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     Even so, with one accord,
We, in love, each other fed.
     Not with us the miser's hoard,
Not with us his grasping hand;
     Equal round a common board,
Drew our meek and brother band!

Safe our quiet Eden lay
     When the war-whoop stirred the land
And the Indian turned away
     From our home his bloody hand.
Well that forest-ranger saw,
     That the burthen and the curse
Of the white man's cruel law
     Rested also upon us.

Torn apart, and driven forth
     To our toiling hard and long,
Father! from the dust of earth
     Lift we still our grateful song!
Grateful, that in bonds we share
     In Thy love which maketh free;
Joyful, that the wrongs we bear,
     Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee!

Grateful! that where'er we toil,—
     By Wachuset's wooded side,
On Nantucket's sea-worn isle,
     Or by wild Neponset's tide,—
Still, in spirit, we are near,
     And our evening hymns, which rise
Separate and discordant here,
     Meet and mingle in the skies!

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