USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Salisbury > The West Parish Church, Salisbury, Mass. : One hundredth anniversary, June 17, 1885 > Part 4
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especially for that ceremonial pomp with which, amid martial strains and fluttering flags and saluting salvos, he was conducted across the Merrimack to yonder ferry, the barge that bore him, if not such indeed as that which
" Like a burnished throne burned on the waters,"
still sumptuous with its satin adornings,- the proudest thing, O gallant river, that ever rode thy waves ! Following, with his escort, along the river margin,- that unrivalled stretch of village loveliness and peace,- Washington presently pursued his journey by way of Rocky Hill, having delayed only to inspect those Salisbury shipyards which had rendered such signal service during the war, and where the Merrimack was constructed,-a gift to the government by the citizens of Newburyport,- and her sister frigate, named in honor of the Alliance between France and the United States, appro- priately employed upon its earliest voyage in bearing Lafayette, a guest of the nation he had helped enfranchise, to his native shores.
With a tenderer interest, perhaps, than any which attaches to this more than royal progress of the first of our Presidents, we may contrast the journey of another rider, Ebenezer Webster, along this selfsame highway in those far- gone years, coming hitler, unheralded and alone, to take to wife that Abigail Eastman, a townswoman of Salisbury, and a member of the Rocky Hill parish, who,- in his distant mountain home on the New Hampshire frontier, between which and the wilds of Canada there rose the smoke of no white man's dwell- ing,- was to become the mother of his Olympian son. How often, to my mind's eye, have I pictured the return of this sturdy couple, riding pillion-wise, after the fashion of those days, and bringing with them the boy, Daniel Webster, yet to be known by the sovereignty of intellect as god-like among men, that his enfeebled youth might feel the health-giving breezes of the ocean,-that ocean which so fitly symbolizes the elemental strength and majesty of his nature. And how often have I pictured him, again and yet again, returning in his meridian manhood, the world then filled with his fame, delighting with another of the laurelled great of Salisbury, his compatriot and friend, Caleb Cushing, to tread with reverent feet the sacred soil, and, depart- ing, to pluck from its wilding stem some lingering rose which time liad spared, to scatter its fragrance among the ruins of his ancestral homestead.
Other incidents of a kindred character, illustrative of the growth and history of the old town, I should be glad to recall to your memory, were this an appropriate occasion and did time permit. I should be glad to recount, for instance, the rugged story of that sturdy man, whom a descendant in the present generation, our late Minister to the Netherlands, has been proud to portray as the New Puritan, for whose example of defiant and devoted courage in the cause of right and liberty, when their needs were great and
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their hosts were few, the name of Robert Pike cannot be too highly honored; or to draw from their dusty and forgotten parchments the dramatic passages of Wheelwright's eventful life,- Wheelwright, the exile and protomartyr, a striking and picturesque figure of the earlier colonial period, and whose burial- place here in Salisbury, as well as that of his contemporary Pike, deserved long since to have received memorial honor. That tragic episode, too, of a still earlier day, it would be instructive to recall, which sent Edwin Gove, our first rebel, one of our Salisbury stock, to the Tower of London, sentenced to be beheaded, drawn, and quartered, for armed resistance to tyranny, pardoned only after lingering incarceration, and returning to our neighboring town of Seabrook, to sow, through a long old age, the seeds of his love of freedom among our people. Gladly, too, how gladly, would I have culled some chaplet from along the hedge-rows green or moss-grown walls of Salisbury, sweet with the fragrance of its summer bloom, therewith in loving remembrance to bind our Whittier's gentle brow, already crowned by genius with her immortal aureole. And especially would it have been a pleasing as well as a useful thing,- not forgetting, either, the charm of her locality, with all its natural beauties of wood and ocean wave, of field, and marsh, and river,-to scan the record of Salisbury's industrial activity; contrasting with the era of its small beginnings that now presented, -a spectacle in this, as it were, the first quartering of her progress, of distributed happiness, co-operative wealth, and assured comfort, such as, in my partial judgment, no other region of the globe presents.
But the consideration of all these, with other topics equally attractive, to which the one theme uppermost in our minds today invites, I must postpone by your permission, to some occasion less restricted,-to some occasion, indeed, when there shall have been opportunity for the patient and discrim- inating research which the town's records and traditions will so richly repay ; and when before another audience like the present, representing the beauty and intelligence, the wisdom and worth, of Salisbury town, some other speaker shall celebrate her fame, if not with a heart more responsive to its inspirations, yet with lips more eloquent than mine.
