cheery, friendly ways and warm affection, 
 With all who knew him; his the helping hand 
 Toward higher manhood; his the love of home 
 And all that "home" implies, — a noble Friend 
 In every noble trait — And Hannah Plummer, 
 From her young days of gentle motherhood 
 Unto her ripe old age a source of strength 
 And wisest counsel; — who can e'er forget 
 Her liberal spirit? Comfort flowed from her 
 With living force, and many a hopeful life 
 Has been enriched by her uplifting power. 
 
 [22] 
 
Her loving sympathy and friendship firm. 
 
 — And like a sister unto her in spirit 
 Seemed Emily Longstreth, that strong, generous soul, 
 Whose hand was ever lent to further good, 
 To lift the lowly and to aid the sick; 
 Her "gentle life with gentlest closing" told, 
 More forcefully than words, her nobleness. 
 
 How high a trait is calm sincerity! 
 
 A man of simple heart and steadfast faith 
 
 Seems like a tower of strength, no matter what 
 
 His state, or rich or poor; — such men have lived 
 
 In every Quaker region. One of such 
 
 Was Hiram Blackburn, — honest, faithful, true, 
 
 WTiose long, long years were passed among the scenes 
 
 Of childhood's home, and close to his loved Meeting 
 
 And lifelong friends. — And such was William Webb, 
 
 Most gentle and affectionate of heart. 
 
 Of humor quaint, and genial comradeship; 
 
 His kindliness I never can forget, — 
 
 A true, good Friend, a man of noble soul. 
 
 — Sincerity was notable indeed 
 Among the traits that marked the character 
 Of Lydia Hall ; sincerity was hers. 
 And simple peace of heart and homely wisdom. 
 With youth she had a perfect sympathy. 
 And patiently and lovingly she wrought 
 In their behalf through all her length of days. 
 
 [23] 
 
— ^Who may compute the influence for good 
 
 Of such a life, who reckon up the sum 
 
 Of all the kindness and benignity, 
 
 The meek and unobtrusive helpfulness. 
 
 The calm rich peace, the charm, the gentle grace! 
 
 The Friends that I have here portrayed are types 
 Of such as every Meeting-house has known; 
 Their names are written on the lowly slabs 
 Beneath the solemn cypresses and firs, 
 Wept o'er by sobbing rains and rose-leaves strewn 
 In grieving autumn eves by wandering winds, 
 In every Quaker grave-yard, and their fame 
 Lives in the loving records of the heart 
 Immortally. O wondrous power of goodness 
 Surpassing every other human gift, — 
 Goodness that bringeth heaven down to earth 
 And linketh mortal man with angels here! 
 
 [24] 
 
IV 
 
5PIRIT of Wordsworth, with me still 
 Upon the plain, upon the hill, 
 I find my purpose wholly bent 
 To be to-day thine instrument. 
 
 Philip Henry Savage 
 
IV 
 
 I LOVE old Meeting-houses; — how remote 
 From all the world's loud tumult do they seem!- 
 Islands of blissful peace to lull tired souls 
 Tossed on the seas of daily circumstance 
 And seeking friendly haven after storm ; 
 Sequestered bowers sweet with holy balm, 
 To shelter and to shield. No words may tell 
 The pathos of their centuried peacefulness. 
 Tranquil and holy; — here have women wept 
 Above their loved-ones, strong men here were bowed 
 By piteous grief, in those grey ruthless hours 
 When in the silent earth they laid to rest 
 Their precious dear ones, — while the old house gloomed 
 In silent sympathy, and all its trees, 
 Its drooping roses and its ancient shrubs 
 And clinging ivies sighed in unison 
 A requiem for vanished loveliness, 
 Or worth and noble charm too early gone, 
 Or goodly veterans called to their long home. 
 The memories are sacred that enshrine 
 Those sweet-sad, tragic, grey and mournful hours; 
 But with each mellowing year that mellows grief 
 And reconciles us to the Father's will, 
 The dear old Meeting-house grows more endeared 
 And gathers sentiment unto itself, 
 Deep sentiment and reverence and love, 
 
 [27] 
 
*One Meeting-house I love to call to mind, 
 
 Endeared by long ancestral ties, where late 
 
 We came, descendants of the sires of old, 
 
 To celebrate in autumn's pensive hours 
 
 The hundredth year of that old Meeting-house. 
 
 In many a loving heart that golden day 
 
 Has now^ become a blessed memory 
 
 Of dying woodlands flaming mile on mile. 
 
 Of great cloud-fleets above the sleeping hills, 
 
 And old-time peacefulness and love and charm. 
 
 And through it all, one strong calm voice rings clear. 
 
 His voice who seemed that centuried day, when all 
 
 Our thoughts were of the Past, to sound once more 
 
 The clarion call of sturdy Fox or Penn, 
 
 Or Woolman's pleading pathos grave and sweet, — 
 
 With homely simile and pithy phrase 
 
 Stirring our youth to enter once again 
 
 The lists where long ago our fathers strove 
 
 For truth and faith and freedom of the soul. 
 
 In truth he seemed of that pure brotherhood 
 
 Of old-time Quakers, — our Idealist, 
 
 Our Optimist, — I love to call him so, — 
 
 Blending the vigor of the elder day 
 
 With some fine grace caught from our own rich age. 
 
 And fusing all with warm poetic glow 
 
 As of some memory Wordsworthian. 
 
 It could not other be, since once he roamed 
 
 ♦Penn Hill, Lancaster County, Penna. 
 
 [28] 
 
On Wordsworth's hills and mused the seer's high song 
 
 Amid Westmoreland's sacred solitudes. 
 
 — Such memories of that centuried day are mine, 
 
 That golden day of peacefulness and love, 
 
 Of dying woodlands flaming mile on mile, 
 
 And great cloud-fleets above the sleeping hills. 
 
