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MEN !—if manhood still ye claim,

If the Northern pulse can thrill,
Roused by wrong or stung by shame,

Freely, strongly still
Let the sounds of traffic die :

Shut the mill-gate-leave the stallFling the axe and hammer by

Throng to Faneuil Hall ! Wrongs which

freemen never brookedDangers grim and fierce as they, Which, like couching lions, looked On your fathers

way; These your instant zeal demand, Shaking with

their earthquake-call Every rood of Pilgrim land

Ho, to Faneuil Hall !

From your capes and sandy bars

From your mountain-ridges cold, Through whose pines the westering stars

crowns of goldCome, and with your footsteps wake

Echoes from that holy wall: Once again, for Freedom's sake,

Rock your fathers' hall !

Stoop their

Up, and tread beneath


feet Every cord by party spun; Let your

hearts together beat As the heart of one. Banks and tariffs, stocks and trade,

Let them rise or let them fall :

Freedom asks your common aid

Up, to Faneuil Hall !

Up, and let each voice that speaks

Ring from thence to Southern plains, Sharply as the blow which breaks

Prison-bolts and chains !
Speak as well becomes the free-

Dreaded more than steel or ball,
Shall your calmest utterance be,

Heard from Faneuil Hall !

Have they wronged us ? Let us then

Render back nor threats nor prayers; Have they chained our free-born men ?

LET US UNCHAIN THEIRS ! Up! your banner leads the van,

Blazoned “Liberty for all !” Finish what your sires began

Up, to Faneuil Hall !



What though around thee blazes

No fiery rallying sign? From all thy own high places,

Give heaven the light of thine ! What though unthrilled, unmoving,

The statesman stands apart, And comes no warm approving

From Mammon's crowded mart?

Still, let the land be shaken

By a summons of thine own!

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By all save truth forsaken,

Why, stand with that alone! Shrink not from strife unequal!

With the best is always hope; And ever in the sequel

God holds the right side up! But when, with thine uniting,

Come voices long and loud, And far-off hills are writing

Thy fire-words on the cloud :
When from Penobscot's fountains

A deep response is heard,
And across the Western mountains

Rolls back thy rallying word;

Shall thy line of battle falter,

With its allies just in view ?
Oh, by hearth and holy altar,

My Father-land be true!
Fling abroad thy scrolls of Freedom!

Speed them onward far and fast !
Over hill and valley speed them,

Like the Sibyl's on the blast!

Lo! the Empire State is shaking

The shackles from her hand;
With the rugged North is waking

The level sunset land !
On they come—the free battalions !

East and West and North they come,
And the heart-beat of the millions

Is the beat of Freedom's drum.

“ To the tyrant's plot no favor!

No heed to place-fed knaves ! Bar and bolt the door forever

Against the land of Slaves !”

Hear it, mother Earth, and hear it,

The Heavens above us spread!
The land is roused—its spirit

Was sleeping, but not dead !



LIFT again the stately emblem on the Bay State's

rusted shield, Give to Northern winds the Pine-Tree on our ban

ner's tattered field, Sons of men who sat in council with their Bibles

round the board, Answering England's royal missive with a firm,

6 THUS SAI'TH THE LORD!” Rise again for home and freedom !—set the battle

in array ! What the fathers did of old time we their sons must

do to-day. Tell us not of banks and tariffs—cease your paltry

peddler cries— Shall the good State sink her honor that your

gambling stocks may rise ? Would ye barter man for cotton ?—That your

gains may sum up higher, Must we kiss the feet of Moloch, pass our children

through the fire ? Is the dollar only real ?—God and truth and right

a dream Weighed against your lying ledgers must our man.

hood kick the beam ?

Oh, my God !—for that free spirit, which of old in

Boston town

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Smote the Province House with terror, struck the

crest of Andros down ! For another strong-voiced Adams in the city's

streets to cry: Up for God and Massachusetts —Set your feet

on Mammon's lie! Perish banks and perish traffic-spin your cotton’s

latest poundBut in Heaven's name keep your honor-keep the

heart o' the Bay State sound!” Where's the man for Massachusetts ?- Where's the

voice to speak her free?Where's the hand to light up bonfires from her

mountains to the sea ? Beats her Pilgrim pulse no longer ?—Sits she dumb

in her despair?Has she none to break the silence ?_Has she none

to do and dare? Oh my God! for one right worthy to lift up

her rusted shield, And to plant again the Pine-Tree in her banner's

tattered field !




With a cold and wintry noon-light,

On its roofs and steeples shed,
Shadows weaving with the sunlight

From the gray sky overhead,
Broadly, vaguely, all around me, lies the half-built

town outspread.

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