O Pilgrims in a cockle frail
Upon a perilous quest,
Out of the old world making sail
Into the golden west;
Beyond the misty ocean veil
Awaits a Vision blest!
A simple little yeoman band,
None of the rich or great,
But stout of heart and strong of hand,
The pioneers of fate;
The patient builders of a land,
The founders of a State!
Your fragile bark adventuring
Upon a fearful sea,—
Awful the cargo that you bring;
The seeds of destiny,
Promise of future harvesting
In sheaves of liberty.