 [29] 
 
AND here, in this dim raftered house of prayer, 
 JTm. Where the bee drones against the sunny pane. 
 And scent of old-time flowers lies on the air. 
 And each worn bench recalls the Past again. 
 Now throng the shadowy figures through the gloom. 
 In shimmering gray, with gentle footfall go 
 To take familiar station in the room. 
 The sweet-voiced speakers in accustomed place. 
 The quiet forms, expectant, ranged below. 
 The Light's great peace upon each fervent face. 
 
 Ely John Smith 
 
XLOVE old Meeting-houses ; — 'tis a joy 
 To look across the wistful memoried years 
 And summon back the faces kind and calm 
 Of old-time Friends, who gathered 'neath these roofs 
 In bygone days, who loved these ancient seats 
 Of fragrant wood, and loved the sheltering trees 
 And tender violets among the grass 
 As still we love. They long have gone from earth, 
 Dear, venerable, cheery old-time Friends, — 
 The peace of God upon each kindly face, — 
 But in the heart their recollection lives, 
 Their tender loving-kindness still survives, 
 To sweeten and console; their voices speak 
 Immortally across the vanished years. 
 Immortally in sacred memory; 
 And, hallowed by death's consecrating touch. 
 Their messages bring solace to the soul 
 More deep, I must believe, than living words. 
 
 O friends, I would that we might cherish well 
 
 Their sure and simple faith, their maxims quaint, 
 
 Their piety, their saintly innocence, 
 
 Their creed untroubled by the doubts that vex 
 
 Our restless age, the questionings that rob 
 
 Our hearts of their just dues of peace and joy. 
 
 We call them "old-time Friends," and such they were, 
 
 [31] 
 
It is the noblest title we can give, 
 For in the mellow retrospect of years 
 They seem to move in monumental peace, 
 And, like old portraits, keep a lasting charm, 
 A type unchanging, since mortality 
 Has been put off, and but the soul remains, 
 Shining through kindly eyes and wistful smiles 
 In old daguerreotypes cherished so well. 
 
 With tender memoried faces such as these 
 We people the old benches where to-day 
 We sit with living friends, and musingly 
 Find in the well-loved faces round us here 
 Echoes and hints and dim resemblances 
 Inherited from those of yore, that make 
 The line continuous, the tides from soul 
 To soul unbroken in their mystic flow. 
 — O Power ineffable, thus to maintain 
 The spirit's kinship through the dateless years. 
 Preserving the imperishable type. 
 And linking with us in our mortal years 
 The sainted and the loved of long ago! 
 
 [32] 
 
VI 
 
OLD homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever 
 Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter; 
 Like love they touch me, through the years that sever, 
 With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after 
 The dreamy patience that is theirs forever. 
 
 Madison Cawein 
 
VI 
 
 XLOVE old Meeting-houses ; — simple shrines 
 That hold the history of our noble faith, 
 Strong arks that down the rivers of old time 
 Have borne the symbols of our precious Past. 
 Ah me, their very names are wondrous dear! — 
 Kindly ancestral English names beloved, 
 All redolent of English honesty 
 And charm and worth, — brought hither by our sires 
 To keep them minded of their English homes 
 Among the moorlands or by tranquil streams, 
 Their "leighs" and "tons," their "moors" and "byes" and 
 
 "fields," 
 "Boroughs" and "villes," and "chesters," "streets" and 
 
 "fords." 
 Mute history lies enshrined in every name, — 
 Yardley and Yarmouth, Bristol, Burlington, 
 Oxford and Middletown and Little Britain, 
 Chichester, Woodstown, pleasant Farmington, 
 Old Quaker Street and kindly Mickleton, 
 Warm-hearted Millville, lonely Marlborough, 
 Old Chester, hard by Penn's first landing-place 
 In this new world; Medford and Lambertville, 
 Fairfax and Preston, Greenwich, Haddonfield, 
 And drowsy Stanton 'mid the drowsy fields. 
 Old Horsham dreaming in the hickories' shade, 
 
 [35] 
 
Easton where Fox the Founder long ago 
 
 Preached to a "heavenly meeting" gathered there, 
 
 Bloomfield and Chesterfield and Fallsington, 
 
 Uxbridge and Cain and tranquil Byberry, 
 
 Old Darby, Mendon, peaceful Providence; 
 
 Wrightstown, a stately and a storied house 
 
 Whose members lived in friendly harmony 
 
 With the Indians of yore ; and Plainfield old, 
 
 Peaceful with memories of a noble past; 
 
 And old, old Shrewsbury where Fox once held 
 
 "A precious meeting," quiet Fallowfield, 
 
 And lonely Sadsbury so desolate 
 
 Beside the lonely highway strewn with leaves, 
 
 Springboro, Homeville with its kindly name, 
 
 Makefield of gentlest memory, lone Stroudsburg 
 
 Among the mountains, stately Woodbury, 
 
 Doylestown so rich in friendliness, Granville, 
 
 Old-fashioned Crosswicks, Frankford, genial Bart, 
 
 West Chester in the kindly dear old town; 
 
 And little York, most like the small and quaint 
 
 Grey Meeting-house in Furness' grey fields 
 
 By centuried Swarthmoor Hall, where Margaret Fell 
 
 Through wondrous years kept warm the friendly hearth. 
 
 Swarthmoor! — Ah how my dreaming fancy wakes 
 At that name loved by Friends around the world; 
 Musing I wander from that ancient Hall 
 To many a Meeting-house in England's shires 
 Or in green lovely Ireland. Well I know 
 What kindliness, what old-world charm, abide 
 
 [36] 
 
At Henley by slow Thames, at Huddersfield, 
 
 At Kendal and at Keswick in the vales 
 
 That Wordsworth loved, at Ackworth long held dear, 
 
 At Oxford and at Morland and at Lynn, 
 
 At brooding wave-washed Saltburn-by-the-Sea, 
 
 At pleasant Darlington, at Thornton Marsh, 
 
 At lonely-hearted Little Eccleston, 
 
 At Cartmel nigh to those romantic fells 
 
 Where great Helvellyn's foot-hills face the sea. 
 
