 | Lines in Pleasant Places |  |
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MASSACHUSETTS.
I hear an army's mighty tread,
And the sound of war's alarms;
I read a thought, serene but dread,
Written in gleaming arms;
A solemn purpose fills the air
Like the holy effluence of prayer.
And the sound of war's alarms;
I read a thought, serene but dread,
Written in gleaming arms;
A solemn purpose fills the air
Like the holy effluence of prayer.
I feel the thrill of a people's heart
In the drum tap's stirring beat,
And the quickened pulse's fervid start
In the rush of hasty feet,
And the gleam of vengeful glances shines
Along the bayonets' glistening lines.
In the drum tap's stirring beat,
And the quickened pulse's fervid start
In the rush of hasty feet,
And the gleam of vengeful glances shines
Along the bayonets' glistening lines.
I see a nation's triumph stand
In acts of generous trust,
Where wealth unclasps its iron hand
And scatters the needed dust—
Giving the sinews of golden life
To the holy cause of Freedom's strife.
In acts of generous trust,
Where wealth unclasps its iron hand
And scatters the needed dust—
Giving the sinews of golden life
To the holy cause of Freedom's strife.
'Tis Massachusetts' glance of light—
The glare of the glittering steel,
The earnest of her awful might
In the vital thrill we feel,
And her voice is the cannon's blasting breath,
That speaks to Treason the doom of Death.
The glare of the glittering steel,
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In the vital thrill we feel,
And her voice is the cannon's blasting breath,
That speaks to Treason the doom of Death.
Honest old Commonwealth! to thee
Thy children look with pride;
Thy name a pass-word to the free,
With right identified;
Thy bidding we hear, like a mother's word,
And our hearts to their deepest depths are stirred.
Thy children look with pride;
Thy name a pass-word to the free,
With right identified;
Thy bidding we hear, like a mother's word,
And our hearts to their deepest depths are stirred.
God bless thee! every heart outpours,
And every arm grows strong,
From mountain bound to ocean shores,
Thy glory to prolong;
To live in thy cause is an honor high,
But a greater in such a cause to die.
And every arm grows strong,
From mountain bound to ocean shores,
Thy glory to prolong;
To live in thy cause is an honor high,
But a greater in such a cause to die.
| Lines in Pleasant Places | |