Plymouth Rock

Escaped from all the perils of the sea,—
Storms, shoals,—the angry and engulphing waves,—
Here stand we, on a savage shore,—all free,
Thy freemen, Lord! and not of man the slaves.
Here will we toil and serve thee, till our graves
On these bleak hills shall open.— When the blood
Thou pourest now so warm along our veins
Shall westward flow, till Mississippi's flood
Gives to our children's children his broad plains,
Ne'er let them wear, O God, or forge a bondman's chains!