 At Warwick in Old England's midmost shire, 
 
 At Walton-on-the-Naze so quaintly named, 
 
 At Street in Somerset's delightful fields. 
 
 At Chipping Norton 'mid the Oxford hills; 
 
 And Little Jordans, that most hallowed spot, 
 
 Where loved and saintly Penn was laid to rest 
 
 Beside the loved and saintly Peningtons. 
 
 In these and kindred fanes of our old faith 
 
 His very spirit breathes who up and down 
 
 The island bore the Light, — great Fox, who preached 
 
 God's everlasting truth and word of life. 
 
 Come to the Light! he cried; wait in the Light, 
 
 That you may grow up in the very Life 
 
 That gave the Scriptures. O how mightily 
 
 Did he beseech! — Dwell, brethren, in that Life 
 
 That leadeth to dominion over evil. 
 
 Most tenderly, most grandly he besought: 
 
 Witness the Seed, witness the Christ within; 
 
 Heirs of the promise shall you thus become! 
 
 [37] 
 
In Ireland well I know what kindliness 
 
 And peaceful charm abide, now as of old, 
 
 At Limerick by Shannon's lordly stream, 
 
 At Ballinderry and at Ballytore, 
 
 At kindly Carlow, and at dear Clonmel 
 
 In Tipperary's dales, at Waterford, 
 
 At Wicklow and "sweet Cork" and old Tramore; 
 
 And up at Lurgan where my fathers dwelt. 
 
 In Armagh 'mid the emerald Irish fields, 
 
 Beneath blue Irish skies (O heart of mine, 
 
 How dreamest thou of those dear fields and skies!) 
 
 By quiet stream or quiet country town. 
 
 Or in old red-brick courts secluded deep 
 
 In hearts of solemn cities vastly old, 
 
 Stands many an antique Old-World Meeting, still. 
 
 Haunted with memory and mystery 
 
 And shadows of the Early Friends, — they touch me 
 
 With wondrous pathos and heart-moving power; 
 
 I cannot voice the magic and the charm 
 
 With which they cry across the wistful years, 
 
 Holy and tender, from the Long Ago; 
 
 I cannot voice the yearning they awake, 
 
 Those ancient Meetings in the Mother Land! 
 
 — O do the fragile balmy blossoms strew 
 
 Their lintels and their lowly burial-stones 
 
 With fragrant petal-drift all April long? 
 
 Do warm rains drip like tears on summer nights? 
 
 Does drear November sway their massive oaks 
 
 And ipoan among their dark and centuried yews? 
 
 [38] 
 
VII 
 
AS mountain streams from sudden sources run 
 .^M. And calmer grow ere yet they blend in one. 
 Then deeper flowing and more reverently 
 Yield all their treasure to the parent sea; — 
 So holy love in kindred hearts awakes 
 And swift, from many lands, one channel takes. 
 Whose currents blending deep in silence move 
 Toward that great ocean of Abiding Love, 
 Our common Father s heart, 
 
 where space and time are not 
 And each for each may plead, 
 
 all selfish ends forgot. 
 
 Edith M. Winder 
 
VII 
 
 I LOVE old Meeting-houses, and could roam 
 Forever in old Quaker neighborhoods, 
 By peaceful hamlets and high breezy hills 
 And dreamy rivers sleeping in the sun. 
 — Beneath the noble sycamores and oaks 
 That guard those quiet roofs I love to watch 
 The Friends arrive and in the shady porch 
 Give cheery greetings, and in little groups 
 Converse on happenings of the week, or glow 
 With kindly tender smiles and wistful words 
 O'er "good old days" and memories half-forgot, 
 While young folks stray apart, and children seek 
 For violets and chase the butterflies. 
 
 Or 'neath the solemn cypresses I roam 
 Among the mossy stones, deciphering 
 Dim names long weathered by the winter storms 
 And April rains, musing upon the folk 
 That in old years gone by were wont to come 
 To First-day and to Mid-week Meeting here 
 To worship and to pray and find new strength 
 For daily duties; — and at length pass in 
 With all the gathering groups of genial men 
 And gentle women, blithesome rosy lads 
 And winsome girls, beneath the lofty roof, 
 
 [41] 
 
And on the long unpainted fragrant seats 
 
 Slow settle into silence, while the bees 
 
 Drone in the panes and glad birds chirp outside; 
 
 And if 'tis Mid-week Meeting, then from far 
 
 Across the fields come sounds of farming toil, 
 
 Of clinking scythes and plowmen's cheery calls 
 
 And wagons slowly creaking. Then it is, 
 
 As musical silence settles o'er the house, 
 
 That our calm worship seems to sanctify 
 
 Each longing soul, each heart athirst for grace. 
 
 As in the ancient Meeting-house we sit. 
 
 Environed round with friendliness and love. 
 
 With stillness and the peace of musing minds, 
 
 Or touched and comforted with eloquence 
 
 And gentle pleading; with the solemn thought 
 
 Of those low graves beneath the murmuring boughs. 
 
 And all they hold of poignant memory, — 
 
 In those most holy hours, does not a Voice 
 
 Unheard by any save the spirit's ear 
 
 Speak to each longing Jieart; does not a Presence 
 
 Unseen by any save the spirit's eye 
 
 Touch every brow with balm beneficent; 
 
 Do not all barriers fade, 'all outward signs 
 
 Seem merely phantom forms, until our souls 
 
 Flow in resistless tide toward the Divine, 
 
 "Toward that great ocean of Abiding Love" — 
 
 As in the ancient Meeting-house we sit 
 
 Environed round with love and friendliness, 
 
 With gentle, gentle faces sweet and pure, 
 
 [42] 
 
With stillness and the peace of musing minds! 
 — Such the sure guidance of the Inner Light, 
 Such the companionship and blessed strength 
 Of the great Love that holds our yearning hearts. 
 
