The Ancient Banner | Page 3

He lived to
see,
Pure hearted men and women gathered to
The inward teaching
of the Saviour's will,--
Banded together in the covenant,
Of light
and life. But his allotted work,
Was now accomplished, and his soul
prepared,
For an inheritance with saints in light,
And with his loins
all girded, he put off
His earthly shackles, triumphing in death,
That
the Seed reigned, and Truth was over all!
Where the dark waters of
the Delaware,
Roll onward to the ocean, sweeping by,
Primeval
forests, where the red man still,
Built his rude wigwam, and the timid
deer
Fled for concealment from the Indian's eye,
And the unerring
arrow of his bow;
There, in the shadow of these ancient woods,
A
sea-worn ship has anchored. On her deck,
Men of grave mien are
gathered. One of whom,
Of noble figure, and quick searching eyes,

Surveys the scene, wrapt in the deepest thought.
And this is William
Penn. He stands among,
Fellow believers, who have sought a home,

And place of refuge, in this wilderness.
Born of an ancient family,
his sire
An English Admiral, the youthful Penn,
Might, with his
talents, have soon ranked among
The proudest subjects of the British
throne.
He chose the better part--to serve that King

Who is
immortal and invisible.
While yet a student within college halls,
He
heard Truth's message, and his heart was reached,
And fully owned it,
though it came through one
Of that despised and persecuted class,

Called in derision Quakers. Thus convinced,
He left the college
worship, to commune
In spirit with his Maker. And for this,
He was
expelled from Oxford; and was soon
Maltreated by his father, who,
enraged,
Because his only son, had turned away
From brilliant
prospects, to pursue the path
Of self-denial, drove him harshly forth


From the paternal roof. But William Penn,
Had still a Father, who
supported him,
With strength and courage to perform his will;
And
he was called and qualified to preach,
And to bear witness of that
blessed Light
Which shines within. He suffered in the cause,
His
share of trial. He was dragged before
Judges and juries, and was shut
within
The walls of prisons.
Looking abroad through England, he
was filled
With deep commiseration, for the jails--
The loathsome,
filthy jails--were crowded with
His brethren in the Truth. For their
relief,
He sought the ear of royalty, and plead
Their cruel sufferings;
and their innocence;
And thus became the instrument through which

Some prison doors were opened. But he sought
A place of refuge
from oppression's power,
That Friends might worship the Creator
there,
Free from imprisonment and penalties.
And such a place soon
opened to his view,
Far in the Western Wilderness, beyond
The
Atlantic's wave.
And here is William Penn, and here a band
Of
weary emigrants, who now behold
The promised land before them;
but it is
The Indian's country, and the Indian's home.
Penn had
indeed, received a royal grant,
To occupy it; but a grant from one

Who had no rightful ownership therein;
He therefore buys it honestly
from those
Whose claims are aboriginal, and just.
With these
inhabitants, behold, he stands
Beneath an ancient elm, whose
spreading limbs
O'erhang the Delaware. The forest chiefs
Sit in
grave silence, while the pipe of peace
Goes round the circle. They
have made a league
With faithful Onas--a perpetual league,
And
treaty of true friendship, to endure

While the sun shines, and while
the waters run.
And here was founded in the wilderness,
A refuge
from oppression, where all creeds
Found toleration, and where truth
and right
Were the foundation of its government,
And its protection.
In that early day,
The infant colony sought no defence
But that of
justice and of righteousness;
The only guarantees of peace on earth,

Because they ever breathe, good will to men.
His colony thus
planted, William Penn
Sought his old field of labour, and again,

Both through the press and vocally, he plead
The right of conscience,

and the rights of man;
And frequently, and forcibly he preached

Christ's universal and inshining Light.
His labour was incessant; and
the cares,
And the perplexities connected with
His distant province,
which he visited
A second time, bore heavily upon
His burdened
spirit, which demanded rest;--
That rest was granted. In the midst of
all
His labour and his trials, there was drawn
A veil, in mercy,
round his active mind,
Which dimmed all outward things; but he still
saw
The beauty and the loveliness of Truth,
And found sweet
access to the Source of good.
And thus, shut out from the perplexities

And sorrows of the world, he was prepared
To hear the final
summons, to put off
His tattered garments, and be clothed upon

With heavenly raiment.
Scotland, thou hadst a noble citizen,
In him
of Ury! Born amid thy hills,
Though educated where enticing scenes,

Crowd giddy Paris, he rejected all
The world's allurements, and
unlike the youth
Who talked with Jesus, Barclay turned away
From
great possessions, and embraced the Truth.
He early dedicated all the
powers
Of a well cultivated intellect
To the Redeemer and His holy
cause.
He was a herald, to proclaim aloud,
Glad tidings of salvation;
and his life
Preached a loud sermon by its purity.
Not only were his
lips made eloquent,
By the live coal that touched them, but his pen,

Moved by a force from the same altar, poured
Light, truth, and
wisdom. From it issued forth
The great Apology, which yet remains

One of the best expositors of Truth
That man has