NOW in this place, in this community,
One rule was followed, one strict commandment theirs:
Each brought with him his premise to be free
And from the first took a part in the town’s affairs.
On looking next door, he found his neighbor likewise;
This Truth stayed rampart under a rough coat;
And from the first they practiced the franchise, –
The right of every citizen to vote!
War could not stop nor famine unexplain
The purpose they had planted and would guard;
Men gathered to think and talk with heart and brain
With Hooker and Ludlow and Haynes in the Meeting-House yard;
And, being on enchanted ground, yet simple men,
As greatness will usurp itself for cause,
They seem to wish to leave no diary then
Of just who wrote the Fundamental Laws,
But as if to say, as if speaking out loud,
The People made them of sinew and heart and might . . .
And then they seem encompassed in a cloud,
Then there is Light! . . .
Three hundred years . . . their tombstones in the mist
Seem looking on the square for lonely eyes,
And when they seem like somber amethyst,
We look and find them there with no surprise,
As if to see them standing, kind and tall,
Or coming down the steps inclined to roam,
And, listening curiously, we hear them call
Ludlow home. . .
THREE hundred years . . . they come back spirit-wise;
We show them how their Light has traveled far;
To ships in air, Olympias in the skies;
We link it now to Arcturus, a Star:
We see the planets through a lake of glass –
That man is not yet free must seem absurd –
Why, when we look through the telescope must we see pass
And near to us, a ghost, a winged threat, a monstrous bird –
We cannot brush off from us those gnashing wings,
We think we live our ordinary lives,
Men, women, husbands and wives,
We laugh through the day or frown at petty things, –
And yet we do not meet each others’ eyes,
And like a band that threatens on our throats,
When ships are congregating in our skies,
We look for a silver ship and hear grating notes –
Science introverted – genius must we abhor? –
Our heritage to our children – shall it be War? –
Who now shall answer these inhibited fears? –
The Pioneers.
They have wrung a soul; they know this country best;
They are not mute, tame phantoms of desire.
Let Hooker rise and answer for the rest,
As of old, a leader to inspire.
What fitter sign for us than his retort,
When he pleaded he might go and build this town,
That day in Boston before the General Court.
He pleaded too magnificently, then he sat down, . . .
His plea was denied, but he looked like one possessed;
With prophecy. He saw as light brings
His voice rings,
We may hear him still.
Ask of him today as in that narrow room,
Before the body of those august men;
Like to the Court, and the listeners he addressed,
Or at his tomb. . .
Listen again. . .
So shall his words bring to us peace as wide,
Faith, vision-blent, sure as the rainbow’s arch –
If his heart failed him, his soul cried,
As he marched in a vision – as we shall march
Forward, by his side,
Whither?
The strong bent of our spirits move us thither.
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