 On many an azure morn of early spring 
 
 When black-birds piped full sweet among the trees, 
 
 Or in the flower-soft sabbaths of mid-June 
 
 Fragrant with balmy airs, or in the deep 
 
 December silence of a dim white world. 
 
 Have these inflowings heartened and refreshed 
 
 God's children met in quiet worship here. 
 
 Such memories truly make a sacred shrine 
 
 Of each old Meeting-house, — make it as holy 
 
 To our affections and our reverence 
 
 As any grey cathedral to our brethren 
 
 Of faiths more ancient far than ours. 
 
 I yield 
 To none in sympathy for those high fanes 
 And heaven-aspiring minsters of old lands. 
 Whose solemn organ-tones and glorious hymns 
 And incense streaming up in mists of gold 
 So satisfy devout and simple hearts; 
 — ^We all were of the old Church once, and feel 
 Some thrill of old allegiance; — yet the calm 
 Still air of blessedness and holy peace 
 In some old Meeting 'mid its bowering trees, 
 Its rambling horse-sheds, and low walls that bound 
 Its silent "acre" sweet with tender flowers, 
 
 [43] 
 
Holdeth for me a pathos beautiful 
 
 And wondrous beyond reach of any words. 
 
 Ye dear old Meeting-houses, thus would one, 
 
 Who long hath loved you deeply, strive to pay 
 
 His tribute to your charm, your ancient peace, 
 
 Your centuried repose, your guardianship 
 
 O'er gracious souls into the twilight gone 
 
 Such long, long years ago ; hoping to wake 
 
 In hearts too soon forgetful of the Past, 
 
 Renewed reliance on your blessed power 
 
 To soothe our anxious and unresting time 
 
 With your serene and spiritual grace. 
 
 Your precious sanctity and ancient charm: — 
 
 Ye loved and quaint old Meeting-houses all, 
 
 Cornwall beneath thy venerable oak; 
 
 Time-honored Plymouth 'mid thy stately trees, 
 
 Hoary of limb and silvered o'er with age; 
 
 Nine Partners, where the blithe and thoughtful lass 
 
 Lucretia Coffin came in school-girl days; 
 
 Menallen, Upper Dublin, loved Drumore, 
 
 Yet dearer for your kindly Irish names; 
 
 Solebury's Meeting "sacrosanct with love;" 
 
 And thou, grey shrine of faith and friendliness 
 
 'Neath Gwynedd's antique oaks; and little Cain 
 
 Sad and deserted on thy lonely hill; 
 
 Thou, Old Blue River, 'mid thy silent graves, 
 
 Brooding in silence on thy memoried past; 
 
 Thou, Pendleton, heart-warm with kindliness; 
 
 Thou, spacious, tranquil, grand old Meeting-house 
 
 [44] 
 
At London Grove; quaint friendly Birmingham, 
 
 Thou storied shrine; thou, ancient well-loved house 
 
 Where meet the kindly folk of Willistown ; 
 
 Thou, Buckingham, above thy dreamy fields; 
 
 And thou, old Meeting-house at Wilmington, 
 
 A peaceful island 'mid the city's noise; 
 
 Old Jericho where sleeps Elias Hicks; 
 
 Historic Uwchlan quaint and picturesque. 
 
 And tranquil Radnor; and ye, Grampian 
 
 And Sterling, with your honest Scottish names; 
 
 Old Salem with thy monumental oak; 
 
 Lone Cecil musing 'mid the forest flowers; 
 
 Thou, Goshen, home of loving-kindnesses; 
 
 And Macedon Centre, lovable, serene; 
 
 Camden, so peaceful 'mid thy peaceful graves; 
 
 And dear Penn Hill of precious memories; 
 
 And many another which the yearning heart 
 
 Holds dear for recollected happiness 
 
 In hours of meditation and of dream 
 
 Amid your quietude and rustic charm, 
 
 Your fruitful silence and uplifting calm, 
 
 Your tranquil and pathetic loneliness, 
 
 Your dear associations from old days, 
 
 Your sacred and ancestral memories. 
 
 — And ye, old Meetings scattered up and down 
 
 Among old Quaker neighborhoods afar 
 
 In our wide continent; and ye, old shrines 
 
 In those revered ancestral English shires 
 
 And Irish fields, beyond the rolling seas 
 
 That separate our lands but not our love. 
 
 [45] 
 
OLD CONCORD MEETING 
 
 (1686— 191 1 ) 
 Our fathers gathered here long years ago 
 To hold communion with the Power divine 
 That is within, and over, and around; 
 And as they were obedient to the voice 
 That spoke unto their inmost souls, they found 
 Sweet peace, and strength. 
 Leaving behind a priceless heritage 
 Of courage, patience, faithfulness and love. 
 This heritage is for us to enrich 
 And magnify, not merely to enjoy; 
 And that we may be wise to know the right. 
 And strong to do the work that lies at hand, — 
 From the unfailing Source to which they turned 
 In prayer, we seek for wisdom, vision, power. 
 
 Elizabeth Lloyd 
 
 I love to ponder the annals of this old house 
 Established here on the hills so long ago 
 By the prayerful zeal of those far-off Quaker sires. 
 I love to read their records; — what steadfast faith, 
 What loving-kindness there, what shining deeds! 
 
 Their dust has slept in the earth for many a year, 
 
 And the moss and the ivy long have muffled their graves 
 
 With pensive green, — a token and tender sign 
 
 [47] 
 
Of the evergreen love we bear those ancient Friends, 
 Those hero-hearts of our faith. They were noble and true; 
 They humbly asked for the blessing of God on their work 
 When they built their Meeting-house. Their old men saw 
 Wondrous visions, their young men dreamed high dreams; 
 Simple and sturdy and godly folk were they. 
 
