Classic Poem

Fair Worcester, enthroned on the hills in thy pride,
With the city-domes gleaming below,
A gem on the robe of a beautiful bride,
Or a crown on a beautiful brow,
Thy children return to thy favorite halls,
With more joy than the home-flying dove;
Their hearts burn with gladness to answer thy calls,
As they bring thee their tribute of love.

Dear Muse of our childhood, dear guide of our youth,
To our hearts what fond memories throng;
From thy chalice we drank the rich draughts of truth,
And our souls through thy strength were made strong
No landscape was ever so fair to be seen;
No such sunsets crowned day's busy hours;
No friends like the friends of our boyhood have been,
And no teachers so gracious as ours.

O favored of Heaven, thy sons have engraved
Their bright names on the wreath of thy fame;
To guard thee and guide thee, around thee has waved
God's broad pillar of cloud and of flame.
Still onward and upward pursue thy fair march,
Like an army with banners unfurled;
While God bends above thee His covenant arch,
And before thee lies waiting the world.