: And a music wild and solemn, Make we here our camp of winter; Woman's smile and girlhood's beauty, But their hearth is brighter burning When, like seamen from the waters, Greeting sisters, wives, and daughters, Not for us the measured ringing Of the sweet-voiced choir: Through each branch-enwoven skylight, Of lost Eden's trees! For his ear, the inward feeling Needs no outward tongue; THE LUMBERMEN. He can see the spirit kneeling Heeding truth alone, and turning From the false and dim, Strike, then, comrades !—Trade is waiting Far ships waiting for the freighting Ships, whose traffic links these highlands, With the citron-planted islands Of a clime of flowers; To our frosts the tribute bringing Of eternal heats In our lap of winter flinging Cheerly, on the axe of labor, And the long-hid earth to heaven Loud behind us grow the murmurs Clang of smiths, and tread of farmers, Here her virgin lap with treasures Shall the green earth fill; Waving wheat and golden maize-ears 23 Keep who will the city's alleys, Rugged nurse and mother sturdy, O! our free hearts beat the warmer Freedom, hand in hand with labor, Lo, the day breaks! old Katahdin's While from these dim forest gardens Still renewing, bravely hewing |