 True patriarchs of our faith they seem to me, — 
 Pioneer Friends of this new great western world, 
 Men and women who came over-sea with Penn, 
 They had listened and thrilled to saintly Fox's words 
 In English fields; from Fox they had caught the Light; 
 And now they sought in this lonely western land 
 Freedom to worship, freedom to live and thrive 
 Unharassed by hostile mobs Or zealots blind. 
 
 Honor to them who sought no earthly honor! 
 
 Their long-familiar names are indelibly dear. 
 
 Rich with two hundred years of memoried love, — 
 
 Hannum and Marshall, Thatcher, Gilpin and Cloud; 
 
 Chandler and Walter, Palmer and Peirce and Brown, 
 
 Mendenhall and Newlin, Brinton, Pyle; 
 
 Yea, patriarchs of the faith they truly were. 
 
 Who minded the Light and spread the Light abroad 
 
 From their homes 'mid the fruitful orchards and quiet 
 
 farms, — 
 These beautiful fields and hills that we see to-day 
 Wrapt in the dreamy summer's bounteous charm. 
 
 The vejy name of their settlement tells their tale, — 
 Concord, — called from the peaceful harmony 
 
 [48] 
 
And brotherly love that marked their blessed lives ; 
 Concord truly speaks of their tranquil years, 
 Their earnest witness against all wordliness, 
 Their fervent seeking after the Light of Christ; 
 Concord tells of their love of all mankind, 
 Their tender care of the lowly and the oppressed, 
 Their helpful hands held out to their Indian brothers, 
 Their deep concern for setting the black man free. 
 These, and a score of kindred kindly deeds. 
 Speak with eloquence far above all words 
 Of this ancient Concord Meeting and countryside; 
 And not alone of this dear old Meeting-house 
 And Quaker countryside, but of those that grew 
 Under this Mother-Meeting's watchful love, — 
 Birmingham on the Brandywine's emerald hills 
 Where old-time kindliness still lives to-day, 
 The well-loved meeting at ancient Nottingham, 
 And Cain high over the Valley's fertile farms. 
 
 Ah me, how we cling to the outward things we love! — 
 But the heart of our faith is in homes not built by hands. 
 And these old shrines, albeit we cherish them well. 
 Must crumble and fall with the all-devouring years 
 And their tranquil beauty become but a legend dim. 
 Yet Concord's dear, dear name must still endure 
 When every brick and shrub and lowly grave 
 Has been swept away by the ruthless march of time, — 
 Concord, home of our far-off English sires, 
 Concord the peaceful, the tranquil, the deeply loved. 
 
 [49] 
 
OLD KENNETT MEETING-HOUSE 
 
 (1710 — 1910) 
 
 This lonely house beside the lonely road 
 
 Hath looked on other scenes than ours to-day 
 
 Where round us lie the fields of rustling corn 
 And verdant pastures sweet with autumn hay, 
 
 Where all the land is wrapt in peaceful dream, 
 
 And every noise and restless care far, far away doth seem. 
 
 Along this ancient road in days of old 
 
 A varied stream of travelers did pass: — 
 The sturdy settlers trudging by their teams, 
 
 Grandsire and pioneer and rosy lass, 
 Soldiers returning from the border wars. 
 And fishermen who sought the way to Maryland's distant 
 shores. 
 
 Here jocund hunters journeyed o'er the hills 
 With furs and game from out the virgin woods; 
 
 And keen-eyed Indians erect and lithe, 
 And silent as their forest solitudes. 
 
 How many a wayfarer, how many a load 
 
 Passed by this ancient Meeting-house along this ancient 
 road! 
 
 And twice a week beneath the bowering trees, 
 In sober garb, with looks composed and strait, 
 
 [51] 
 
A gentle company of people came 
 
 And turned their horses' heads within the gate, 
 Dismounted at the block, and staid and slow 
 Passed to their seats and settled down in row by silent row. 
 
 Silent, — until some strong, clear voice rang out 
 
 And held its listeners in conscious awe. 
 Instinct with heaven's visionary fire, 
 
 Or duty's plain inexorable law, — 
 A voice whose noble fervor could not be 
 The fruit of aught except a life of faithful piety. 
 
 And truly they were faithful, pious folk. 
 
 Those Kennett Quakers of the long ago; 
 Read but their names upon these lowly graves, 
 
 Think of the forms whose dust is laid below; 
 Muse o'er their memories with grateful tears. 
 Those kindly, noble Friends whose names we love through 
 all the years! — 
 
 English and Irish Friends of sterling worth. 
 The Webbs, the Harlans who from Erin came. 
 
 The Peirces bred in old-world Somerset, 
 
 The Clouds who brought from Calne their honored name, 
 
 The Sussex Wickershams, the Baileys too. 
 
 The Millers who from Ireland their ancient vigor drew. 
 
 Their lines are scattered far across the world. 
 And this old house deserted seems and lone; 
 
 Neglect and desolation wrap it round. 
 Arid moss and lichen dim each low grave-stone; 
 
 [52] 
 
A sleepy spot beside the sleepy road, — 
 
 Have silence and forgetfulness made here their sure abode? 
 
 Nay, though the Quaker life of olden time 
 No more is seen in weekly gatherings here, — 
 
 In many a heart this ancient house endures, 
 To many a heart 'tis still beloved and dear. 
 
 Still cherished as a venerated shrine 
 
 Among the peaceful hills above the peaceful Brandywine. 
 
 Yea, this old house that sleeps through summer suns, 
 And dreams through winter nights of star and cold ; — 
 
 What tales of kindliness and worth were ours 
 If all its deepest dreams might once be told 
 
 Of those dear souls who sowed in days long past 
 
 Seeds of an influence that shall its latest stone outlast ! — 
 
 How might it tell of many a tender bride 
 
 Who came forth wedded from this old roof-tree; 
 
 Of many a gray-haired veteran might it tell 
 Laid 'neath yon shades with sad solemnity, — 
 
 Of family joys and sorrows, smiles and tears, 
 
 And pensive memories hallowed through the lost and long- 
 dead years. 
 
