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A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840

the two hundredth anniversary of the incorporation of the town

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Hard was their lot. What boots it now to tell
The stern and various trials which befell?
They trod no flowery walks to wealth and fame,
They toiled, endured, and died—with scarce a name.

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Famine and cold and sickness and distress,
A ruthless foe, peril and nakedness;—
Such was their life—and o'er their frozen graves
Swept the wild winter snow, or beat the surging waves!