And what is worst of all to bear, to bear and not complain,
We hear our children ask for bread, and hear them ask in vain.
While sickness thins our number, and now beneath the sod
As many of us sleep in Christ, as above it pray to God.
And in this strait wise Bradford is troubled in his mind,
And prudent master Carver no counsel good can find,
And brave Miles Standish scarcely hopes our fortress to defend,
Yet thou, O Lord, art near us, and thou canst still befriend.
If thou hast chosen us, O Lord, to be a nation's seed,
Then thy right arm will bring to pass, what thy wisdom has
decreed.

Yes, in this day of darkness-yea! even now I see

A vision fair of future days—comes it, O Lord, from thee?
A comfort of the Holy Ghost to cheer this gloomy hour,
And shall I utter it, O Lord, in spirit and in power?

As from a summit I look down, through the vista of the years,
I gaze beyond two centuries, and a happy land appears.
And where between thick tangled trees flies the light arrow

now,

I see the laborer bend between the handles of his plough. Where now the primal forest spreads, sweeping o'er plain and hill,

A thousand villages I see, lying serene and still.

Where now some scattered ears of corn the earth reluctant

yields,

Rich harvests bend before the breeze along a thousand fields.
Where now the Powahs every wood with devil-worship fill,
I see the frequent meeting house on each far-looking hill.
I see sweet children, with their sires, walk to the house of prayer
Beneath a mild October sun, in the soft October air.

Oh feeble ones about my feet, take courage in your woe,
To you shall millions look as sires, from you great nations go;
Far to the setting sun shall spread your mighty progeny,
Numerous as sand by ocean shore, as stars in summer sky.

All this is plain, but still remains a darker mystery,

A question yet unanswered, a sight I may not see;
What lies beneath the surface no mortal eye may scan,
It is not given to me to read the inmost depths of man.
O children, mid your blessings bought by all our care and pain,
Will you your fathers' spirit keep, the brave old heart retain ?
Will you, as we, outrun your day, forgetting things behind;
Be captains of the coming age, advanced guard of the mind?
Or will you cling like cowards to that which we have done,
And think because you copy close, you are the Pilgrim's son?
That you can keep the Pilgrim's heart by holding fast his deed,
The "Spirit of the Pilgrims," by fighting for his creed ?
Oh rather pass beyond us, with the advancing hours,
And be as faithful to your light as we have been to ours!

So speaks to me the voice of that old time,
Warning and moving us in tones sublime;
It speaks to all who are assembled here,
All who profess the Fathers to revere,

And who were hewn from out that Pilgrim rock,
And all who glory in the Pilgrim stock,

It says, "Take up the Pilgrim staff and sword,
As Exiles or as Soldiers of the Lord."
Not now to distant continents to roam,
Your work and trial both are close at home;
Not now to leave your home and friends behind,
But stand among them lonely in your mind;
Not now to battle with the Pequot foes,
But errors in your brethren to oppose.
The duty of to-day is no light task,
To meet the greatest questions man can ask ;
To gaze, undazzled, in the face of Truth;
Wasting in lonely thought the bloom of youth.
To tread in strange and unaccustomed ways,
Challenging censure and renouncing praise;

Bearing indifference, contempt, or wrath,
Walking upon a solitary path.

The faithful ones to-day must all be brave,
One must stand up to battle for the slave,
One must bear witness to the Light within,
To those who think faith in such Light a sin.
One for Reforms prolong the tedious fight,
With men who argue, "All that is, is right."
Amid the strife of parties some must stand
Alone, against them every body's hand;
By some thought hot, by others icy cold;
By some too timid, and by some too bold.
These things are no great trials, but to keep,
Mid all, hearts tranquil as an infant's sleep;
But to look forward, trusting still in God
When folly, error, sin are all abroad;
Not to turn Reason-haters, nor repent

That Light and Freedom through the world are sent,
This is the task and duty of to-day.

