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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 | A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 |  |
A stalwart band they were—those settlers grave:—
'Twas not for power and wealth they crossed the wave;
'Twas not to hide like wood-flowers in the shade,
That they amid these forests toiled and prayed.
They were stanch hands that tilled that rocky sod,
Bold, iron hearts that feared no power but God;
A band of daring, much-enduring men,
Awed by no warrior's sword, or statesman's pen;
Bold and resistless as the billows' dash,
But firm and patient as the shore they lash.
'Twas not for power and wealth they crossed the wave;
'Twas not to hide like wood-flowers in the shade,
That they amid these forests toiled and prayed.
They were stanch hands that tilled that rocky sod,
Bold, iron hearts that feared no power but God;
A band of daring, much-enduring men,
Awed by no warrior's sword, or statesman's pen;
Bold and resistless as the billows' dash,
But firm and patient as the shore they lash.
| A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 | |