 | The harp and plow |  |
180
FREEDOM'S OWN.
New England is a glorious land,
Fast anchored by the sea!
Her mountains high that lift the sky
Are altars of the free!
Are altars of the free, and they
Are Freedom's bulwarks bold;
Though all the world defiance hurled,
She's safe in her strong hold.
Fast anchored by the sea!
Her mountains high that lift the sky
Are altars of the free!
Are altars of the free, and they
Are Freedom's bulwarks bold;
Though all the world defiance hurled,
She's safe in her strong hold.
Forth on her mission round the world
Fair Freedom sought a home;
Now paused and wrought, now battles fought,
But still compelled to roam;
Till soaring, eagle-like, she saw
New England's hills appear,
Then ceased her flight, and with delight
She came and rested here.
Fair Freedom sought a home;
Now paused and wrought, now battles fought,
But still compelled to roam;
Till soaring, eagle-like, she saw
New England's hills appear,
Then ceased her flight, and with delight
She came and rested here.
And here she built her sacred shrine,
Here lit her Vestal flame;
Here watched and feared, a race she reared,
And called them by her name.
New England's sons are Freedom's own,—
The tyrant is their scorn;
No earthly power can chain an hour
The true New England born.
Here lit her Vestal flame;
Here watched and feared, a race she reared,
And called them by her name.
181
The tyrant is their scorn;
No earthly power can chain an hour
The true New England born.
New England's sons are everywhere,
In every clime they roam;
They're brave, they're strong, and never long
Forgetful of their home.
New England's dead are everywhere,
In every clime they rest;
And ocean's wave is th' mighty grave
Of her noblest and her best.
In every clime they roam;
They're brave, they're strong, and never long
Forgetful of their home.
New England's dead are everywhere,
In every clime they rest;
And ocean's wave is th' mighty grave
Of her noblest and her best.
Then here's to Freedom's blessed name!
And here is to her own!
Yet land and sea her own shall be,
And tyrants be unknown.
We'll spread her colors to the breeze,
We'll bear her eagle crest;
Then should she roam she'll find a home
Wherever she may rest!
And here is to her own!
Yet land and sea her own shall be,
And tyrants be unknown.
We'll spread her colors to the breeze,
We'll bear her eagle crest;
Then should she roam she'll find a home
Wherever she may rest!
| The harp and plow | |