“Halt!” said the brave John Endicott,
With knitted brow and eyes aflame;
“Halt!—Forward! Ensign Davenport!
Down with that flag! in God’s high name!”
Down drooped the flag, whose folds of blood
Seemed like the Parcæ’s web of fate,
Whereon the cross so long had stood
For tyranny in Church and State.
He raised his hand, and sternly tore
The red cross from its field of blue;
Then nerved with fire his arm upbore,
And held the fragment full in view.
“Now by the homage that we pay
To God the Father, God the Son,
May righteous Heaven approve this day
The deed that my right hand hath done.”
“To Him whose law hath all sufficed,
Be power and glory evermore,
But this cursed sign of Anti-Christ
Shall not profane this hallowed shore.”
One moment—and a hush like death—
Then flashed the fire from every eye,
And like the tempest’s sudden breath,
A shout tumultuous rent the sky.
Those ranks of stern, heroic men,
Who asked no favor, knew no fear,
Could “beard the lion in his den,”
When duty made the pathway clear,
There in the howling wilderness,
In holy triumph did they sing,
“Christ is our refuge in distress,
The Lord of Hosts alone is King.”
Linked, by the lengthening years of time,
To all that grand heroic past,
The mantle of their faith sublime
Is on this generation cast.
Whene’er the cross no longer stands
For freedom, faith, and love divine,
Men tear it down with willing hands,
And worship God without the sign.
John Endicott! John Endicott!
Thine earthly victory is won,
But valiant still, and swerving not,
Thy steadfast soul “is marching on.”
Like thee we would be brave and true,
And fearless in the faith abide,
That souls who nobly dare and do,
Have God and Heaven upon their side.
THE TRIUMPH OF FREEDOM.
Rejoice! O blood-stained Nation, in darkness wandering long,
For Freedom is triumphant, and Right hath conquered Wrong.
To-day, the glorious birthright the patriot Fathers gave,
Makes, through Eternal Justice, a freeman of the slave.
And swift the glorious tidings, which rolls majestic on,
Thrills from old Massachusetts to the shores of Oregon.
The gray old mountain-echoes shout it loudly to the sea,
And the wild winds join the chorus in the “anthem of the free.”