But all appareled as in days of old,

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;
And when his courtiers came, they found him there
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

THE REVOLUTIONARY RISING

THOMAS BUCHANNAN READ

The hero of Read's poem was John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg, a native of Pennsylvania, born, 1746, died, 1807. "He went to school at Halle, from which he ran away, and passed a year as a private in the dragoons. Returning to America, 1766, he studied for the Lutheran ministry; was called to Virginia, 1771; to have a legal standing there as a clergyman, went to England, 1772, and was ordained by the bishop of London; in the same year was settled at Woodstock, Virginia. Soon after the beginning of the revolutionary war, he told his congregation that there was a time to preach and a time to fight, and at the close of the services, he tore off his gown, showing himself in full uniform, and read from the pulpit his commission as colonel. He had the drummers strike up for volunteers, and many of his congregation volunteered and joined his regiment, the 8th Virginia, popularly known as the German regiment, afterwards noted for its courage and good discipline."

-International Cyclopaedia.

Out of the North the wild news came,

Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies

At midnight through the startled skies.

And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat,

And through the wide land everywhere

The answering tread of hurrying feet;
While the first oath of Freedom's gun
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour.

Within its shade of elm and oak

The church of Berkley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk,

And some esteemed of gentle blood. In vain their feet with loitering tread Passed mid the graves where rank is naught; All could not read the lesson taught

In that republic of the dead.

How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,

The vale with peace and sunshine full,

Where all the happy people walk,

Decked in their homespun flax and wool!

Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom;

And every maid, with simple art,

Wears on her breast, like her own heart,

A bud whose depths are all perfume;
While every garment's gentle stir
Is breathing rose and lavender.

The pastor came; his snowy locks

Hallowed his brow of thought and care;

And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer.

Then soon he rose; the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might,-
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"
He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;

Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle-brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,

Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise.

A moment there was awful pause,

When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease! God's temple is the house of peace!"

The other shouted, "Nay, not so;
When God is with our righteous cause,
His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers
That frown upon the tyrant foe;
In this, the dawn of Freedom's day,
There is a time to fight and pray!"

And now before the open door

The warrior priest had ordered so—
The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er,
Its long reverberating blow,
So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.
And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;
While overhead, with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,
The great bell swung as ne'er before:
It seemed as it would never cease;
And every word its ardor flung
From off its jubilant iron tongue
Was, "War! War! WAR!"

"Who dares?"-this was the patriot's cry,
As striding from the desk he came,-
"Come out with me, in Freedom's name,

For her to live, for her to die?"
A hundred hands flung up reply,

A hundred voices answered, "I!"

I saw in the naked forest our scattered remnant castA screen of shivering branches between them and the

blast;

The snow was falling round them, the dying fell as fast; I looked to see them perish, when lo! the vision passed.

Again mine eyes were opened-the feeble had waxed strong;

The babes had grown to sturdy men, the remnant was a throng.

By shadowed lake and winding stream, and all the shores

along,

The howling demons quaked to hear the Christian's godly

song.

They slept—the village fathers-by river, lake and shore, When far adown the steep of Time the vision rose once

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