powerful hand we profess to have breath and being, our ways and motions. He hath whips and scourges for colonies and countries, nations and kingdoms, as we have felt in New England this last year, and have dolefully heard, from Old. How have the arrows of the pestilence pierced the hearts of thousands and tens of thousands of our fellow English. How dreadfully hath he mixed the blood of English, Dutch and French with the briny ocean. His jealousy was pleased to cause a black cloud to hover over this country, this last summer. It pleased him to cause this cloud to break and fall on some of our countrymen to the Southard and Westward

of

us, and then to run to the Northward and Eastward of us to Newfoundland, but not to come near our habitations.

Shall now New England say, shall this colony say, it is for our righteousness-there are no sins that cry in this colony and country for justice to revenge abused mercy?

Worthy friends, the changes of the heavens and the earth have been great and sudden, seen and felt by us all, this winter. Let us not soothe and sing ourselves asleep, with murdering lullabies. Let us provide for changes and by timely humiliation, prevent them. For myself, seeing what I see over

all New England, I cannot but say with David, Psalm 119. My flesh trembleth for fear of thee and I am afraid of thy judgments.

I remain, longing after your present and

eternal Peace,

ROGER WILLIAMS.

Providence Jan. 1665-6 so called.

CONCERNING SLEEPE AND LODGING OF THE INDIANS.

(From a Key into the Language of America, &c.)

BY ROGER WILLIAMS.

THE GENERALL OBSERVATION.

Sweet rest is not confind to soft Beds, for not only God gives his beloved sleep on hard lodging; but also Nature and Custome gives sound sleep to these Americans on the Earth, on a Boord or Mat. Yet how is Europe bound to God for better lodging, &c.

More particular;

God gives them sleep on Ground, on Straw,
on Sedgie Mats or Boord:

When English Softest Beds of Downe,

sometimes no sleep affoord.

I have knowne them leave their House and Mat,
to lodge a Friend or stranger,

When Jewes and Christians oft have sent
Christ Jesus to the Manger.

'Fore day they invocate their Gods,

though Many False and New:

O how should that God worshipt be,

who is but One and True!

How sweetly doe all the severall sorts of Heaven's Birds, in all Coasts of the World, preach unto men the prayse of their Maker's Wisdome, Power, and Goodnesse, who feedes them and their young ones Summer and Winter with their severall sorts of foode: although they neither sow nor reape, nor gather into Barnes!

1643.

If Birds that neither sow nor reape
Nor store up any food,
Constantly find to them and theirs

A maker kind and good!

If man provide eke for his Birds,

In Yard, in Coops, in Cage,

And each Bird spends in songs and Tunes,

His little time and Age!

What care will Man, what care will God

For his wife and children take?

Millions of Birds and Worlds will God
Sooner than his, forsake.

ROGER WILLIAMS.

BY FRANCES H. WHIPPLE.

ILLUSTRIOUS pioneer of liberty;

Parent and founder of the truly free!
No treachery deforms thy peerless story;
No deed of vengeance sullies thy pure glory.
Thy precept and example, hand in hand,
Went like fair sisters o'er the smiling land;
While the rude Indian, true to Nature's law,
Knew what was good, and trusted what he saw.
He met thee as a brother-gave his land—
And thou gav'st him an open honest hand;
Nor was his simple nature e'er deceived;
Nor his proud, noble spirit once aggrieved;
He was thy brother-thou, 'neath closest scan,
Mid all temptations, wert-an honest man :
Rhode Islanders, with virtuous pride, can tell
Thy line of life has but one parallel-
Thou, and the Son of Peace-the western sage-
Were the twin stars of your illiberal age.
When warlike fame as morning mist shall fly,
And blood-stained glory, as a meteor, die ;
When all the dross is known, and cast away,
And the pure gold, alone, allowed to stay,
Two names will stand, the pride of virtuous men,
Our ROGER WILLIAMS, and good WILLIAM PENN.

21

TO THE WEATHERCOCK ON OUR STEEPLE.

BY ALBERT G. GREENE.

THE dawn has broke, the morn is up,

Another day begun ;

And there thy poised and gilded spear
Is flashing in the sun,

Upon that steep and lofty tower

Where thou thy watch hast kept,

A true and faithful sentinel,

While all around thee slept.

For years, upon thee, there, has poured
The summer's noon-day heat,

And through the long, dark, starless night,

The winter storms have beat;

But yet thy duty has been done,

By day and night the same,

Still thou hast met and faced the storm,

Whichever way it came.

No chilling blast in wrath has swept

Along the distant heaven,

But thou hast watched its onward course

And instant warning given;

And when mid-summer's sultry beams

Oppress all living things,

Thou dost foretell each breeze that comes

With health upon its wings.