The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers
The breaking waves dashed highOn a stern and rock-bound coast,And the woods, against a stormy sky,Their giant branches tost;
And the heavy night hung darkThe hills and water o'er,When a band of exiles moored their barkOn the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,They, the true-hearted, came;Not with the roll of the stirring drums,And the trumpet that sings of fame;
Not as the flying come,In silence and in fear, -They shook the depths of the desert's gloomWith their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,And the stars heard and the sea;And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rangTo the anthem of the free.
The ocean-eagle soaredFrom his nest by the white wave's foam,And the rocking pines of the forest roared -This was their welcome home!
There were men with hoary hairAmidst that pilgrim band:Why had they come to wither there,Away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,Lit by her deep love's truth;There was manhood's brow serenely high,And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?Bright jewels of the mine?The wealth of the seas? the spoils of war? -They sought a faith's pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground,The soil where first they trod!They have left unstained what there they found -Freedom to worship God!
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