Classic Poem

The cannons peal, twelve miles away:
Rejoice, O Freedom's sons!
Old Massachusetts hails to-day
The thunder of those guns.

Ring out the bells! Ring Liberty
O'er all our land afar, —
The fruit of weary years of toil,
The guerdon of the war!

We look, through blinding tears perchance,
Upon our flag so fair;
Yet on the bended knee give thanks
That still it waveth there, —

That still it waves, the symbol high
Of freedom to the world,
Of liberty to every soul
Where'er it is unfurled.

Then let the joy-bells loudly ring,
The deep-mouthed cannons roar:
Our nation can the challenge fling
She never flung before.

Tremble, O earth! beneath the jar
Of Freedom's guns to-day;
Yet shrink not; for the sounds of war,
Thank God! have died away.

These tell of broken chains, and hearts
With joy almost oppressed,
As slavery for aye departs,
And fugitives find rest.

Oh, 'tis a glorious thing to live
In this rejoicing time, —
This blessed year of jubilee, —
'Tis joyful and sublime!

Lord, let thy servants now depart:
Their eyes salvation see.
This rescued land is Freedom's own;
Thine shall the glory be.