AT ROCKY HILL.
WRITTEN FOR THE OCCASION BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, AND READ BY
HON. R. S. SPOFFORD.
To sweet old Salisbury over the sea, with storied Almesbury by her side,
Often the thoughts of Christopher Batt must have gone in the pleasant eventide.
Often in fancy he tramped again the level length of Old Sarum plain,
And scattered the sheep with his sturdy stride, where the Roman camp and its ancient pride
Were buried and hid by the close-cropped grass of a thousand years in the sun and rain.
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Often his memories wandered , too, where the moonlight on hoary Stonehenge slept, And the awful circles of Druid stones their immemorial secret kept Or marked the sacred and solemn bound of great King Arthur's Table Round, Where unhelmed and unhorsed to council stepped, they from whose spears the fire had leapt, Sir Galahad and Sir Lancelot, with the mythic knights of that haunted ground.
Though to the Abbey of Almesbury, with sweet old Salisbury at her hand, For sanctuary Queen Guinevere came when her sin had destroyed the land; Yet the story of knight or queen or clod no more recked Christopher where he trod, Than that here on his Powow's shining strand should flash a greater Sir Galahad's brand When Whittier sought for a holier grail in the broken fetter held up to God!
Only, our Christopher standing here, with the forest behind him dark as doom, Saw the birds wheel about the spire at home where the world was all in bloom, And into his heart, like a pulse of flame, a passion of homesick longing came, As again he heard the great bell boom its peal through the green and purple gloom,- And, master man of the men of his day, he gave us Salisbury for our name!
In that old Salisbury over the sea, like a tapering tongue of holy fire, Far into the quiet English sky springs the lofty cathedral spire,- Fairest of all the early shrines, with recessed shadows and long-drawn lines, The mighty minster in nave and choir lifts the thought with it high and higher, And like a triumphant and answered prayer in the light of heaven it soars and shines.
Treasure of princes and treasure of priests went to the carving of stone by stone, Down the long-vaulted aisles resounds, and dies, the organ's golden groan, Into the dimness of noon-tide hours through the painted pane pour jewelled showers, While, like silver trumpets sweetly blown at the gates of morning, the boys intone, And out of the dusky glory there one comes from another world than ours.
In Salisbury here by the river shore no such temple impels to prayer; Only four plain white walls instead on Rocky Hill rise straight and square. Here only the simple word is read, here only the simple suit is said, No chanting choristers answer fair, no bell tones swim on the fainting air, And briefly the benediction falls over the bowed and reverent head.
But when on a summer Sunday morn the white communion cloth is laid, And the silver vessels softly shine, and the heart by a still content is staid, And up through the empty window-pane the blue sky sparkles without a stain, Then father and mother and little maid see the Lord's face and are not afraid, Then heaven comes down to this simple place, and the soul to go back with it is fain.
For this the men of Salisbury came over the tossing, tumultuous seas, That here the spirit, on wings of its own, might rise, unclogged by languorous ease, That here might no dim traditional awe, measured to sweet antiphonal law, Soothe the sense till the swooning soul agrees, but worship on things divine might seize, Free as the birds that about the spire in the upper light our Christopher saw. .
East let the breeze blow, or let it blow west, in this long low land under Rocky Hill, Where the pine-dark Merrimack rolls its tide and the lucent springs of the Powow fill, Where the grey waves spread their wide white wings and the vast north breaker mounts and sings, Or blow from the south its fragrant will, where on sun-bathed meadows the salt sprays spill, This same free spirit it meets with still, that made Salisbury commoners challenge kings!
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THE WEST PARISH CHURCH, SALISBURY, MASS.
Shall we forget that here, mayhap, on his own broad acres walked Harry Vane, Loved of liberty, whose dear name lent its music to Milton's strain, That they who came from the sea today stirred, while they rode, the crumbling clay Of old John Wheelwright, who struck amain - as he learned by Cromwell's side - the chain That the civil state to the spiritual bound, and to larger franchise first led the way !
Shall we forget - not on Salisbury side! when the Quaker women were whipped along The bitter highway from Dover down, their white backs scored by the bleeding thong, That, prophet of Freedom's ineffable name, hot with a wrath of consuming flame, Defying the power that wrought such wrong, rose Robert Pike and his eager throng, And here on our borders he rent their gyves and ended forever the public shame!
