The Ancient Banner | Page 4

published, since
that sacred book
Anciently written. Seekers are still led
By its
direction, to that blessed Light,
And inward Teacher, who is Jesus
Christ.
But now, this noble servant of the Lord,
Rests from his
faithful labour, while his works
Yet follow him.
Early believers in
the light of Truth,
Dwelt not at ease in Zion. They endured

Conflicts and trials, and imprisonments.
Even the humble Penington,
whose mind
Seemed purged and purified from all the dross
Of
human nature--who appeared as meek
And harmless as an
infant--was compelled
To dwell in loathsome prisons. But he had,

Though in the midst of wickedness, sublime
And holy visions of the

purity,
And the true nature of Christ's living Church.
While
Edmundson, the faithful pioneer
Of Truth in Ireland, was compelled
to drink
Deeply of suffering for the blessed cause.
Dragged from
his home, half naked, by a mob
Who laid that home in ashes, he
endured
Heart-rending cruelties. But all of these,
Stars of the
morning, felt oppression's hand,
And some endured it to the closing
scene.
Burroughs, a noble servant of the Lord,
Whose lips and pen
were eloquent for Truth,
Drew his last breath in prison. Parnel, too,

A young and valiant soldier of the Lamb,
Died, a true martyr in a
dungeon's gloom.
Howgill and Hubberthorn, both ministers
Of
Christ's ordaining, were released from all
Their earthly trials within
prison walls.
And beside these, there was a multitude
Of faithful
men, and noble women too,
Who past from scenes of conflict, to the
joys
Of the Redeemer's kingdom, within jails,
And some in
dungeons. But amid it all,
Light spread in Britain, and a living
Church
Was greatly multiplied. The tender minds,
Even of children,
felt the power of Truth,
And showed the fruit and firmness it affords.

When persecution, rioted within
The town of Bristol, and all older
Friends
Were locked in prison, little children met,
Within their
place of worship, by themselves,
To offer praises, in the very place

From which their parents had been dragged to jail.
But let us turn
from Britain, and look down,
Upon an inland sea whose swelling
waves
Encircle Malta. There a cloudless sun,
In Eastern beauty,
pours its light upon
The Inquisition. All without its walls
Seems
calm and peaceful, let us look within.
There, stretched upon the floor,
within a close,

Dark, narrow cell, inhaling from a crack
A breath of
purer air, two women lie.
But who are these, and wherefore are they
here?
These are two ministers of Christ, who left
Their homes in
England, faithfully to bear,
The Saviour's message into eastern lands.

And here at Malta they were seized upon
By bigotted intolerance,
and shut
Within this fearful engine of the Pope.
Priests and
Inquisitor assail them here,
And urge the claims of popery. The rack,

And cruel deaths are threatened; and again
Sweet liberty is offered,

as the price
Of their apostacy. All, all in vain!
For years these
tender women have been thus,
Victims of cruelty. At times apart,

Confined in gloomy, solitary cells.
But all these efforts to convert
them failed:
The Inquisition had not power enough
To shake their
faith and confidence in Him,
Whose holy presence was seen anciently

To save his children from devouring flames;
He, from this furnace
of affliction, brought
These persecuted women, who came forth
Out
of the burning, with no smell of fire
Upon their garments, and again
they trod,
Their native land rejoicing.
In Hungary, two ministers of
Christ,
Were stretched upon the rack. Their tortured limbs
Were
almost torn asunder, but no force
Could tear them from their Master,
and they came
Out of the furnace, well refined gold.
Nor were these
all who suffered for the cause
Of truth and righteousness, in foreign
lands.
For at Mequinez and Algiers, some toiled,
And died in
slavery. But nothing could
Discourage faithful messengers of Christ

From his required service. They were found
Preaching repentance
where the Israelites
Once toiled in Egypt, and the ancient Nile
Still
rolls its waters. And the holy light
Of the eternal Gospel was
proclaimed,
Where its great Author had first published it--
Where
the rich temple of King Solomon,
Stood in its ancient glory. Even
there,
The haughty Musselmen, were told of Him,
The one great
Prophet, who now speaks within.
For their refusing to participate
In
carnal warfare, many early Friends,
Were made to suffer. On a ship
of war
Equipped for battle, Richard Sellers bore,
With a meek,
Christian spirit, cruelties

The most atrocious, for obeying Him
Who
was his heavenly Captain, and by whom,
War is forbidden. Sellers
would not touch,
The instruments of carnage, nor could all
The
cruelties inflicted, move his soul
From a reliance on that holy Arm,

Which had sustained him in the midst of all
His complicated trials;
and he gained
A peaceful, but a greater victory
Than that of battle,
for he wearied out
Oppression, by his constancy, and left
A holy
savor, with that vessel's crew.
But let us turn from persecuting scenes,

That stain the annals of the older world,
To young America, whose

virgin shores
Offer a refuge from oppression's power.
Here lies a
harbour in the noble bay
Of Massachusetts. Many little isles
Dot its
expanding waters, and Nahant
Spreads its long beach and eminence
beyond,
A barrier to the ocean. The whole scene,
Looks beautiful,
in the clear northern air,
And loveliness of morning. On the heights

That overlook the harbour, there is seen
An infant settlement. Let us
approach,
And anchor where the Puritans have sought,
For liberty
of