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  THE ARM CHAIR.

  "YOUR FATHERS, WHERE ARE THEY? AND THE
  PROPHETS, DO THEY LIVE FOREVER?"

  SECOND EDITION.

  PHILADELPHIA--1843.




MEMORANDUM.


The history of these rhymes is briefly this.--An Arm Chair, made many
years ago by JOHN LETCHWORTH, for LEONARD and JANE SNOWDON, was
presented to the Author, with some information of the worthies who were
wont to visit the estimable owners; accompanied with an intimation that
it would be a suitable theme for some verses. The result follows.




THE ARM CHAIR.


      =COWPER=, the poet of the Christian muse,
    Sung of the Sofa; could I but infuse
    Some of his talent in my laggard quill,
    Some of his genius on my verse distil,
    Then would I sing,--my theme too from the fair,--
    Of thy coevals, rhyme-creating chair!

      He who with artist's skill scooped out thy seat,
    Trim made thy elbows, uprights, and thy feet,
    Now fourscore years and four has measured o'er,
    And waits his summons to the heavenly shore.
    Honest as sunshine, he "who runs may read,"
    That =LETCHWORTH= is "an Israelite indeed;"
    No guile within him ever finds a place,
    Love of the Father spreads to all the race.
    His gospel ministry is void of show,
    For "few and savory" are the words that flow:
    Condensed and pithy are his periods found,
    Rich in their matter, nothing for mere sound.
    So preaches he. Ah, what a sad mistake,
    When empty sounds upon the people break,
    When a stentorian voice in efforts vain,
    Roars to the people,--thunder without rain!
    Its booming echoes may the soul appal,
    But no reviving showers on nature fall.
    --Would that my age,--if age to me be given,--
    Might prove like his, who calmly looks to heaven,
    Waiting with patience for the mandate blessed,
    "Thy labour finished, enter into rest!"
    "Here," said the patriarch, no more doomed to range,
    "Quiet I lie, waiting my final change."
    Go when thou wilt, thy faithful life will prove,
    A rich example, legacy of love!

      Ah, my Arm Chair, supporter of the good,
    Beneath how many a worthy hast thou stood!
    Bear me awhile, assist me to portray,
    Some of the faithful who have passed away.

      Here =HARRISON=[1] has spoke of what she saw
    In visions deep, when filled with holy awe,
    The curtain of the future half withdrew,
    While coming objects glided into view;
    Or as the past on memory's tablet rose,
    Rehearsed her gospel joys, her gospel woes.
    Told how King George, as gushed the hidden springs,
    Bowed at her message from the King of kings;
    Of deep probations for her Lord she past;
    Of her fond hope of joining him at last.
    Told how her soul, in sympathy, had long
    Borne a deep burthen for the <DW64>'s wrong,
    'Till the church freed her at her Master's will,
    In southern states love's purpose to fulfil.
    With gospel power for Truth and right she spoke,
    'Till slumbering consciences to feeling woke,
    Oppressors' hearts with justice learned to beat,
    While bondmen's shackles fell beneath their feet.
    Her's was a righteous mission; to the door
    Of selfish masters she her message bore;
    She shot no fiery missiles from afar,
    Kindling those feelings that engender war,
    But face to face Truth's message would impart,
    Whilst love-tipped arrows entered many a heart;
    Thus won she freedom for the sore oppressed;
    Her work was honoured and her labour blessed.
    --Or as the present did her thoughts engage,
    Gave to her juniors dear-bought counsel sage.
    Bade her loved niece preserve in vessel pure,
    Her sacred gift, and make her calling sure;
    Bade her true partner as an Aaron be,
    Uphold her hands, support her ministry.
    Full well dear =LEONARD= thou that charge redeemed;
    When through her heart the gospel current streamed,
    In secret labour was thy spirit found,
    While trembling forth she sent the gospel sound;
    A very Quaker,--as she gave the law
    Her outward motion spoke her inward awe.

      Here =SCATTERGOOD=, when evening came at length,
    From the day's toil reposed his weary strength;
    From Christian sympathy that solace drew,
    Which those can grant who heavenly joys pursue.
    Mournful of spirit, he was ever found,
    In sympathy with souls by sorrow bound.
    As fell his plaintive voice upon the ear,
    The poor in spirit felt a friend was near.
    Prompt in his duty at the house of prayer,
    To plead with fervour for his Master there,
    While crowds hung trembling on that zealous tongue,
    Which only woke as living waters sprung.
    He never preached himself,--his every word
    Directed to a slain and risen Lord.
    He to the weary consolation brought,
    He for the burthened sweet deliverance wrought;
    Though bound himself, the fettered oft set free,--
    The Jeremiah of his age was he!

      =SAVERY= has here oft passed a friendly hour,
    Feeling of sympathy the magic power,
    As heart to heart the secret influence sent,--
    As prayer ascended where no knee was bent,--
    As for each other's welfare sighs were given,--
    Unclothed with words, their wishes entering heaven.
    The Indians' friend, he sought their native wood,
    An anxious labourer for the redman's good;
    Beside the lake, beneath the spreading tree,
    His gospel message flowed as Truth set free.

      Here too has sat,--like him of stature small,
    Great too of heart,--a minister like Paul,--
    One who, obedient to his Master's will,
    Was studious found his duty to fulfil.
    Six times went =EMLEN=[2] o'er the Atlantic wave,
    On gospel errands sinful man to save,
    And still returning from his work of love,
    Came with his olive-branch and peaceful dove.
    Though years rolled on and outward sight grew dim,
    The lamp of Truth still brightly burned with him,
    Showing distinctly in its searching light,
    Deeds that the actors deemed were hid in night.
    His urim and his thummim was with God,
    And he obedient to his Master's nod.
    As secret feeling told him of distress,
    The sufferer's door-sill soon his foot would press.
    Thus Mercy led,--and pleasantly he said,
    That he "by jobbing earned his daily bread."
    Ah, these were luscious morsels, ate with joy,
    A heavenly relish free from all alloy;
    Some of that bread of which the righteous eat,
    That others know not of,--sustaining meat.

      Here too =REBECCA JONES= sweet converse sought.
    With friends in unison of faith and thought;
    With both of whom in gospel yoke she knew
    To labour as her Lord and Master drew.
    Honest of purpose,--ardent in reproof
    To those who stood from duty's path aloof,--
    In