What though they boast of fairer lands,
Give me New England's hallowed soil,
The fearless hearts, the swarthy hands
Stamped with the heraldry of toil.

I love her valleys broad and fair,
The pathless wood, the gleaming lake,
The bold and rocky bastions, where
The billows of the ocean break;

The grandeur of each mountain peak
That lifts to heaven its granite form,
The craggy cliffs where eagles shriek,
Amid the thunder and the storm.

And dear to me each noble deed
Wrought by the iron wills of yore,—
The Pilgrim hands that sowed the seed
Of freedom on her sterile shore.