Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/219

 FANEUIL HALL

nest of rebels,

King-hated Boston town,

Whose brood is still a-rearing

To pull the tyrant down,—

Once more to Fanueil Hall, freemen, come!

There's a virtue in the name,—

And the words, they turn to flame,

That breathe from Freedom's cradle and her home.

Old abolition tocsin,

Strike out the present hour!

Throng, men, upon the ringing stones

Whence Phillips drew his power!

His mother's hand along the narrow pave

Held up his toddling feet,

And he swore to make the street

Too pure to bear the footstep of a slave.

Come! once more rock the Cradle

Whence rose our sires free men!

Till all downtrodden peoples

Shall have their rights again! 209