Classic Poem

Tune . — " PRESIDENT'S MARCH . "

Sainted shades! who dared to brave,
In Freedom's ark, the pathless wave,
Where, scarcely kenned by lynx-eyed fame,
No traveller but the Comet came,
And driven by Tempest's ravening blast,
Were wrecked upon our wilds at last;
How rose your faith, when through the storm
Smiled Liberty's celestial form,
Her lyre to strains of seraphs strung,
And thus the sacred paean sung:

CHORUS .

Sons of Glory, patriot band,
Welcome to my chosen land!
To your children leave it free,
Or a desert let it be.

Round the consecrated rock,
Convened the patriarchal flock,
And there, while every lifted hand
Affirmed the charter of the land,
The storm was hushed, and round the zone
Of Heaven, the mystick meteor shone,
Which, like the rainbow, seen of yore,
Proclaimed that Slavery's flood was o'er,
That pilgrim man, so long oppressed,
Had found his promised place of rest.
Sons of Glory, &c.

Festive honours crown the day,
With garlands green and votive lay,
From whose auspicious dawn we trace
The birth-right of our favoured race,
Which shall descend from sire to son,
While seasons roll, and rivers run;
Till Faction's cankerous tooth devour
Of fatuate man each virtuous power;
Till dark intrigue our empire guides,
And patriot worth no more presides!
Sons of Glory, &c.

Heirs of pilgrims, now renew
The oath your fathers swore for you,
When first around the social board,
Enriched from Nature's frugal hoard,
The ardent vow to Heaven they breathed,
To shield the rights their Sires bequeathed!
Manes of Carver! Standish! hear!
To love the soil, you gave, we swear;
And midst the storms of state be true
To God, our country, and to you.
Sons of Glory, &c.