The breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast,

And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches toss'd;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and water o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark

On the wild New England shore

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted came;

Not with the roll of the stirring drums

And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear;

They shook the depths of the desert gloom

With their hymns of lofty cheer

Midst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free!

The ocean-eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam;

And the rocking pines of the forest roared

This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair

Amidst that pilgrim-band

Why had they come to wither there,

Away from their childhood's land?

There was a woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow serenely high

And the firey heart of youth

What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod

They have left unstained what there they found

Freedom to worship God