Deborah Bachiler Poem

This poem was written by Mrs. Elizabeth Hoxie and read in 1903 when a bronze tablet was placed at the Sandwich home of Deborah (Bachiler) Wing. Deborah was the daughter of the Rev. Stephen Bachiler and the wife of Rev. John Wing. I have several lines of descent from Deborah's father so she is my 1oth or 11th great-grandaunt depending on the line. 

Long years ago in England,

When England yet was young,

Where the River Test flows softly,

Twixt banks of brightest green,

And Queen Elfrida's convent,

through the arching trees is seen.

Softly she sang her childish thoughts,         

As the daisies her small feet pressed;

Softly she touched the fragrant flowers,

Or watched the wild birds nest.

And this is the song the wee maid sang:

"There's never a day without a cloud

Or a joy without a sorrow:

And the sun that sets in the rain tonight

Will shine for me tomorrow."

The preacher prayed inside the church

For a conscience freed from sin,

While the little child in innocence

Caught the heavenly voice within--

"Father I stood by the river

just as the moon went down,

And it lighted the church of Wherewell

As if with a golden crown.

And Father, I saw a vision;

Dost thou think that children may?"

"And what was the vision daughter?

Tell it to me, pray."

Her dark eyes grew more earnest,

While steady and strong was she;

"I saw four boys and a woman

In a vessel upon the sea.

And she was sad and lonely;

And a man that looked like thee

Stood near; and there was sound of weeping,

And the woman looked like me."

"Didst see aught else, my daughter?"

And he thought of the threatening storm

Of church and state and conscience,

And his weary heart grew warm.

For might not his little maiden

Be chosen of God to warn

Benighted, priest ridden England

Of the rise of a brighter dawn?

Earnest and still that fair child stood,

As Deborah stood of old,

And God's grace shone upon her

While she her vision told.

It came again unto her,

The same foreshadowing truth;

And with a tiny hand extended,

She saw through the bounds of youth.

"Father, I see the vessel,

And many are there, who make

The air resound with prayers

For God and conscience sake."

Scarce eighteen summers now have come and gone,

With each clouds of sunshine on the way;

Life's story glimmers bright with youthful song,

And earnest hours have changed from foolish play.

The little child unto a maiden fair has grown;

A strong souled man has looked into her eyes,

And from her heart her girlhood's song has flown.

While in it's place thoughts strange and sweet arise

Across her sunny pathway

With young love's wooing came

Young John, the stalwart preacher,

With words of sweetest flame.

"Deborah, beloved maiden,

Thou art dear, and unto thee

Give I all my heart; now answer,

Givest thou thine to me?"

Deborah, the gentle maid,

With her eyes of dusky brown,

Answered softly, "John, I love thee"

With her fair face drooping down.

Think ye then that John the preacher

E'er remembered priestly gown,

With that sweet faced maid before him

With her hair of burnished brown?

Nay, for in his arms he gathered

Her love unto his heart;

"God do ill and more to me, love

If I fail to do my part."

Came there then no thought or vision?

Forgotten was the prophesy

Of the sad-eyed lonely woman

Out upon the stormy sea.

A few more years have come and gone

While joy and sadness into life have grown.

We see the blessings of the children five,

We hear the sadness of the widow's moan.

The vision given in the fleeting years long gone,

Seems nearing now it's strange, sad truth to prove.

the woman on the stormy sea forlorn,

In spirit hath no confines to her love.

Ah rare indeed that company

The Lord did send out that day!

Did the little ship The Francis

Sail calmly on it's way?

Sail, stately ship, more proudly;

Thy banners all unfurled;

Thou carry'st wondrous tidings

Unto an unknown world.

Oh, Shawme Lake, by Indians called, how fair!

We greet thee now, unknown to world and fame.

Oh Sandwich! Unto thee we give our love--

For in her longing heart she gave thee name.

Rev. Stephen Bachiler                                  Rev. Stephen Bachiler
Ann Bachiler                                                  Theodate Bachiler
John Sanborn                                                Hannah Hussey
Joseph Sanborn                                            Mary Smith
Mary Sanborn                                               Elisha Marston
Jeremiah Prescott                                        Mary Marston
Elisha Prescott                                             Hannah Prescott - Same as on left
Hannah Prescott - same as on right
Mary Edgecomb
Benjamin Perley Philbrick
Lizzie Philbrick
Ray Everett Cotton
Fern Lyndell Cotton - my grandmother

Rev. Stephen Bachiler
Nathaniel Bachiler
Nathaniel Bachiler
Abigail Bachiler
Elizabeth Dearborn
John Garland
Richard Garland
Alice Garland
Richard Hayes
Sydney Hayes
George Hayes
Eva Delphinia Hayes
Linona Alice Yates - my grandmother