Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
America: Vols. XXV–XXIX. 1876–79.
In the Old South Church
By John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)S
A wonder and a sign,
With a look the old-time sibyls wore,
Half-crazed and half-divine.
Unclothed as the primal mother,
With limbs that trembled, and eyes that blazed
With a fire she dare not smother.
With sprinkled ashes gray;
She stood in the broad aisle, strange and weird
As a soul at the judgment day.
And the people held their breath,
For these were the words the maiden said
Through lips as pale as death:—
All men my courts shall tread,
And priest and ruler no more shall eat
My people up like bread!’
In thunder, and breaking seals!
Let all souls worship him in the way
His light within reveals!”
And her sackcloth closely drew,
And into the porch of the awe-hushed church
She passed like a ghost from view.
(Small blame to the angry town!)
But the words she uttered that day nor fire
Could burn nor water drown.
By equal feet are trod;
And the bell that swings in its belfry rings
Freedom to worship God!
It thrills the conscious walls;
The stone from the basement cries aloud,
And the beam from the timber calls!
And pulpits that bless and ban;
And the Lord will not grudge the single church
That is set apart for man.
And the prophets under the sun;
And the first is last, and the last is first,
And the twain are verily one.
And her bay-tides rise and fall,
Shall freedom stand in the Old South Church,
And plead for the rights of all!