Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/269

Rh Woe to thee, when men shall search Vainly for the Old South Church;

When from Neck to Boston Stone, All thy pride of place is gone;

When from Bay and railroad car, Stretched before them wide and far,

Men shall only see a great Wilderness of brick and slate,

Every holy spot o’erlaid By the commonplace of trade!

City of our love! to thee Duty is but destiny.

True to all thy record saith, Keep with thy traditions faith;

Ere occasion ’s overpast, Hold its flowing forelock fast;

Honor still the precedents Of a grand munificence;

In thy old historic way Give, as thou didst yesterday

At the South-land’s call, or on Need’s demand from fired St. John.

Set thy Church’s muffled bell Free the generous deed to tell.

Let thy loyal hearts rejoice In the glad, sonorous voice,

Ringing from the brazen mouth Of the bell of the Old South,—

Ringing clearly, with a will, “What she was is Boston still!”

welcome from the Land of Flowers And golden-fruited orange bowers To this sweet, green-turfed June of ours!