-by Felicia D. Hemans , public domain

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore

Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the truehearted, 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

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 they first trod;
They have left unstained what there they found:
Freedom to worship God!