T? PILGRIM FATHEl?. T?r breaking waves d.ashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast And the woods against the stormy sky, Their giant branches tost; And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true hearted came:m Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trump?.t that sings of fame;-- Not as the flying come, In silence, and in fear:-- They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim wood? rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle From his nest, by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared:w This was their welcome home. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the d?ine?. The wealth of ?eas?--the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine. Ay, call it holy ground, The soil whore first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found? ?re?dom to worshi?o Go?!
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