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Beside that shore whose crystal pier with all the angelhood is bright;
There they whose peace no tears may move, whose smiles no more our eyes behold,
To hear thy story of our love lean silent on their harps of gold.

Farewell, farewell! o'er tidal seas the shimmering light begins to creep,
And fleetly, in the laughing breeze yon white-sailed shallop rides the deep;
Lo! godlike on the silver prow he stands, the New Year—pure of wrong:
Fair shines the olive on his brow; his smiling lips o'erflow with song.

O loyal souls, in reverence kneel and hail the savior of the land!
Swift rolls the tide—the cleaving keel is swept in music up the strand.
Fling from your hearts their loads of fear; for by this beauteous dawn we know,
Around the footsteps of the Year, full soon the crescive day will flow.

Then shall fair Freedom's temple rise—from sea to sea our land invest!
Its flashing dome shall climb the skies, and there the rolling stars arrest;