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 |  |
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The fields, the forest, and the leaping rills,
For Spring hath breathed upon us, and the hours
Move to the dial of the budding flowers.
Joy to ye, hills and fountains! once again
Ye have flung off the tyrant winter's chain:
Joy to ye, leaves and blossoms—ye are springing
Fast to the melodies around you ringing:
Joy, joy to all for whom the sunshine brings
New life, new thought, midst tame and common things.
| A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 | |