 | Our Heroes |  |
9
CRISPUS ATTUCKS.
'Twas not in vain he lived and died;
'Twas not in vain his blood was shed;
His spirit still survives:
The brave, of every race and clime—
In memory's chamber, for all time—
The martyr-hero lives.
'Twas not in vain his blood was shed;
His spirit still survives:
The brave, of every race and clime—
In memory's chamber, for all time—
The martyr-hero lives.
He died? Nay, laid him down and slept:
And angels bright their vigils kept
Around the patriot's bed.
For love he laid his treasure down—
The love of freedom was his crown—
He sleeps; he is not dead.
And angels bright their vigils kept
Around the patriot's bed.
For love he laid his treasure down—
The love of freedom was his crown—
He sleeps; he is not dead.
Brave Attucks! how his honor's shine!
We build for him a glorious shrine!
His memory will not fade,
So long as History's pages stand,
Of this our free and favored land,
A tribute shall be paid
We build for him a glorious shrine!
His memory will not fade,
So long as History's pages stand,
Of this our free and favored land,
A tribute shall be paid
To Attucks, for his valiant deed;
To Attucks brave, his blood the seed
First planted in this soil,
To nourish freedom, and secure
For every man while years endure,
Freedom in life and toil.
To Attucks brave, his blood the seed
First planted in this soil,
To nourish freedom, and secure
For every man while years endure,
Freedom in life and toil.
10
But who was Attucks? Afric's son;
Who toiled for years, but never won
A freeman's just reward.
A man of stature, strong and brave,
Yet held in bondage as a slave,
By men who worshipped God.
Who toiled for years, but never won
A freeman's just reward.
A man of stature, strong and brave,
Yet held in bondage as a slave,
By men who worshipped God.
By men who felt the galling yoke,
Of motherland; whose ire awoke
Against the tyrant's power;
Who cry—Injustice! when the claim
For tax is pressed; and loud declaim—
We're robbed of rightful dower!
Of motherland; whose ire awoke
Against the tyrant's power;
Who cry—Injustice! when the claim
For tax is pressed; and loud declaim—
We're robbed of rightful dower!
To force her claims, the motherland
In ships of war, moored at the strand
Of this, her new estate;
She stationed men in old King Street.
These soldiers insolently treat
The people of the State.
In ships of war, moored at the strand
Of this, her new estate;
She stationed men in old King Street.
These soldiers insolently treat
The people of the State.
While men of wisdom gathered round,
Seeking to know where might be found,
Deliverance from the foe,—
How to throw off the British yoke,
A swarthy negro fearless spoke—
And struck the primal blow.
Seeking to know where might be found,
Deliverance from the foe,—
How to throw off the British yoke,
A swarthy negro fearless spoke—
And struck the primal blow.
11
Ah! yes, 'tis Attucks! strong and bold,
Like giants in the days of old,
Who on to conflict led—
“This is the nest! Strike the main guard!
Strike at the root!” and strike it hard!
No need of fear and dread!
Like giants in the days of old,
Who on to conflict led—
“This is the nest! Strike the main guard!
Strike at the root!” and strike it hard!
No need of fear and dread!
Then rushed he forward to the fray,
Fearless and swordless, charged that day
Upon the British band—
To make a way for Liberty,
Which he was destined ne'er to see
In this heaven-favored land.
Fearless and swordless, charged that day
Upon the British band—
To make a way for Liberty,
Which he was destined ne'er to see
In this heaven-favored land.
The blow is struck! and then the sound—
The roar of battle shakes the ground!
And Attucks is no more!
No more? a hero's wreath is thine!
Around thee deathless laurels twine,
And fame from shore to shore!
The roar of battle shakes the ground!
And Attucks is no more!
No more? a hero's wreath is thine!
Around thee deathless laurels twine,
And fame from shore to shore!
He lies in state in Faneuil Hall;
Yes; there upon the sable pall
Lies Attucks, true and brave;
And, as the people drop a tear,
In gratitude, upon his bier,
They cry—He's not a slave!
Yes; there upon the sable pall
Lies Attucks, true and brave;
And, as the people drop a tear,
In gratitude, upon his bier,
They cry—He's not a slave!
12
And others fell with him that day.
And lie beside,—Caldwell, and Gray.
And Maverick, and Carr.
They lay them gently in one grave.
A constellation of the brave!
A bright historic star!
And lie beside,—Caldwell, and Gray.
And Maverick, and Carr.
They lay them gently in one grave.
A constellation of the brave!
A bright historic star!
'Twas not in vain our hero died;
'Twas not in vain his blood was shed;
His spirit still survives;
The brave, of every race and clime—
In memory's chamber, for all time—
The martyr-hero lives!
'Twas not in vain his blood was shed;
His spirit still survives;
The brave, of every race and clime—
In memory's chamber, for all time—
The martyr-hero lives!
| Our Heroes | |