Mother of men of mighty mould, long since loved Freedom our narrow ways; Long since, through all of their length, she led her children up to this house of praise, Not only for prayer within the gate, but towering white and inviolate, Almost a presence to meet the gaze in the autumn hush of election days, That here she should shape the state, and here her will become the will of Fate!
O Spirit of all men's happiness, thou Freedom, leading a race to light! Still let us meet thee as we pass through woody ways or up stormy height, Sometimes, a burst of sunshine, thrill the darksome hollows of Follymill, Pause but to bless the happy sight where the river gardens thy feet invite, And under the low-hung apple-boughs of Ring's Island depths look seaward still!
And there at our sea-gate the surges call, flying and falling to do thy hest, From Blackrocks to Hampton Rivermouth, a phantom host in each breaking crest, With wavering wraiths of ghostly spray in wild enchantment to ward away Luxury's darts with poison dressed, the things of thrones and of kingly quest, And thou, with God's glory on thy face, O Freedom, here with thy people stay!
The following hymn, written for the occasion by Rev. O. A. Roberts, of Salisbury, was sung to the tune of " America ":
HYMN. O! thou eternal King! As did our sires, we bring Tributes of praise. We praise Thee for Thy might, Thy presence and Thy light, All glorious and bright, Through all our days.
Thou didst our fathers lead, And blessed them in their need, Thy church to rear Upon this rocky height, Firm set upon the right. Within it dwelt the Light, For Thou wast here.
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THE ONE HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF
The century's years have rolled,
Their funeral knells been tolled; The fane survives. Wild winds have swept the ground,
Wild passions swept around;
Still rose the Gospel sound From Christian lives.
God of our risen sires, Hear Thou our deep desires! On Thee we call! We praise Thee, God of Power, Be Thou our mighty Tower, Protect us every hour, And save us all.
CENTENNIAL POEM.
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH W. NYE, OF LYNN, AND READ BY REV. O. A. ROBERTS, AT THE CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE ROCKY HILL MEETING-HOUSE, SALISBURY, MASS., JUNE 17, 1885.
Mr. Roberts prefaced the reading of the poem by saying, " I, too, am a Roman." After the introduction by the president of the various gentlemen who have preceded me, I would feel out of place, as a participator in these services, did I not trace my ancestry to this same Rocky Hill. My paternal grandmother was Phebe5 Heard (b. August 4, 1769), daughter of Thomas and Mary4 (Wentworth) Heard (she was born September 6, 1738). Mary4 Went- worth was an only child of Capt. William3 Wentworth by his second wife. " Capt. William " took not one of the fair daughters of Somersworth, N. H., where he resided, as his second wife, but he spied his choice on Rocky Hill, and a half century before this structure was built, he married (January 19, 1737-8), Abra Evans, of Salisbury, daughter of John2 Evans, who was son of Thomas Evans, the first settler in Salisbury of the name of Evans, and whose remains, indicated by a venerable gravestone, rest in the soil of Rocky Hill. . Therefore, Abra Evans of Rocky Hill, was my grandmother's grand- mother. She was born and reared in this locality, a communicant in this church, -therefore, I feel that I am not a " foreigner," but belonged to this " household of saints " that celebrates this centennial epoch.
The countless generations come and go, Borne on by Time's resistless current's flow, In turn the Seasons come at God's command, The circling years unfold the centuries grand! A hundred Junes have waved their censers here, Upon the noontide altar of the year; One hundred times the roses bright have blown And on the air their grateful incense thrown,
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Since on this spot our fathers broke the sod, And hopeful built this ancient house of God. O faithful months and years, which constant bring Your varied gifts to man on rapid wing, Speed on, speed on, till time no more shall be Recorded in God's vast eternity!
We hail at length this day so much desired, And hither throng, our hearts with ardor fired, And well attuned to render lofty praise, As here was often heard in former days! The dear old temple undecayed appears, And nobly wears its crown of HUNDRED YEARS, As if old Time with an especial care, Had deigned this sacred edifice to spare!
We would it ne'er might slowly waste away, But rather on some very distant day, Vanish at once like Holmes's " one hoss shay!" O Innovation, dare not even think To make of it a modern skating rink! Ye relic hunters from it keep away And ne'er upon its form begin to prey, On Rocky Hill forever let it stay, Amen! Amen! will all the people say!
