 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
85
ODE.
WRITTEN FOR THE NEW ENGLAND FESTIVAL.
Scarce twelve-score years have passed away
Since, by New England's rocky shore,
The Mayflower moored in Plymouth bay,
Amid the wintry tempest's roar.
Since, by New England's rocky shore,
The Mayflower moored in Plymouth bay,
Amid the wintry tempest's roar.
Few, worn, and weak, that pilgrim band;
An unknown coast before them rose—
A vast unmeasured forest land,
Begirt with ice and clad with snows.
An unknown coast before them rose—
A vast unmeasured forest land,
Begirt with ice and clad with snows.
Yet dauntless, fearless, forth they trod
From that lone ship beside the sea,
Firm in the faith and truth of God,
To plant an empire for the free.
From that lone ship beside the sea,
Firm in the faith and truth of God,
To plant an empire for the free.
From one rude hamlet by the wood,
How wide, how far have spread our lines,
Till o'er the vast Pacific's flood
Our glorious star of empire shines.
How wide, how far have spread our lines,
Till o'er the vast Pacific's flood
Our glorious star of empire shines.
Ah! who can tell what toil and strife,
What griefs beset the Pilgrim's path,
How brave he bore the load of life,
And triumphed in the hour of death!
What griefs beset the Pilgrim's path,
How brave he bore the load of life,
And triumphed in the hour of death!
86
The blood poured out on Bunker's height—
At Brooklyn, Eutaw, Yorktown plains,
In deadly charge and stubborn fight,
Came from the stern old Pilgrim's veins.
At Brooklyn, Eutaw, Yorktown plains,
In deadly charge and stubborn fight,
Came from the stern old Pilgrim's veins.
Bless then the hand whose gentle might
Smoothed for our sires old ocean's breast,
Bless we this day whose morning light
Revealed the promised land of rest.
Smoothed for our sires old ocean's breast,
Bless we this day whose morning light
Revealed the promised land of rest.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |