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51. April 19th, 1775-1861.

Once more, (our dear old Massachusetts!)
     How the thought comes over us-and well it may!
Of the drops wherewith that ancient green was reddened--
     It is six and eighty years this very day.

Six and eighty years-and it seemed but a memory--
     Little left of all that glory — so we thought--
Only the old fire-locks hung on farm-house chimneys,
     And rude blades the village blacksmith wrought.

Only here and there a white head that remembers
     How the Frocks of Homespun stood against King George--
How the hard hands stretched them o'er the scanty embers
     When the sleet and snow came down at Valley Forge.

Ah me, how long we lay, in quiet and in error,
     Till the Snake shot from the coil he had folded on our hearth--
Till the Dragon-Fangs had sprouted, o'erhatched of hate and terror,
     And hell, in armed legions, seemed bursting from the earth.

Once more, dear Brother-State! thy pure, brave blood baptizes
     Our last and noblest struggle for freedom and for right--
It fell on the cruel stones!-but an awful Nation rises
     In the glory of its conscience, and the splendor of its might.

H. H. B.

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