PITTSFIELD, so nam'd from British statesman bold,
Who dar'd command the struggles of the free,
What time men forg'd the chains for liberty;
How dear art thou to my pain'd vision old?
And many a scene now past dost thou unfold,
And many a wither'd joy, as well might be,
For years have fall'n, as leaves from autumn tree,
Since first thy light I saw and bliss untold.
Swift as the shadow of a flying cloud
All earthly good departs; but as a rock,
Which heeds not ocean's waves nor tempest loud,
My faith in Jesus, Savior, bides the shock:――
The same I held, when first in early youth
I here proclaim'd the heav'n-descended truth.