Though sparkling frost may gem Night’s coronet,
Here in her heart are glowing love and fire;
Here are that beauty, worth and honor met,
New England has, and all the world admire;
And from the scene that here serenely beams,
Oft Genius culls her bright and native spark;
From noble lore and earth’s illustrious names,
Ambition kindles in some head and heart.
And to these fires our worth is largely traced,
In many noble sons around them bred;
Whose efforts have their country’s welfare graced,
And on the world a pride and blessing shed:
Here statesmanship has found its dawning light;
Here eloquence its spark of thrilling fire;
Here valor sprang to guard the Nation’s right;
And here has inspiration strung the lyre.
Thus, as our mountain streams, obscure and lone,
Swell into manufacture’s vital veins;
Or, as our twigs to spars and masts are grown,
To bear our products o’er the ocean plains;
So do our sons on native hillsides, cast
Their genius till are glory’s spindles whirled;
Or genius’ twig becomes a mighty mast,
To waft our worth and honor round the world.
Nor can these daughters be refused our pride,
Whose bosoms are the fertile vales of all;
Whose tender influence rolls a stronger tide
Than ocean, held in Luna’s heavenly thrall;
For only twice a month can Luna heap
The wave along the counter-braving shore;
But this fair Luna ever swells the deep
Of human life, all earth and ocean o’er.
And every virtue which the lyre has rung,
Was nourished in her lovely womanhood;
And every ill that round the cradle hung,
Was soothed or banished by her fortitude.
Too proudly can our grateful bosoms prize
The sisters, wives and mothers of to-day;
The sisters, wives and mothers in the skies;
The sisters, wives and mothers yet to be?