Ay, let it pass—for ill would it beseem
So staid a man to be at all deprest
By visionary fears or superstitious dread,
Whilst Heaven is showering mercies on his head.
VIII.
"Waban," he said, "a generous feast prepare,
We can be cheerful, and yet not be mad;
The good man's smiles may be a praise or prayer;
The wicked only should be very sad.
God feeds the birds, my Mary, in the air,—
Hear how they thank Him with their voices glad.
The heart of man should nearer kindred own,
Joy in his smiles and sorrow in his frown."
IX.
Then forth fared Waban to the winding shore,
And quickly laid its shelly treasure bare,
Nor failed the woody dingles to explore,
And trap the partridge or the nimble hare;
And soon beneath a beech, beside the door,
On marshalled stones the blazing fagots are;
And when with heat the pristine oven glows,
Waban his tribute gives, and covers close.
X.
Meanwhile our Founder went from place to place,
And did each plan of village grandeur name;
This rising mound the future church should grace,
Yon little dell the village school should claim;
That sloping lawn the council hall should base,
Where freemen's voices should the law proclaim,
And ne'er to bigot yield the civil rod,
But save the Church by leaving her to God.
