Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/On the Convention at Hartford
ON THE CONVENTION AT HARTFORD.
December 15th, 1814.
SAY, who are these that tread the darken'd scene,
With cautious step and deeply thoughtful air?
No crested helmet shades their lofty mien,
No angry dart, or warring sword, they bear,
And though their glance is bold, their brows are mark'd with care.
Around their locks a half-form'd wreath is thrown,
Whose fading leaves, the deepning gloom increase,
Twin'd from a plant, now exil'd and unknown,
For whose return the prayer shall never cease,
The sacred olive fair, that marks the men of peace.
Tho' prompt to ward the near impending stroke,
And guard of freedom's stream the vital source,
They tempt no conflict, no revenge provoke,
But meet oppression in its daring course,
With wisdom's ample shield, of Heaven attemper'd force.
Ye sages firm! in dark and troubled times,
To you, in accents sad, your country sighs,
In days of discord, violence, and crimes,
Her guardians, and her friends, she sees you rise,
Like ancient heroes bold, as humble Christians wise.
She sees no party views your aspects shroud,
No rash resolves your steady course pervert,
And points you high above the arching cloud,
Where round the throne of Him who knows the heart,
Bright watchful seraphs stand, and mark your arduous part.
Ye sages just! the record of these days,
Shall beam afar beyond your last abode,
What now your counsels, or your hands, shall raise,
The sword, the shield, the balance, or the rod,
Will rise before your souls in the dread day of God.
For you the secret prayer to Heaven ascends,
To Heaven for you, assembled hosts implore,
When to the earth the contrite spirit bends,
Or saints the tears of pure devotion pour,
Your names escape their lips, while they their God adore.