A Sabbath Scene

SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-bellCeased quivering in the steeple,Scarce had the parson to his deskWalked stately through his people,When down the summer-shaded streetA wasted female figure,With dusky brow and naked feet,

Came rushing wild and eager.She saw the white spire through the trees,She heard the sweet hymn swellingO pitying Christ! a refuge giveThat poor one in Thy dwelling!

Like a scared fawn before the hounds,Right up the aisle she glided,While close behind her, whip in hand,A lank-haired hunter strided.

She raised a keen and bitter cry,To Heaven and Earth appealing;Were manhood's generous pulses dead?Had woman's heart no feeling?

A score of stout hands rose betweenThe hunter and the flying:Age clenched his staff, and maiden eyesFlashed tearful, yet defying.

"Who dares profane this house and day?"Cried out the angry pastor."Why, bless your soul, the wench's a slave,And I'm her lord and master!

"I've law and gospel on my side,And who shall dare refuse me?"Down came the parson, bowing low,"My good sir, pray excuse me!

"Of course I know your right divineTo own and work and whip her;Quick, deacon, throw that PolyglottBefore the wench, and trip her!"

Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'erIts sacred pages stumbling,Bound hand and foot, a slave once more,The hapless wretch lay trembling.

I saw the parson tie the knots,The while his flock addressing,The Scriptural claims of slaveryWith text on text impressing.

"Although," said he, "on Sabbath dayAll secular occupationsAre deadly sins, we must fulfilOur moral obligations:

"And this commends itself as oneTo every conscience tender;As Paul sent back Onesimus,My Christian friends, we send her!"

Shriek rose on shriek,--the Sabbath airHer wild cries tore asunder;I listened, with hushed breath, to hearGod answering with his thunder!

All still! the very altar's clothHad smothered down her shrieking,And, dumb, she turned from face to face,For human pity seeking!

I saw her dragged along the aisle,Her shackles harshly clanking;I heard the parson, over all,The Lord devoutly thanking!

My brain took fire: "Is this," I cried,"The end of prayer and preaching?Then down with pulpit, down with priest,And give us Nature's teaching!

"Foul shame and scorn be on ye allWho turn the good to evil,And steal the Bible, from the Lord,To give it to the Devil!

"Than garbled text or parchment lawI own a statute higher;And God is true, though every bookAnd every man's a liar!"

Just then I felt the deacon's handIn wrath my coattail seize on;I heard the priest cry, "Infidel!"The lawyer mutter, "Treason!"

I started up,--where now were church,Slave, master, priest, and people?I only heard the supper-bell,Instead of clanging steeple.

But, on the open window's sill,O'er which the white blooms drifted,The pages of a good old BookThe wind of summer lifted,

And flower and vine, like angel wingsAround the Holy Mother,Waved softly there, as if God's truthAnd Mercy kissed each other.

And freely from the cherry-boughAbove the casement swinging,With golden bosom to the sun,The oriole was singing.

As bird and flower made plain of oldThe lesson of the Teacher,So now I heard the written WordInterpreted by Nature.

For to my ear methought the breezeBore Freedom's blessed word on;Thus saith the Lord: Break every yoke,Undo the heavy burden