 Yet tranquil annals oftenest fill its dreams, 
 
 And noble faces from its vanished days, — 
 The Mendenhalls devoted to good works. 
 
 The Passmores and the Woodwards and the Ways; 
 The Hueys and Harveys here are known to fame; 
 And Lewis, Jacobs, Jenkinson, — Old Kennett loves each 
 
 [53] 
 
The history of such a Meeting-house 
 
 Is filled with pathos and with peaceful charm; 
 
 It seems the very heart of this old land, 
 
 This land of ancient wood and tranquil farm, 
 
 Of sunny gardens and of singing streams, — 
 
 This old, old Meeting-house with all its memories and 
 dreams. 
 
 The history of such a Meeting-house 
 
 If filled with grandeur, beautiful, sublime, 
 Rich with the records of the sainted souls 
 
 Who speak to us from out the olden time. 
 O may her spirit still all creeds outlast. 
 And calm Old Kennett bless our future as she blessed our 
 past! 
 
 [54] 
 
"A HAUNT OF ANCIENT PEACE" 
 (Read at the centenary of Willistown Meeting-house) 
 
 A haunt of ancient peace! — 
 
 Well may we call thee so, 
 For while the years increase 
 
 And seasons ebb and flow, 
 Thou, ancient House, dost seem 
 Wrapt in a tranquil dream 
 
 And vision of the days of long ago, 
 
 A vision softly bright 
 
 With faces that are gone, 
 Wherein a saintly light 
 
 And calm serenely shone, — 
 Dear faces loved of yore 
 Whose peace forevermore 
 
 In benediction round these walls is thrown. 
 
 Soft pastoral echoes thrill 
 
 The heart of yonder woods, 
 And misty languors fill 
 
 The leafy solitudes. 
 The downward sloping year 
 Lies drowsed in golden cheer. 
 
 And resteth in her queenliest of moods. 
 
 In yonder hallowed ground 
 The cherished fathers sleep, 
 
 [55] 
 
And o'er each lonely mound 
 
 The gentle flowers weep. 
 A pensive stillness there 
 Breathes through the autumn air 
 
 And fills the scene with silence calm and deep. 
 
 The fathers sleep; but here 
 
 Their children's children meet; 
 Year after quiet year 
 
 They gather seat by seat; 
 And many a family name 
 Lives on with fragrant fame 
 
 Among the Friends whom here to-day we greet. 
 
 Oft in this peaceful air 
 
 With blessing have been heard 
 The purifying prayer, 
 
 The Heaven-guided word ; 
 And oft some fervent heart 
 Communing here apart, 
 
 As with a sacred leaven hath been stirred. 
 
 Old House, o'er thee hath gone 
 
 A century serene ; 
 Thy far-off, peaceful dawn 
 
 No living eye hath seen. 
 The human stream hath run 
 Through many a sire and son 
 
 Since thou didst rise amid the forest green. 
 
 [56] 
 
The mild and mellow years 
 
 Have left thee calm and free, 
 Through mortal joys and tears 
 
 Enduring tranquilly. 
 The infant's dawning breath, 
 The darkening hour of death, 
 
 Have been as passing sun and shade to thee. 
 
 Here as in days of old 
 
 Still may the hungry feed, 
 Still love the faith we hold, — 
 
 Our sweet and simple creed. 
 Here may be given to men 
 The zeal of Fox and Penn 
 
 To seek and serve the spirit's inmost need. 
 
 So by this peaceful vale 
 
 While ripening years increase, 
 Thy mission shall not fail, 
 
 Thy blessing shall not cease ; 
 Thy consecrating calm 
 Shall fall like holy balm. 
 
 And thou be still "a haunt of ancient peace. 
 
 [57] 
 
OLD MEMORIES,— NEW CONSECRATION 
 (Read at the Centenary of Little Britain Meeting, 1904) 
 
 Sacred for us this day of memories old, 
 Sacred and sweet to gather in this calm 
 Serene old meeting-house among the hills 
 By silver Conowingo's peaceful stream; 
 Sacred and dear this day to meditate 
 And muse upon the vanished hundred years. 
 
 Sacred for us are yon low mounds of green 
 
 Where lies the dust of those we loved so well. 
 
 The ancient box-trees and the bright young flowers 
 
 Keep quiet watch ; tenderly, fragrantly, 
 
 In holy solitude they watch the graves 
 
 Of those who perished in their youthful dawn, 
 
 And those who sought at last their mother earth 
 
 After long years, long honorable years 
 
 Rich in good deeds and kindliness and love. 
 
 Surely they know, — those spirits heavenly free, — 
 
 They know the hidden things we may not know 
 
 Until we too must sleep beneath the grass 
 
 To wake in worlds undreamed of ; theirs to know 
 
 Of life and death and vast eternity. 
 
 All reverently we come, yet happily. 
 With quiet joy, to hail the hundred years, 
 
 [59] 
 
The hundred golden autumns, radiant springs, 
 Summers and drowsy winters that have gone 
 Down to the dim and half-forgotten Past 
 Since those grave Quakers of that long-lost time 
 Founded this fellowship of worship here 
 And gave to Little Britain life and name. 
 
 how the heart doth yearn this centuried day 
 For those loved forms and faces, those serene 
 Old-fashioned Friends of that old-fashioned age! 
 
