JOHN DE MATHA.
A LEGEND OF "THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE," A.D.

1154-1864.
A STRONG and mighty Angel, Calm, terrible, and bright, The cross in blended red and blue Upon his mantle white.
Two captives by him kneeling, Each on his broken chain, Sang praise to God who raiseth The dead to life again! Dropping his cross-wrought mantle, "Wear this," the Angel said; "Take thou, O Freedom's priest, its sign, The white, the blue, and red." Then rose up John de 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 flew, 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 hands as wax.
At last, outbound from Tunis, His bark her anchor weighed, Freighted with seven-score Christian souls Whose ransom he had paid.
But, torn by Paynim hatred, Her sails in tatters hung; And on the wild waves, rudderless, A shattered hulk she swung.
"God save us!" cried the captain, "For naught can man avail; Oh, woe betide the ship that lacks Her rudder and her sail! "Behind us are the Moormen; At sea we sink or strand There's death upon the water, There's death upon the land!" Then up spake John de Matha "God's errands never fail! Take thou the mantle which I wear, And make of it a sail." They raised the cross-wrought mantle, The blue, the white, the red; And straight before the wind off-shore The ship of Freedom sped.
"God help us!" cried the seamen, "For vain is mortal skill The good ship on a stormy sea Is drifting at its will." Then up spake John de Matha "My mariners, never fear The Lord whose breath has filled her sail May well our vessel steer!" So on through storm and darkness They drove for weary hours; And lo! the third gray morning shone On Ostia's friendly towers.
And on the walls the watchers The ship of mercy knew, They knew far off its holy cross, The red, the white, and blue.
And the bells in all the steeples Rang out in glad accord, To welcome home to Christian soil The ransomed of the Lord.
So runs the ancient legend By bard and painter told; And lo! the cycle rounds again, The new is as the old! With rudder foully broken, And sails by traitors torn, Our country on a midnight sea Is waiting for the morn.
Before her, nameless terror; Behind, the pirate foe; The clouds are 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, O Lord I how long?
But courage, O my mariners Ye shall not suffer wreck, While up to God the freedman'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 blue?
Its hues are all of heaven, The red of sunset's dye, The whiteness of the moon-lit cloud, The blue of morning's sky.
Wait cheerily, then, O mariners, For daylight and for land; The breath of God is in your sail, Your rudder is His hand.
Sail on, sail on, deep-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 benedictions down.
Take heart from John de Matha!-- God's errands never fail! Sweep on through storm and darkness, The thunder and the hail! Sail on! The morning cometh, The port ye yet shall win; And all the bells of God shall ring The good ship bravely in! 1865.
LAUS DEO! On hearing the bells ring on the passage of the constitutional amendment abolishing slavery.

The resolution was adopted by Congress, January 31, 1865.

