Bedford inquirer. [volume] (Bedford, Pa.) 1857-1884, 1865-02-17

JOHN c. WHITTIER.
A strong and mighty Angel
Calm, terrible, and bright
The cross is blended red and blue
Upon his mantle white
Two captives by him kHeeling,
Each on his broken chain,
Sang praise to God who raiseth
The dead to life again
Dropping his cross wrought MANTLE
"wear this" the Angle said;
'Take thou, o Freedoms priest, its sign
The white, the blue and red"
Then rose up John dc Matha
In the strength the Lord Christ gave,
And begged through all the land of France
The ransom of the slave.
The gates of tower and castle
Before him open few,
The drawbridge at his coming fell,
The door bolt backward drew.
For all men owned his errand
And paid his righteous tax;
And the hearts Of lord and peasant
Were in his handB wax.
At last, out-bound from Tunis,
His bark her anchored weighed
Freighted with seven score Christian souls
Whose he had paid.
But torn by Paynim hatred,
Her sail in tatters hung
And on the wild waves, rudderless,
shattered hulk she swung.
"God save us p cried the captain,
"For nought can man avail
o, woe betide the ship that lacks
Her rudder and her sail!
Behind us are the Moormen;
At sea we sink OF strand
There's death upon the water,
There's death upon the land!"
Then spoke up John de Matha;
Goods errands fail
Take thou the mantle which l wear,
And make of it SAIL
They raised the wrought mantle,
The blue, the white, the red;
And straight before the wind of-shoFe
The ship of freedom sped.
"God help us " cried the seamen,
"For vain is mortal skill;
The good ship on stormy
Is drifting at its will"
Then up spake John de Maths;
"My Mariners never fear
The Lord whose breath has filed our sails
May well our vessel steer"
So ON through storm and darkness
They drove for weary hours;
And 10 ! the third gray morning shone
On Ostia's friendly towers.
And on the walls the watchers
The ship of mercy knew
They knew far of its holy cross,
The red, the white, and blue.
And the bells all the stecples
Rang out in glad accord
To welcome home to Christian soil
The ransomed of the Lord.
So runs the ancient legend
By card and painter told;
And 10 the cycle rounds again,
The is as the old!
With rudder foully broken,
And sails nv traitors tori,
Our country, a midnight sea,
Is waiting for the morn.
Before her, nsmeless terror;
Behind, the pirate foe;
The clouds black above her.
The sea is white below.
The hope of all who suffer,
The dread of all who wrong;
She drifts in darkness and in storm,
How long, Lord how long7
But courage, o my mariners
W sho1 not suffer
While up to God the freedmsn's prayers
Are rising from your deck.
Is not your sail the banner
Which God hath blest anew,
The mantle that De Matha wore,
The red, the white, the bluel
Its hues all of heaven
The red the sunsets dye,
The whiteness of the moon lit cloud,
The blue of mornings sky.
Wait cheerily then, mariners,
For daylight and for land;
The breath of God is in your sail,
Your rudder is His hand.
Sail on, sail on, deep p-freighted
With blessings and with hopes
The saints Of old with shadowy hands
Are pulling at your ropes.
Behind ye holy martyrs
Uplift the palm and crown
Before ye unborn ages send
Their benedctions down.
Take heart from John de Matha =;
Gods errands never fail
Sweep on through storm and darkness,
The thunder and the hail
Sail on The morning eometh,
The port We yet shall win
And all the bells of God shall ring
The good ship bravely in !
Atlantic Monthly for February.
POEMS UNWRITTEN.
BIT ALFRED TEHSYsos.
There are poems unwritten and songs unsung,
Sweeter than any that ever were heard
Poems that wait for angel tongue,
Songs that bat long for paradise bird.