 1 seem to see them in their quiet homes 
 'Mid these old dreamy Susquehanna's hills. 
 Living their simple lives with simple faith: — 
 The sweet-faced mothers here among their flowers. 
 Their bee-hives and their bowering apple trees, 
 Home-loving women, skilled in household craft 
 And all the ways of hearty country cheer, 
 Making each home its own small happy world. 
 And giving to all this countryside its fame 
 
 For comfort, peace and hospitality; — 
 The fathers, sterling-hearted kindly men, 
 Rich in plain wisdom, rich in helpful deeds, 
 Noble and strong and pure, — no neighborhood 
 Had goodlier farmers, truer gentlemen: — 
 And, fair as young June roses after rain, 
 The children, soft-eyed girls and ruddy boys. 
 Making these old hills jocund with their song 
 And wholesome fun, and all unconsciously 
 Through all the long, long golden years of youth 
 Building foundations sure of character. 
 
 [60] 
 
Of usefulness and home-bred honesty. 
 
 O tell me, are they perished then and gone, 
 
 Forever gone those simple days of yore? — 
 
 Nay, much survives; — and never do I come 
 
 To this old w^ell-loved shire of Lancaster 
 
 Sacred and rich in old ancestral ties, 
 
 Here 'mid the Conowingo's dreamy hills. 
 
 But that the dear old-fashioned face of things, — 
 
 The old red houses, locust-shaded lanes, 
 
 Great ample barns and old gnarled cherry trees, 
 
 Soft meadovi^s vt^ith their sunny little streams 
 
 That feed the lovely Susquehanna's tides, 
 
 The very bergamot and purple plox 
 
 And every dear old-fashioned garden flower, — 
 
 Thrills me vt^ith wistful charm ; and I can hear 
 
 Old voices calling from the misty years, 
 
 Old voices calling from beyond the grave, — 
 
 So faint, so sweet, I cannot choose but grieve. 
 
 Yet wandering among these boyhood haunts 
 Where cheery welcomes wait and greetings warm, 
 And lingering in familiar garden paths. 
 Among dim orchard-boughs and grassy lanes, 
 A long-lost world comes back ! — ^The dead still live. 
 The sire surviveth in the son; there breathe 
 From the sweet presences of blooming girls 
 The traits of mothers' mothers long ago 
 Gone to their heavenly homes. The Past lives on 
 And gives the present and the future years 
 Blessings unnumbered, — holy legacies! 
 [61] 
 
So on this centuried day we well may pause 
 Beside these lowly graves, and in this calm 
 Serene old meeting-house with reverent hearts 
 Gather to muse on those dear hundred years; 
 To-morrow to go forth with hope renewed, 
 With faith fresh-fortified, resolved to make,— 
 As these loved ones of yore would have it be,- 
 From these old memories and sacred ties, 
 New strengthening and consecration new! 
 
 [62] 
 
ERCILDOUN MEETING 
 (1811— 1911) 
 
 A hundred years these walls have cast 
 Their shadows o'er the sod, 
 
 A hundred years this house hath known 
 The blessed peace of God. 
 
 O many are the gentle souls 
 Through all the hundred years 
 
 Who blest this peaceful house of prayer 
 And loved it through their tears. 
 
 And many are the gentle souls 
 Through years remote and old 
 
 Who wept above yon grassy graves 
 Where sleep the hearts of gold. 
 
 Ah, though in hours of tenderness 
 We think with sorrow deep 
 
 Of all the dear and well-beloved 
 Wrapt in eternal sleep, — 
 
 Yet well we know there is no death 
 
 For those who deeply love; 
 The limits of this mortal life 
 
 Their spirits soar above. 
 
 [63] 
 
Let no old meeting-house like this 
 
 Lament for days of yore, 
 While memoried voices call to us 
 
 From out the heavenly shore. 
 
 Let no old meeting-house like this 
 
 Lament for glory gone, 
 While children of its sires remain 
 
 To hand the message on. 
 
 Of noble and of kindly souls 
 To-day we have no dearth; 
 
 In every age the Father sends 
 His chosen ones to earth. 
 
 In every generation still 
 The hand of God is seen, 
 
 His meadows of immortal love 
 Are ever fresh and green. 
 
 The lives our fathers lived of yore, 
 The fragrance of the past, — 
 
 Each age must add to these a charm 
 More gracious than the last. 
 
 And so at this first century mark 
 We face the forward slope, 
 
 Our hearts a-thrill with loving faith, 
 Our eyes alight with hope, 
 
 Content to know the Father's gifts 
 And blessings will not cease. 
 
 Trustful in His abounding love, 
 Secure in His great peace. 
 
 [64] 
 
AT LONDON GROVE QUARTERLY MEETING 
 
 The best of old and new are truly blent 
 In this old House among the ancient trees, 
 
 Set round with slopes of wheat and fragrant corn 
 That sway and waver in the summer breeze. 
 
 Below the turf in yonder quiet field 
 
 The old-time Quakers long have lain at rest; 
 
 The boxwood and the roses bend above 
 The peaceful generations of the blest. 
 
 Yet their immortal spirits look to-day 
 
 From out the kindly faces round me here; 
 
 Their children's children are inheritors 
 Of their soul-images beloved and dear. 
 
 The ardor and the impulse that have stirred 
 Yon sister pleading for the pure and right, — 
 
 This brother bringing sympathy and hope, — 
 Stirred long ago the "Children of the Light." 
 
 As in far times this spacious House was thronged 
 With genial elders and with gentle youth 
 
 And bonnie children, — so to-day the old 
 
 And young have come to hark for heavenly truth. 
 
 [65] 
 
The same heart-hunger deeply moves these Friends 
 That moved of yore their venerated sires, — 
 
 Ancestral yearnings for the vi^ord of God, 
 Undying hopes and heaven-sent desires. 
 
 Who fears our Faith is dying? — Let him come 
 To this old Meeting-house beneath the trees, 
 
 And find celestial balm, while airs float in 
 
 From corn-fields fragrant in the summer breeze. 
 
AT PLYMOUTH MEETING 
 
 If anywhere is Peace, 'tis here 
 Where softly fades the failing year, 
 
 And round this Meeting gray and old 
 The great trees drop their leafy gold. 
 
