Soul spake to soul—one mystic band,
In gentle fetters bound;
As thus they worshipped fearlessly
And made it holy ground.
And bending low the reverent knee,
Arose the tones of prayer,
Thanks for a sleepless watch and ward,
A Father's kindly care.
The memories of their father-land,
The charms of native shore,
Forsaken hearth-stones, wonted paths
That know their steps no more—
Were naught to the one glorious thought
Within each noble soul,
That they were free to worship God,
Safe from man's stern control.
Free! free! how echoed forth those words
Amid the leafy shade,
Where many a whispering forest tree
Melodious murmurs made.
They echoed by the singing stream,
Old ocean caught the sound,
And chanted forth from deepest caves,
It harmonies profound.
Page:Poems of Mrs. Frances B.M. Brotherson.djvu/26
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4
THE HYMN OF THE PILGRIMS.
