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 |  |
No, let us guard the birthright of our sires.
Quench not the living spirit which aspires
After perfection;—let our fathers' tombs
Be the rich soil on which our Progress blooms.
He that is free must grow. That which we have
Is but a mote compared to what we crave.
Forever onward must the spirit soar,
And fold its shining pinions never more!
With a firm faith in freedom, goodness, truth,
And in the soul's undying power and youth,
Discarding bigotry and foolish pride,
Receiving fresh ideas from every side.
Unchained in charity—severe in thought,
And living in the truth our souls have caught,
Let us pursue the path our fathers marked,
And finish the great course on which their souls embarked.
For there are times when the awakening mind,
Rapt in itself with visions undefined,
Longing for light, and yet unreconciled
To the old creed its earlier years beguiled,
Looks with unsated eye into the past,
While dreams of surer truths come thronging fast;
And mounted on the knowledge it hath won—
Yet, like the Grecian conqueror, sighs to run
Another race, and gain another world—
Or like the Genoese, with sails unfurled,
Seeks o'er the boundless ocean of its thought
A land of truth scarce known, though often sought.
Quench not the living spirit which aspires
After perfection;—let our fathers' tombs
Be the rich soil on which our Progress blooms.
He that is free must grow. That which we have
Is but a mote compared to what we crave.
Forever onward must the spirit soar,
And fold its shining pinions never more!
With a firm faith in freedom, goodness, truth,
And in the soul's undying power and youth,
Discarding bigotry and foolish pride,
Receiving fresh ideas from every side.
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And living in the truth our souls have caught,
Let us pursue the path our fathers marked,
And finish the great course on which their souls embarked.
For there are times when the awakening mind,
Rapt in itself with visions undefined,
Longing for light, and yet unreconciled
To the old creed its earlier years beguiled,
Looks with unsated eye into the past,
While dreams of surer truths come thronging fast;
And mounted on the knowledge it hath won—
Yet, like the Grecian conqueror, sighs to run
Another race, and gain another world—
Or like the Genoese, with sails unfurled,
Seeks o'er the boundless ocean of its thought
A land of truth scarce known, though often sought.
| A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 | |