 By this gray wall what joy to stay 
 And muse the quiet noon away, — 
 
 So wonderful the day and fair 
 Steeped in its pensive misty air, — 
 
 To watch the yellow leaves and slow 
 That waver to the ground below. 
 
 And see the insects gleam and pass 
 Across the tangles of the grass; 
 
 To ponder on the slow sweet hours 
 That breathe the scent of ripened flowers, 
 
 And pacing 'neath the sycamores 
 
 To hear through yonder Meeting doors 
 
 The sound of children's voices sweet 
 The text and tender psalms repeat. 
 
 In holy haunts of silence here 
 
 True men have slept for many a year; 
 
 [67] 
 
Dear saintly mothers 'neath this sod 
 Were yielded back unto their God ; 
 
 And in this soft and drowsy air 
 I seem to see the children fair 
 
 For whom were shed what wistful tears 
 In bygone and relentless years! 
 
 The children, — ah, there sleepeth one 
 Great heart beneath yon low white stone 
 
 Who willingly accepted death 
 
 To save one dear child's vital breath ; — 
 
 The Artist he,* whose memory bright 
 Is sanctified with peaceful light 
 
 In yonder home, where still they show 
 The pictured scenes he used to know. 
 
 Still in his quiet garden old 
 
 The flowers spill their fragrant gold, 
 
 Beyond his orchard shadows still 
 Soft sunshine bathes the dreamy hill. 
 
 Across his fields the yellowing wood 
 Wears still its rich autumnal mood. 
 
 Tranquil his landscape lies, yet dim 
 With wistful memories of him. 
 
 *Thomas Hovenden 
 
 [68] 
 
Those memories hold a kindly spell 
 Beyond my yearning words to tell ; 
 
 For me his name must mingle aye 
 
 With thoughts of Plymouth old and gray 
 
 And golden in the dying year, 
 When recollection bears me here, 
 
 When tranquil memory shall recall 
 The charm and beauty of it all, 
 
 And kindly friends again I greet 
 And hear the children's voices sweet, 
 
 Where ancient sycamores enfold 
 The Meeting-house with leafy gold. 
 
 [69] 
 
IN SWARTHMORE MEETING 
 
 Through Swarthmore's children wander wide, 
 
 In memory they cherish still 
 
 The quiet Meeting-house beside 
 
 The grove on Swarthmore's peaceful hill. 
 
 In this still home of quietude 
 The worldly spirit fades away; 
 To sober thought we frame our mood 
 Here on each tranquil Sabbath day. 
 
 No ritual these precincts know, 
 Unless it be when yonder trees 
 Responding to soft winds that blow 
 Chant forth their leafy litanies. 
 
 And though no organ shake the air. 
 No hymns uplift melodious words, 
 Yet wandering breezes hither bear 
 The anthems of the happy birds. 
 
 And here in musings deep and true 
 Communing silently apart, 
 We dedicate ourselves anew 
 And feel a quickening of the heart. 
 
 [70] 
 
O rich the many offerings brought 
 And yielded on the listening air, 
 The poet's pure immortal thought, 
 The sage's precept large and fair! 
 
 And rich the messages of truth 
 
 From riper souls among us here, 
 
 Sweet words that still the doubts of youth 
 
 And point the path of duty clear. 
 
 What seeds of good those words may be 
 
 In this retired and holy time. 
 
 Amid so fair a company 
 
 In life's receptive, ardent prime! 
 
 Though Swarthmore's children wander wide, 
 
 In memory they cherish still 
 
 The quiet Meeting-house beside 
 
 The grove on Swarthmore's peaceful hill. 
 
 [71] 
 
WEST CHESTER MEETING-HOUSE 
 
 My boyhood dreams come back to me, 
 Old Meeting-house, at thought of thee: 
 
 The peaceful charm, the balmy air, 
 The gentle, gentle faces there. 
 
 The musing pensive people bound 
 In quietude serene, profound. 
 
 The sense of brotherhood and love 
 Borne as on w^ings of heaven's dove. 
 
 The sympathy that seemed to roll 
 From heart to heart and soul to soul. 
 
 The sign and seal of heavenly grace 
 On many a sweet and kindly face, 
 
 That rapt and wistful seemed to bless 
 With depths of wondrous tenderness. 
 
 The sense of deep thanksgiving there 
 In uttered word and silent prayer. 
 
 The nearness of the Father's arm 
 
 To shield His well-beloved from harm. 
 
 When in that hour to us was given 
 Some foretaste of the peace of heaven. 
 
 [72] 
 
OLD QUAKER 
 MEETING-HOUSES 
 
 (with a few recent ones) 
 
'*/ love old Meeting-houses 
 
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 Abington, P/i 
 
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Alloways Creek, Hancocks Bridge, N. J., 
 
 
Illlllllillllllilllllllllllllillllillllllllllllllill 
 
 II 
 
 Amesbury, Mass. 
 
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BORDENTOWN, N. J. 
 
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JURLINGTON, N.J. 
 
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Camden N, J. 
 
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Cape May, N. J. 
 
 
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Chester, Pa. 
 
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Clinton Corners, N. Y. 
 
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Concord, near Colerain. Ohio 
 
Darby, Pa. 
 

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East Branch, N. J. 
 
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Flushing, L. 
 
 
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 Farmington, Pa 
 
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Frankford, Phila., Pa. 
 
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HAnDONFIELO, N. J. 
 
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Hopewell Va. 
 
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Mount Pleasant, Ohio 
 
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Nantucket, Mass. 
 
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New Garden, Pa 
 
Newtown, Pa. 
 
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Old Radnor, Ithan, Pa 
 
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Oswego, N. Y. 
 
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Parkersville, Pa. 
 

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Pendleton, Inc 
 
Penn Hill, Pa. 
 
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