Let us, remembering the Pilgrims, say

That we will seek for Light as they have sought,
True to their spirit, though we leave their thought.
And if, where'er New-England's children go,
Where'er her tides of emigration flow,
To places low or high, they carry still
Their Fathers' faith, their Fathers' manly will.
That Pilgrim spirit shall forever be

The land's best glory and security;
The best defence in every dangerous shock;
And, as the granite, our primeval rock,
Which far beneath the lowest valley lies,
Soars, with the mountain nearest to the skies,
So shall that spirit hold in one strong band
The loftiest and lowliest in the land.

VOL. XXXIV. 3D. S. VOL. XVI. NO. II.

22

J. F. C.

THE BIBLE IN SPAIN.*

"THE Bible in Spain" is unfortunate in two respects. Its name and idea, a missionary tour for the circulation of the Scriptures, would give many readers a wholly unjust idea of the book, and even deter them from looking beneath the covers. Again, the form in which it presents itself as one of those cheap serials, which appear like ephemera and vanish as soon, would beget an equally unfounded contempt in another class, and make them presume that nothing could possess permanent value in this perishable and unclassical shape. And yet, in no respect, does the Bible in Spain belong to either of these kinds of literature. Having real merit and universal interest, being wholly popular in its style, and yet exceedingly curious in its information, crowded with anecdote and adventure, dialogue and incident, throwing a flood of light over Spain from a wholly new point of view, carrying us into the huts of the miserable peasants, giving us the gipsey-talk by the way-side, laying open the inner heart of the land, leading into the reality or prospect of danger every step of the way-although thousands and tens of thousands have been sold already; it has not yet taken its true place in general esteem. We have passed over the peninsula with many travellers, sometimes with great pleasure; but never so agreeably or profitably before: never with one who made us so familiar with national character, or gave us such a homebred feeling for the people at large. Others have described the cities and works of art of this famous old land; many others have acquainted us sufficiently with the life of a single class in the cities still, a large field remained unoccupied which Mr. Borrow has tilled with great patience and sucNo one has ever trodden that ill-fated soil under more manifest advantages. To say nothing of his unwearied perseverance, his heroic daring, his calmness in peril, his presence of mind in disaster, and his love of adventure- several languages, the keys to the people's heart, were at his command. The Gipsey tongue he seems to have understood better

cess.

* The Bible in Spain; or the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an attempt to circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula. By GEORGE BORROW, author of the Gipsies in Spain. Philadel. John M. Campbell. 1843.

than the Gipsies themselves; and hardly any other language came across his path, from the Spanish to the Russian, which did not appear to bow to him like a supple servant. All kinds of life seem to have been the same to him: whether lying at night in the open air, guarded from the rain only by an old horse-blanket, or falling asleep in the manger to the music of the feeding cattle, or crowded up in the filth of a village posada, or surrounded with all the horrors of the Madrid prison. The five years he spent in Spain were nearly all years of suffering and peril. Besides the usual danger of robbers and highwaymen, there was the desperate malice of the clergy, in a land where the Inquisition once showed its iron handed despotism to be complete; and the probability that if either of the contending parties laid hands upon him, while inflamed by either success or disappointment, his life would pay the penalty. When we admire this voluntary martyrship, beautiful as it is in heroism and self-surrender, in manful courage and religious dependence, we must remember there is in us a roving, adventurous spirit, which luxuriates in this very thing, especially when death is not over likely to encounter the knighterrant, and the teeth of persecution have fallen out with extreme age. Mr. Borrow had evidently something of this spirit, as he shows by the strange choice he continually made of companions and guides the gipsey and the smuggler, the ruffian, the outcast and the thief seeming to be especial favorites and sworn brothers. He himself says, that "in the day-dreams of his boyhood Spain always bore a considerable share; which interest led him to acquire her noble language, without any presentiment he should be called to take a part in her strange dramas ; and the most happy years of his existence were those he passed there." His simple journal speaks a very open heart; its enthusiasm is quite catching; and then there is a touching melancholy in the revelation of a proud nation's degradation and irreligion; though at times he leaves us in the dark as to his meaning, and by retailing word for word long conversations, which could not have been penned at the time, he puts in question his strict veracity, and appears to aim after dramatical effect.

His perils and sufferings, however, we cannot think exaggerated; indeed, they are mentioned as if hardly worth mentioning, as if there was some spice in this variety, some pleasure in looking back upon an experience so rich in romance.

We