The Pilgrims' Fast.

The historical incident related in this poem is recorded in Cheever's "JOURNAL OF THE PILGRIMS."     'T was early morn, the low night-wind     Had fled the sun's fierce ray,     And sluggishly the leaden waves     Rolled over Plymouth Bay.     No mist was on the mountain-top,     No dew-drop in the vale;     The thirsting Summer flowers had died     Ere chilled by Autumn's wail.     The giant woods with yellow leaves     The blighted turf had paved,     And o'er the brown and arid fields     No golden harvest waved;     But calm and blue the cloudless sky     Arched over earth and sea,     As in their humble house of prayer,     The Pilgrims bowed the knee.     There gray-haired ministers of God     In supplication bent,     And artless words from childhood's lips     Sought the Omnipotent.     There woman's lip and cheek grew pale     As on the broad day stole;     And manhood's polished brow was damp     With fervency of soul.     The sultry noon-tide came and went     With steady, fervid glare;     "O God, our God, be merciful!"     Was still the Pilgrims' prayer.     They prayed as erst Elijah prayed     Before the sons of Baal,     When on the waiting sacrifice     He called the fiery hail:     They prayed as once the prophet prayed     On Carmel's summit high,     When the little cloud rose from the sea     And blackened all the sky.     And when around that spireless church     The shades of evening fell,     The customary song went up     With clear and rapturous swell:     And while each heart was thrilling with     The chant of Faith sublime,     The rude, brown rafters of the roof     Rang with a joyous chime.     The rain! the rain! the blessed rain!     It watered field and height,     And filled the fevered atmosphere,     With vapor soft and white.     Oh! when that Pilgrim band came forth     And pressed the humid sod,     Shone not each face as Moses' shone     When "face to face" with God?