 | [Poems by Hale in] Festival of the Sons of New Hampshire |  |
103
OUR GRANITE HILLS.
“THANKS BE TO GOD FOR THE MOUNTAINS.”
What glowing thoughts, what glorious themes
To mountain tops belong!
The Law, from Sinai's summit came,
From Sion, sacred song:
And Genius on Parnassian heights
His banner first unfurled;
And from the seven-hilled City waved
The sword that swayed the world.
Then let us raise the hymn of praise,
To us the hills were given;
And mountain-tops are altars set
To lift the soul to heaven!
To mountain tops belong!
The Law, from Sinai's summit came,
From Sion, sacred song:
And Genius on Parnassian heights
His banner first unfurled;
And from the seven-hilled City waved
The sword that swayed the world.
Then let us raise the hymn of praise,
To us the hills were given;
And mountain-tops are altars set
To lift the soul to heaven!
Though Europe's plains are crushed with chains,
As every tyrant wills,
Yet freedom's light is flashing bright
Along Helvetia's Hills;
And should our eagle stoop his wing
O'er prairie, plain, or sea,
Mount Washington an eyry holds
Of deathless Liberty!
Then let us raise the song of praise,
To us the heights were given,
Our Granite Hills are Altars still
To lift our hopes to Heaven.
As every tyrant wills,
Yet freedom's light is flashing bright
Along Helvetia's Hills;
And should our eagle stoop his wing
O'er prairie, plain, or sea,
Mount Washington an eyry holds
Of deathless Liberty!
Then let us raise the song of praise,
To us the heights were given,
Our Granite Hills are Altars still
To lift our hopes to Heaven.
116
THE OLD GRANITE STATE.—A SONG.
Our world has a wonderful story,
A story as new as her name;
Each State brings its guerdon of glory,
To build up her Temple of Fame.
But Architects know as they plan it,—
This Temple of Liberty's home,
No stuff is so sure as the Granite,
To last through the ages to come.
A story as new as her name;
Each State brings its guerdon of glory,
To build up her Temple of Fame.
But Architects know as they plan it,—
This Temple of Liberty's home,
No stuff is so sure as the Granite,
To last through the ages to come.
And so from our mountains we quarry,
The strong living blocks as they stand;
And scarce may we pause for the hurry,
That 's urging them over our land.
Our land, you will find if you scan it,
The Middle, the South, and the West,
Among its proud pillars of Granite,
Our mountains have furnished the best.
The strong living blocks as they stand;
And scarce may we pause for the hurry,
That 's urging them over our land.
Our land, you will find if you scan it,
The Middle, the South, and the West,
Among its proud pillars of Granite,
Our mountains have furnished the best.
But here in this lap of the ocean,
Our strength and our glory appear;
The world may run wild in commotion,
And Nations fall fainting with fear:
The ship Constitution, we'll man it,
And place the Expounder on deck,
And firm as our mountains of Granite,
We'll stand in the battle or wreck.
Our strength and our glory appear;
The world may run wild in commotion,
And Nations fall fainting with fear:
The ship Constitution, we'll man it,
And place the Expounder on deck,
And firm as our mountains of Granite,
We'll stand in the battle or wreck.
Then hail to the beautiful places,
Our homes in the old Granite State!
Her sons, 'mid the struggle of races,
Will never be laggards or late:
And happy as when we began it,
May life lose its last ling'ring sand,
And deeds worth engraving on Granite,
Ennoble each name in our Band.
Our homes in the old Granite State!
Her sons, 'mid the struggle of races,
Will never be laggards or late:
And happy as when we began it,
May life lose its last ling'ring sand,
And deeds worth engraving on Granite,
Ennoble each name in our Band.
| [Poems by Hale in] Festival of the Sons of New Hampshire | |