 | Ode to be sung at the dinner on the Fourth of March in honor of the election of John Quincy Adams, to the Presidency of the United States |  |
ODE, TO BE SUNG AT THE DINNER ON THE FOURTH OF MARCH,
IN HONOR OF THE ELECTION OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, TO THE PRESIDENCY OF THE UNITED STATES
WRITTEN BY J. C. PERCIVAL.
To the HEROES, who dared to sever
Our chains, let the bowl go round;—
Here they stood—and this hall forever
We will worship as holy ground.
They have wreathed their names with glory
Their spirit inspires us yet;—
Their fame shall be bright, in story,
With a light that shall never act.
Our chains, let the bowl go round;—
Here they stood—and this hall forever
We will worship as holy ground.
They have wreathed their names with glory
Their spirit inspires us yet;—
Their fame shall be bright, in story,
With a light that shall never act.
To the GALLANT SOULS, who perished
On Bunker's sacred hill;—
Let their deeds be fondly cherished;
Let us worship their memory still.
Let a pillar of glory brighten
The spot where their blood was shed;—
And the stars of freedom lighten
The tomb of the sainted dead.
On Bunker's sacred hill;—
Let their deeds be fondly cherished;
Let us worship their memory still.
Let a pillar of glory brighten
The spot where their blood was shed;—
And the stars of freedom lighten
The tomb of the sainted dead.
To the NOBLE HEART, who ventured
Alone on the dangerous sea;—
And with youthful ardour entered
The ranks of the brave and free;
Though he leave us, and cross the ocean,
Our sons shall ne'er forget
To fill, with deep devotion,
One round to the good FAYETTE.
Alone on the dangerous sea;—
And with youthful ardour entered
The ranks of the brave and free;
Though he leave us, and cross the ocean,
Our sons shall ne'er forget
To fill, with deep devotion,
One round to the good FAYETTE.
To the God-like MAN, who founded
The Temple our hearts adore,
Whose arch, like the sky, unbounded,
Shall bend over every shore;—
To the Sage, whose hand united
In rearing the glorious shrine;
Whose setting sun is lighted
Still bright, in its last decline:—
The Temple our hearts adore,
Whose arch, like the sky, unbounded,
Shall bend over every shore;—
To the Sage, whose hand united
In rearing the glorious shrine;
Whose setting sun is lighted
Still bright, in its last decline:—
To Him, who alike inherits
The name, and the place, of his sire;—
Who has won the rank he merits,
By a vigour that cannot tire:—
Let the hearts of New-England cherish
His high, and well-earned fame;
Till a glory, that cannot perish,
Be gathered around his name.
The name, and the place, of his sire;—
Who has won the rank he merits,
By a vigour that cannot tire:—
Let the hearts of New-England cherish
His high, and well-earned fame;
Till a glory, that cannot perish,
Be gathered around his name.
| Ode to be sung at the dinner on the Fourth of March in honor of the election of John Quincy Adams, to the Presidency of the United States | |