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 |  |
How shall I paint thee, gentle May! how dare
To speak in feeble verse thy glories rare?
The soul that truly would commune with thee,
Like thee forever born again must be.
Yet if we may not praise with lips profane
Thy new created beauty, yet O deign
To lift our spirits and to purify,
That we may feel thy influences nigh.
Hail then, most genial season—blessed May!
Joy be with all who feel thy smile this day:
Hail to yon cedar hills, to crag and tree!
Hail to yon meadows, and yon sparkling sea!
Who needs that borrowed dress, historic truth,
To gild with more romance your May-born youth?
Who, with these skies so blue and fields so green,
Would disenchant the life of all the scene,
And with quaint memories of things that were
Add a remoter charm to what is now so fair?
To speak in feeble verse thy glories rare?
The soul that truly would commune with thee,
Like thee forever born again must be.
Yet if we may not praise with lips profane
Thy new created beauty, yet O deign
To lift our spirits and to purify,
That we may feel thy influences nigh.
Hail then, most genial season—blessed May!
Joy be with all who feel thy smile this day:
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Hail to yon meadows, and yon sparkling sea!
Who needs that borrowed dress, historic truth,
To gild with more romance your May-born youth?
Who, with these skies so blue and fields so green,
Would disenchant the life of all the scene,
And with quaint memories of things that were
Add a remoter charm to what is now so fair?
| A poem delivered in the first congregational church in the town of Quincy, May 25, 1840 | |