Stanzas, Written for a Blank Leaf in Sewell’s History of the Quakers
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 20 January 2022
Summary
Look back unto the morning of our day;—
What does such retrospective glance afford?
Our Fathers’ lot these pages shall display,
A people scoff’d at, and a sect abhorr’d.
Hist’ry describes them truly;— plac’d between
Two persecuting fires, whose fury burn’d
For them with equal fierceness, by the spleen
Alike of Church and Presbytery spurn’d.
Whether a Stuart fill’d their country's throne,
Or England bow’d to Cromwell's stern command,
Their lot remain’d the same, despis’d, unknown,
The out-casts, and off-scow’ring of their land.
Yet through that perilous and thorny path,
Which they with meek submission humbly trod;
What was the world's contempt, the bigot's wrath
To them whose hopes and fears were fix’d on God!
They look’d on every suffering as a test
Of their allegiance to the faith they lov’d,
And neither heights, nor depths had power to wrest
Their confidence from Him whose might they prov’d.
Nor was that humble confidence misplaced;
They did not vainly trust in God's right hand;
Through persecution's flames,—oppression's waste,
It led them on to quiet's promis’d land!
Oh! it is good for sects, with watchful eye,
To look back to the rock whence they were hewn;
And when prosperity's bright sun is high,
Compare their stormy morning to their noon.
Although the early rise of such may be
At times o’er-shadow’d by mistaken zeal;
Yet there, too, shines a brightness all may see,
A simple dignity which all may feel.
’Tis like the morning of the outward day,
When chrystal dew-drops gem each trembling flower,
And through the low’ring clouds the sun's bright ray
Flings its effulgence with triumphant power.
For, as the outward sun advances through
The clouds which compass him, earth's mists exhale,
The flowers put on their freshest, loveliest hue,
Light robes the mountains, stillness soothes the vale.
So when the Sun of Righteousness first flings
His light on those who have in darkness sit,
And rises, as with healing on his wings,
Pure life and love awake to welcome it.
Then is the season of high-minded thought;
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- Selected Poems of Bernard Barton, the 'Quaker Poet' , pp. 170 - 172Publisher: Anthem PressPrint publication year: 2020