Boston
Sicut
Patribus,
sit
Deus
Nobis)
The
rocky
nook
with
hilltops
three
Looked
eastward
from
the
farms,
And
twice
each
day
the
flowing
sea
Took
Boston
in
its
arms;
The
men
of
yore
were
stout
and
poor,
And
sailed
for
bread
to
every
shore.
And
where
they
went
on
trade
intent
They
did
what
freeman
can,
Their
dauntless
ways
did
all
men
praise,
The
merchant
was
a
man.
The
world
was
made
for
honest
trade,—
To
plant
and
eat
be
none
afraid.
The
waves
that
rocked
them
on
the
deep
To
them
their
secret
told;
Said
the
winds
that
sung
the
lads
to
sleep,
"Like
us
be
free
and
bold!"
The
honest
waves
refuse
to
slaves
The
empire
of
the
ocean
caves.
Old
Europe
groans
with
palaces,
Has
lords
enough
and
more;—
We
plant
and
build
by
foaming
seas
A
city
of
the
poor;—
For
day
by
day
could
Boston
Bay
Their
honest
labor
overpay.
We
grant
no
dukedoms
to
the
few,
We
hold
like
rights
and
shall;—
Equal
on
Sunday
in
the
pew,
On
Monday
in
the
mall.
For
what
avail
the
plough
or
sail,
Or
land
or
life,
if
freedom
fail?
The
noble
craftsmen
we
promote,
Disown
the
knave
and
fool;
Each
honest
man
shall
have
his
vote,
Each
child
shall
have
his
school.
A
union
then
of
honest
men,
Or
union
nevermore
again.
The
wild
rose
and
the
barberry
thorn
Hung
out
their
summer
pride
Where
now
on
heated
pavements
worn
The
feet
of
millions
stride.
Fair
rose
the
planted
hills
behind
The
good
town
on
the
bay,
And
where
the
western
hills
declined
The
prairie
stretched
away.
What
care
though
rival
cities
soar
Along
the
stormy
coast:
Penn's
town,
New
York,
and
Baltimore,
If
Boston
knew
the
most!
They
laughed
to
know
the
world
so
wide;
The
mountains
said:
"Good-day!
We
greet
you
well,
you
Saxon
men,
Up
with
your
towns
and
stay!"
The
world
was
made
for
honest
trade,—
To
plant
and
eat
be
none
afraid.
"For
you,"
they
said,
"no
barriers
be,
For
you
no
sluggard
rest;
Each
street
leads
downward
to
the
sea,
Or
landward
to
the
West."
O
happy
town
beside
the
sea,
Whose
roads
lead
everywhere
to
all;
Than
thine
no
deeper
moat
can
be,
No
stouter
fence,
no
steeper
wall!
Bad
news
from
George
on
the
English
throne:
"You
are
thriving
well,"
said
he;
"Now
by
these
presents
be
it
known,
You
shall
pay
us
a
tax
on
tea;
'Tis
very
small,—no
load
at
all,—
Honor
enough
that
we
send
the
call."
"Not
so,"
said
Boston,
"good
my
lord,
We
pay
your
governors
here
Abundant
for
their
bed
and
board,
Six
thousand
pounds
a
year.
(Your
highness
knows
our
homely
word,)
Millions
for
self-government,
But
for
tribute
never
a
cent."
The
cargo
came!
and
who
could
blame
If
Indians
seized
the
tea,
And,
chest
by
chest,
let
down
the
same
Into
the
laughing
sea?
For
what
avail
the
plough
or
sail
Or
land
or
life,
if
freedom
fail?
The
townsmen
braved
the
English
king,
Found
friendship
in
the
French,
And
Honor
joined
the
patriot
ring
Low
on
their
wooden
bench.
O
bounteous
seas
that
never
fail!
O
day
remembered
yet!
O
happy
port
that
spied
the
sail
Which
wafted
Lafayette!
Pole-star
of
light
in
Europe's
night,
That
never
faltered
from
the
right.
Kings
shook
with
fear,
old
empires
crave
The
secret
force
to
find
Which
fired
the
little
State
to
save
The
rights
of
all
mankind.
But
right
is
might
through
all
the
world;
Province
to
province
faithful
clung,
Through
good
and
ill
the
war-bolt
hurled,
Till
Freedom
cheered
and
the
joy-bells
rung.
The
sea
returning
day
by
day
Restores
the
world-wide
mart;
So
let
each
dweller
on
the
Bay
Fold
Boston
in
his
heart,
Till
these
echoes
be
choked
with
snows,
Or
over
the
town
blue
ocean
flows.
