On primal rocks she wrote her name; Her towers were reared on holy graves; The golden seed that bore her came Swift-winged with prayer o'er ocean waves. The Forest bowed his solemn crest, And open flung his sylvan doors; Meek Rivers led the appointed guest To clasp the wide-embracing shores; Till, fold by fold, the broidered land To swell her virgin vestments grew, While sages, strong in heart and hand, Her virtue's fiery girdle drew. O Exile of the wrath of kings! O Pilgrim Ark of Liberty! The refuge of divinest things, Their record must abide in thee! First in the glories of thy front Let the crown-jewel, Truth, be found; Thy right hand fling, with generous wont, Love's happy chain to farthest bound! Let Justice, with the faultless scales, Hold fast the worship of thy sons; Thy Commerce spread her shining sails Where no dark tide of rapine runs! So link thy ways to those of God, So follow firm the heavenly laws, That stars may greet thee, warrior-browed, And storm-sped angels hail thy cause! O Lord, the measure of our prayers, Hope of the world in grief and wrong, Be thine the tribute of the years, The gift of Faith, the crown of Song! JULIA WARD HOWE. CHAPTER VI RELIGIOUS PERSECUTIONS IN NEW ENGLAND The Puritans, who had come to New England to escape a religious despotism, lost no time in establishing one of their own. At the first meeting of the General Council, in the autumn of 1630, it was agreed that no one should be admitted to membership in the company who was not a member of some church approved by it, and a religious oligarchy was thus established which kept itself in power for over thirty years. PROLOGUE From "John Endicott" To-night we strive to read, as we may best, This city, like an ancient palimpsest; And bring to light, upon the blotted page, The mournful record of an earlier age, That, pale and half effaced, lies hidden away Beneath the fresher writing of to-day. Rise, then, O buried city that hast been; Rise up, rebuilded in the painted scene, And let our curious eyes behold once more The pointed gable and the pent-house door, The meeting-house with leaden-latticed panes, The narrow thoroughfares, the crooked lanes! Rise, too, ye shapes and shadows of the Past, Rise from your long-forgotten graves at last; Let us behold your faces, let us hear The words ye uttered in those days of fear! Revisit your familiar haunts again,-- The scenes of triumph, and the scenes of pain, And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet Once more upon the pavement of the street!