Classic Poem

O spirit of that Quaker sire of mine,
To whom God gave these lovely Chester lands,
These fertile fields, where golden harvests shine,
These meadows green, where the herd, grazing, stands,
Be with me now, and stretch thy blessing hands
Above me, that I may have grace to tell
That story which thy children love so well!
Born of a martyr race whose suffering veins
Had poured their life out under Mary's rule,
Within his soul that trust which never wanes,
That zeal which persecution cannot cool,
Isaac loved God, and through the bitter school
Of harsh intolerance held the Father's hand,
And heard the music of the better land.

And on one night in summer, when the moon
Made all the landscape like a phantasm seem,
And earth lay hushed, as though an angel soon
Would step from Heaven, like those in Jacob's dream,
There came to Isaac, down a mystic beam
Of moonlight, or in some diviner way,
A vision beautiful as Eden's day.

Appeared a peaceful vale, (through which a stream,
Meandering flowed, sparkling beneath heaven's light;)
Sheltered upon the north, so seemed his dream,
By a green hill, some future homestead's site;
Thence issued, from a spring, the streamlet bright.
And even as Isaac gazed a voice he heard
Like that which once to Moses spoke the Word.

“Arise, there is a home beyond the seas,
Which thou hast seen this night, for thee and thine;
There, through the depths of the primeval trees,
My sun shall light thee, and my moon shall shine;
Still shalt thou, of my omnipresence sign,
Behold the stars of midnight blazon me;
Fear not, but know that ever I am with thee.”

When Isaac woke he saw above the lea,
Descending in the occidental sky,
Morning's pale moon; and heard the psalmody
Of the early birds, in joyous choirs on high;
And in his soul he knew that God was nigh;
And knelt; and round him, in that hour divine,
He felt the glory of Jehovah shine.

Then toward that spot, forever, seemed to point
The hand of God where Penn's sweet wisdom ruled;
That spot which Love and Freedom did anoint
As refuge for all men, however schooled;
Where from the fires of scorn the Quaker cooled
His mystic brows; and in whose peace, anew,
Dwelt seer and scholar, infidel and Jew.

So Isaac, reverent, rose; and, with his home,
Beloved wife and children, round him still,
Crossed, as had others, those wild fields of foam,
Those wind-swept waters, where the sea-bird shrill
Chanted to ears which loved the sky-lark's trill.
At last, one summer evening, lo, the Capes!
The smell of land! The visions fancy shapes!

Came next the broad-spread river, and the shores
Of oak and hemlock, and the red-brick town;
And boats of landing, on whose dripping oars
The sunshine turned to gold the waters brown.
But in his soul a voice he could not drown
Spoke unto Isaac ever: “Not yet, not yet;
On, till thine eyes the promised spot have met!”

Then through the depths of the primeval trees,
As God had bidden him, the Quaker went;
From unknown lands he felt the western breeze
Blow fresh and fragrant, as by kind Heaven sent
To lead him onward; and when evening blent
The glories of the sunset for her crown,
Through silent woods the thrush's song came down.

Few homes were here, but hospitable hands
Recalled, in each, the England of his sires;
And on the third night came he to some lands
Whose aspect woke within him prescient fires;
And when, above the forest's mighty spires,
Uprose the morning sun, he saw the stream,
The spring, the hill, the valley of his dream!

Then on the soul of Isaac fell a light
As from the everlasting throne of God;
And, to the world external blinded quite,
He knelt, in silent prayer, upon the sod.
Lifted, henceforth, was persecution's rod;
While ample harvests bounteous nature bore.
Still from these hills his children Heaven adore!