Our fathers wisely built this house of God, Where rock abounded rather than the sod, Thus literally the scripture was obeyed, When they in faith the underpinning laid. Had they foreseen this festal day of ours, This pulpit crowned with gems from Flora's bowers, These pews so filled with gladdened souls today, A special pleasure would have cheered their way.
Nor drifting snows nor heat nor cold could stay Their meeting here upon the Sabbath day. Warmed with a zeal to which few now aspire, They needed less the aid of steam and fire, But patient sat regardless of the cold, To hear the preacher gospel truths unfold. Where they sat calmly with a steaming breath, Our modern saints would surely freeze to death!
At length it dawned on some progressive mind, That warmth with worship might be well combined; The matter was discussed both pro and con; To have a stove they did decide upon. A huge box-stove which in the broad aisle stood, And swallowed much of Salisbury's hemlock wood!
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Some claimed it was a sacrilegious act,- That God would frown upon the deed in fact, And ne'er would listen to a song or prayer, In any other than the natural air! That hemlock wood by its persistent snapping, No doubt kept some poor weary ones from napping! By it indeed the parson seemed perplexed, And few that day could recollect the text! Some aged dames quite subject to cold feet, Derived much comfort from a foot-stove's heat, And this, perchance, just hinted of the stove, Whose generous heat so soon they learned to love
Of cushioned seats they never thought or knew, Their plain board seats are still in every pew, With antiquated hinges strongly hung, In prayer time they were always backward swung, For then the congregation stood in prayer, But never sat, as if they did not care! (If one now stands, how all the others stare!) And when at length the preacher said " Amen," With undue clatter they were dropped again, Which, to a stranger, would as startling be As a sharp fusilade of musketry!
No bell rang out its summons on the air, To call them to the house of praise and prayer, No prompter needed they the hour to call, When they should wait upon the Lord of all. Around this altar from the world apart, Arose to Heaven the incense of the heart! 'Twas usual then for preachers to dilate Till they " thirteenthly," even, came to state, Which, greatly now would vex a saint or sinner, With stomachs fainting for their Sunday dinner!
They wearied not in prayers and sermons long, For pastoral duties they were ever strong, One half the Sabbath grudged they not the Lord, But preached two solid sermons from the Word, And when to them the need appeared to be, Were always ready to preach even THREE! No respite or "vacation " was required To nerve the souls by God's rich grace inspired, They had no ailments which naught else could cure But an "extended European Tour."
That olden worship, simple and sincere, The Lord bowed down most graciously to hear, But now, methinks, in inany a modern fane, Prayers to the Lord are often made in vain,
-
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THE WEST PARISH CHURCH, SALISBURY, MASS.
Mere forms and ceremonies take the place Of worship true from hearts bedewed with grace, Alas, that ancient piety has waned, And worship on the Sabbath so disdained! On Sabbaths now how often do we meet Troops of bicycles spinning through the street, Untimely sounds our ears will sometimes reach, From band and drum corps playing on the beach! Such " sacred concerts " would our fathers shock, They never thus the great Supreme would mock. The world progresses, we must all allow, Though we are sometimes puzzled to see how! O'er all events God ever holds the rein, And He at last will make all mystery plain, And thus his glorious promises fulfill, Till every soul shall love to do His will.
What precious memories cluster round this spot! Of forms and faces ne'er to be forgot ! In fancy now I see them ope the door And take their seats as in the days of yore; They went to meeting then to sing and pray, And not the latest fashions to display; By fickle fashion's follies never led, In all their ways they kept a "level head." Then "flip " and " toddy," though in common use, Were very seldom coupled with abuse. E'en ministers and deacons took their gin, And in so doing thought it not a sin. Adulteration now in various ways, Its foul deception on the public plays, And spurious drinks at last have overcome The old-time use of Caldwell's famous rum!
Then when a man would take to him a bride, The fond intent thrice publicly was " cried," The good town-clerk was scrutinized with care, When he arose " intentions" to declare, And thus the public knew when lad and lass Had joined their hearts and hands in "breaking glass!" Sometimes 'twas clearly seen by people's eyes, That they were taken wholly by surprise! While others looked as if they wished to say -- "That's what Aunt Mary said the other day !" " Intentions " next were " posted " to be read, Which was a great improvement, people said; But now that custom having passed from sight, The maid at morn may be a bride at night!
