John Bright

I few men of hero-mould The Quaker counts amid his ranks to-day; But, in the troublous times of old, Before commodity’s loud gold Drowned with its clank the clash of steel, The Quaker held no devious way; For him to see was but to feel, To feel was but to say. II All hail those men of yore! Amid innumerable disasters true To that brave standard which they bore; Whether amid the maddened roar Of priest-led mobs, or scourged and flung To die in gaols, or where the few Sat waiting for the cloven tongue, But one straight path they knew. III Yet peace breeds doubtful virtues. When the flame Of persecution flickered, fell, expired, So dimmed the old lustre; no hot shame The wavering conscience fired. So, when wild storms are past, and winds grow tame, And the foiled tempest holds his hand, The vessels cast safe anchor near the strand; And sweet it seems a gentle sea to ride, While lapping waters lave The weary, battered side:— “Ah, linger thus,” the shipmen cry, “near land, Nor tempt again the buffets of the wave!” They will not heed the voice That calls from far and chides their choice: He must not dally with the shore Who thinks on noble gain, But bend him stoutly to the oar, And seek the midmost main, And wrest their treasure from the clasp of wave and hurricane. IV Ho! pilot of the roaring seas! No summer sailor thou; It was no idle breeze That set those manly lines upon thy brow; For thou hast done what all to do are fain, Yet few, ah, few attain,— Hast never struck thy sail And fled before the gale Till it had spent its force,— But sawest clear upon the chart of life Thy straight-drawn track; and though the storm blew loud, And elemental strife In one mad whirl joined sea and cloud, Thou hast but lashed thy helm and held thy course. And for the manly heart and manly deed Thy country loves thee,—gives Honor unstinted as thy meed; And they that still can hold The Quaker name rejoice that one man lives Who fills the measure of their hero-mould. V At glimpse of wrong, thy voice that knows not fear, As sword from scabbard still hath leapt, and fills With noblest echoes these wide halls of time. We too, when tempests shook our western clime, And all the air was rife with bodings grave, Have felt new hope to hear That voice of manly cheer, And mark the signal of a friendly hand From yon far strand Where thy bluff England dashes back the wave. VI Brief be our word, yet strong. So we this greeting send, Stout English heart, across the severing sea, Whose chainless waters blend The breezes of two nations that are free; Free, free for evermore! And shore shall call to shore In sister freedom till the end of time; And still the thunder chime Of that vast sea shall chorus the same song. Ay, he who bends his ear To those great tones, shall hear Exultant voices, swelling high, proclaim That thou, undaunted heart, Hast played a hero’s part, Joining with freedom’s deathless song thy deathless name.