The ratification by the requisite number of states was announced December 18, 1865.
IT is done! Clang of bell and roar of gun Send the tidings up and down.
How the belfries rock and reel! How the great guns, peal on peal, Fling the joy from town to town! Ring, O bells! Every stroke exulting tells Of the burial hour of crime.
Loud and long, that all may hear, Ring for every listening ear Of Eternity and Time! Let us kneel God's own voice is in that peal, And this spot is holy ground.
Lord, forgive us! What are we, That our eyes this glory see, That our ears have heard the sound! For the Lord On the whirlwind is abroad; In the earthquake He has spoken; He has smitten with His thunder The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken.
Loud and long Lift the old exulting song; Sing with Miriam by the sea, He has cast the mighty down; Horse and rider sink and drown; "He hath triumphed gloriously!" Did we dare, In our agony of prayer, Ask for more than He has done?
When was ever His right hand Over any time or land Stretched as now beneath the sun?
How they pale, Ancient myth and song and tale, In this wonder of our days, When the cruel rod of war Blossoms white with righteous law, And the wrath of man is praise! Blotted out All within and all about Shall a fresher life begin; Freer breathe the universe As it rolls its heavy curse On the dead and buried sin! It is done! In the circuit of the sun Shall the sound thereof go forth.
It shall bid the sad rejoice, It shall give the dumb a voice, It shall belt with joy the earth! Ring and swing, Bells of joy! On morning's wing Send the song of praise abroad! With a sound of broken chains Tell the nations that He reigns, Who alone is Lord and God! 1865.
HYMN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF EMANCIPATION AT NEWBURYPORT.
NOT unto us who did but seek The word that burned within to speak, Not unto us this day belong The triumph and exultant song.
Upon us fell in early youth The burden of unwelcome truth, And left us, weak and frail and few, The censor's painful work to do.
Thenceforth our life a fight became, The air we breathed was hot with blame; For not with gauged and softened tone We made the bondman's cause our own.
We bore, as Freedom's hope forlorn, The private hate, the public scorn; Yet held through all the paths we trod Our faith in man and trust in God.
We prayed and hoped; but still, with awe, The coming of the sword we saw; We heard the nearing steps of doom, We saw the shade of things to come.
In grief which they alone can feel Who from a mother's wrong appeal, With blended lines of fear and hope We cast our country's horoscope.
For still within her house of life We marked the lurid sign of strife, And, poisoning and imbittering all, We saw the star of Wormwood fall.
Deep as our love for her became Our hate of all that wrought her shame, And if, thereby, with tongue and pen We erred,--we were but mortal men.
We hoped for peace; our eyes survey The blood-red dawn of Freedom's day We prayed for love to loose the chain; 'T is shorn by battle's axe in twain! Nor skill nor strength nor zeal of ours Has mined and heaved the hostile towers; Not by our hands is turned the key That sets the sighing captives free.
A redder sea than Egypt's wave Is piled and parted for the slave; A darker cloud moves on in light; A fiercer fire is guide by night.
The praise, O Lord! is Thine alone, In Thy own way Thy work is done! Our poor gifts at Thy feet we cast, To whom be glory, first and last! 1865.
AFTER THE WAR.
THE PEACE AUTUMN.
Written for the Fssex County Agricultural Festival, 1865.
THANK God for rest, where none molest, And none can make afraid; For Peace that sits as Plenty's guest Beneath the homestead shade! Bring pike and gun, the sword's red scourge, The negro's broken chains, And beat them at the blacksmith's forge To ploughshares for our plains.
Alike henceforth our hills of snow, And vales where cotton flowers; All streams that flow, all winds that blow, Are Freedom's motive-powers.
Henceforth to Labor's chivalry Be knightly honors paid; For nobler than the sword's shall be The sickle's accolade.
Build up an altar to the Lord, O grateful hearts of ours And shape it of the greenest sward That ever drank the showers.
Lay all the bloom of gardens there, And there the orchard fruits; Bring golden grain from sun and air, From earth her goodly roots.
There let our banners droop and flow, The stars uprise and fall; Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow, Let sighing breezes call.
Their names let hands of horn and tan And rough-shod feet applaud, Who died to make the slave a man, And link with toil reward.
There let the common heart keep time To such an anthem sung As never swelled on poet's rhyme, Or thrilled on singer's tongue.
Song of our burden and relief, Of peace and long annoy; The passion of our mighty grief And our exceeding joy! A song of praise to Him who filled The harvests sown in tears, And gave each field a double yield To feed our battle-years.
A song of faith that trusts the end To match the good begun, Nor doubts the power of Love to blend The hearts of men as one! TO THE THIRTY-NINTH CONGRESS.
The thirty-ninth congress was that which met in 1865 after the close of the war, when it was charged with the great question of reconstruction; the uppermost subject in men's minds was the standing of those who had recently been in arms against the Union and their relations to the freedmen.
O PEOPLE-CHOSEN! are ye not Likewise the chosen of the Lord, To do His will and speak His word?
From the loud thunder-storm of war Not man alone hath called ye forth, But He, the God of all the earth! The torch of vengeance in your hands He quenches; unto Him belongs The solemn recompense of wrongs.
Enough of blood the land has seen, And not by cell or gallows-stair Shall ye the way of God prepare.
Say to the pardon-seekers: Keep Your manhood, bend no suppliant knees, Nor palter with unworthy pleas.
Above your voices sounds the wail Of starving men; we shut in vain * Our eyes to Pillow's ghastly stain.

** What words can drown that bitter cry?
What tears wash out the stain of death?
What oaths confirm your broken faith?
From you alone the guaranty Of union, freedom, peace, we claim; We urge no conqueror's terms of shame.
Alas! no victor's pride is ours; We bend above our triumphs won Like David o'er his rebel son.
Be men, not beggars.