If this old church could speak, methinks 'twould say: "I welcome you upon this chosen day;
C
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Although in Winter lonely in the cold, I still rejoice in Summer to unfold My long-closed doors to welcome e'en a few, Where once the Sabbath well filled every pew, I'm open for inspection and review, And frankly own I am as good as new! I thank my friends who show such love for me ; . A long and happy life may you all see !
Now while the Nation honors Bunker's Hill, My humbler height is well remembered still; It greeting sends that eminence today, In memory of the memorable fray, Which gave it such historical renown, And brought the pride of England's Lion down!"
Shades of our sires! perchance ye hither come, Leaving the while, your bright immortal home, Retaining many pleasant memories still, Of earthly worship on old Rocky Hill. Though not discerned by our weak mortal sight, Ye may be with us in your robes of white!
God's aged servant still remains to teach The way of life, the Holy Word to preach, His standard-bearer's work is nearly done, The race before him set is almost run, Yet we indulge the hope that he may still, In coming summers, preach at Rocky Hill. 'Tis meet his last discourse should here be given, Ere he shall go to his reward in Heaven, Where stands ajar for him the pearly gate, And angels bright expectant for him wait! And when from earth he shall be called away, They'll welcome him as he has us today!
Old meeting-house, farewell! where we may be In fancy often we shall visit thee. This day in memory will be ever green, A joy to life unto its closing scene ! And when another century has rolled, May the old doors again with joy unfold, Our children's children meet together here, To hail thy second glad centennial year.
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AFTER DINNER EXERCISES.
After the services in the church came the dinner, under a large spread of «canvas. Plates were laid for four hundred persons, and three hundred and fifty were seated. Everything was arranged in fine style, and the menu ample and well prepared. After all had been seated, grace was said by Rev. C. C. Wallace, D.D., of Newburyport. There was a large representation of the clergymen of Salisbury, Amesbury, and the neighboring cities and towns, as well as prominent citizens, and numerous former residents from all sections of the country.
The president then briefly reviewed the interesting exercises of the day, and said that in the somewhat informal gathering about the " family table " a short conference meeting had been proposed. He should, therefore, take the liberty of calling upon several of the invited guests present. The day and the occasion was a sufficient theme to inspire impromptu thoughts and furnish fitting words for suitable expression.
The first speaker was Rev. D. P. Pike, of Newburyport, who claimed blood relationship to those who had taken part in the exercises of the day, referring to the time, fifty-two years ago, when he was a school-master in Salisbury. He claimed direct descent from Robert Pike; complimented the women of Salisbury. The Salisbury stock is A1; it is good blood today, as good as the original, and will never die out. The love of nationality on the part of the men is intense; the old town furnished some of the brightest and best of her boys during the war. "When I have my sunset," said the speaker, "I desire that it be on the Point shore, where I engaged in the ministry forty-seven years ago." He paid tribute to the memory of Rev. Benjamin Sawyer, the last settled pastor, and the acting pastor, Rev. Mr. Morton ; complimented the venerable musical conductor, Moses Flanders, and the singing, and closed with the wish that when the second centennial occurs the day will be just as beautiful and the company as agreeable as on the present occasion.
The next speaker was Maj. Ben: Perley Poore, of West Newbury, who declared that he was not a speech-maker but a recorder of the speeches of others. He wished that on occasions like this he had the oratorical ability to express fittingly the feelings bubbling up from his heart. He pleasingly alluded to the poem of the estimable lady of Deer Island, and the address by her husband, who adorns everything he touches. Alluded to the love of kindred displayed on such occasions ; Salisbury in America and Salisbury in England;
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the old Rocky Hill church and the celebrated cathedral of Salisbury in England, were contrasted. He could not refrain from declaring his love for the good old-fashioned men of our Salisbury, who put good work into the meeting-house and pews and did not fill the holes with putty and hide them beneath a coat of paint; the good old-fashioned men who loved God and the king until the Declaration of Independence, when they stood up for the American Congress. The boys and girls of that time could write and read better than nine-tenths of the college graduates of our new-fangled institutions of learning. The old church may not be provided with the modern conveniences of religion, but when the beautiful Easter comes, and the trees and flowers bloom, then there is heard again within it the voice of prayer - then the old church becomes again a sanctuary.
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