 | The diosma, a Perennial |  |
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ODE.
FOR THE SECOND CENTENNIAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE SETTLEMENT OF A NEW-ENGLAND TOWN.
The wilderness was deep and drear,
And mind a savage wild:
Chaotic darkness brooded here
O'er man, the forest-child.
The Spirit, by our fathers, moved
Upon the face of Night;
When dawned the Day, that since hath proved
Two hundred years of light.
And mind a savage wild:
Chaotic darkness brooded here
O'er man, the forest-child.
The Spirit, by our fathers, moved
Upon the face of Night;
When dawned the Day, that since hath proved
Two hundred years of light.
Then did a new creation glow
With Order's primal rays;
While here the sons of God below
First sang Jehovah's praise
The desert opened like a flower
Unfolding to the sun;
And great the work for every hour,
Two hundred years have done!
With Order's primal rays;
While here the sons of God below
First sang Jehovah's praise
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Unfolding to the sun;
And great the work for every hour,
Two hundred years have done!
The earth, beneath the genial sway
Of Culture's wand, unsealed
The wealth that in her lay,—
Her quickening powers revealed.
But richer,—purer,—unconfined
To time or earthly sphere,
The spirit-gems, the wealth of mind
With lineal birthright here.
Of Culture's wand, unsealed
The wealth that in her lay,—
Her quickening powers revealed.
But richer,—purer,—unconfined
To time or earthly sphere,
The spirit-gems, the wealth of mind
With lineal birthright here.
Behold the civil beauty shed
In wide display around;—
The fields with summer's bounty spread,
And hills with harvests crowned!
While finite eye must fail to trace
The shining marks of soul,
That, dating this its starting-place,
Has fixed in Heaven the goal!
In wide display around;—
The fields with summer's bounty spread,
And hills with harvests crowned!
While finite eye must fail to trace
The shining marks of soul,
That, dating this its starting-place,
Has fixed in Heaven the goal!
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To-day upon the spot we stand,
Where kneeled our sires of yore,
Imploring blessing for the land,
When they should be no more.
To this they bore the ark of God,
And left it to their heirs;—
They left our priest the budding rod
That blossoms now and bears.
Where kneeled our sires of yore,
Imploring blessing for the land,
When they should be no more.
To this they bore the ark of God,
And left it to their heirs;—
They left our priest the budding rod
That blossoms now and bears.
And, while in yonder quiet graves
Their hallowed ashes rest,
Their children, moving as the waves,
Still guard the dear bequest.
And lo! in joyous bands we come,
Our votive wreaths to twine,
As brethren to a father-home,
Round Memory's hallowed shrine.
Their hallowed ashes rest,
Their children, moving as the waves,
Still guard the dear bequest.
And lo! in joyous bands we come,
Our votive wreaths to twine,
As brethren to a father-home,
Round Memory's hallowed shrine.
We come their honored names to bless,
Their story to prolong,
Who startled here the wilderness
With Zion's pealing song;—
While bending o'er the battlement
Of Heaven, they now behold
The spot whereto their footsteps bent
In earthly days of old.
Their story to prolong,
Who startled here the wilderness
With Zion's pealing song;—
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Of Heaven, they now behold
The spot whereto their footsteps bent
In earthly days of old.
To that illustrious ancestry
We'll sing aloud our claim,
While marching to eternity
In their Redeemer's name.
Two hundred years of gospel-beams,
Diffusing joy and peace,
Have here been poured in swelling streams
Of glory ne'er to cease!
We'll sing aloud our claim,
While marching to eternity
In their Redeemer's name.
Two hundred years of gospel-beams,
Diffusing joy and peace,
Have here been poured in swelling streams
Of glory ne'er to cease!
H. F. GOULD.
August 2d, 1850.
| The diosma, a Perennial | |