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Page 112 - Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free...
Page 381 - Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong. Our father's God, to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King...
Page 381 - tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing ; Land where my fathers died, Land of the Pilgrims' pride, From every mountain-side Let Freedom ring.
Page 285 - Its red and awful tide, Beheld the brave New England sword With slaughter deeply dyed ! Their bones are on the Northern hill And on the Southern plain, By brook and river, lake and rill, And by the roaring main. The land is holy where they fought, And holy where they fell ; For by their blood that land was bought — The land they loved so well.
Page 39 - mid the forests where they roamed, There rings no hunter's shout ; But their name is on your waters, Ye may not wash it out.
Page 267 - A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
Page 111 - The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ; 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.
Page 40 - Wachusett hides its lingering voice Within his rocky heart, And Alleghany graves its tone Throughout his lofty chart; Monadnock on his forehead hoar Doth seal the sacred trust; Your mountains build their monument, Though ye destroy their dust. Ye call these red-browed brethren The insects of an hour, Crushed like the noteless worm amid The regions of their power; Ye drive them from their fathers...