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Home  »  The Poetical Works In Four Volumes  »  The Landmarks

John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892). The Poetical Works in Four Volumes. 1892.

Occasional Poems

The Landmarks

  • This poem was read at a meeting of citizens of Boston having for its object the preservation of the Old South Church famous in Colonial and Revolutionary history.


  • I.
    THROUGH the streets of Marblehead

    Fast the red-winged terror sped;

    Blasting, withering, on it came,

    With its hundred tongues of flame,

    Where St. Michael’s on its way

    Stood like chained Andromeda,

    Waiting on the rock, like her,

    Swift doom or deliverer!

    Church that, after sea-moss grew

    Over walls no longer new,

    Counted generations five,

    Four entombed and one alive;

    Heard the martial thousand tread

    Battleward from Marblehead;

    Saw within the rock-walled bay

    Treville’s lilied pennons play,

    And the fisher’s dory met

    By the barge of Lafayette,

    Telling good news in advance

    Of the coming fleet of France!

    Church to reverend memories dear,

    Quaint in desk and chandelier;

    Bell, whose century-rusted tongue

    Burials tolled and bridals rung;

    Loft, whose tiny organ kept

    Keys that Snetzler’s hand had swept;

    Altar, o’er whose tablet old

    Sinai’s law its thunders rolled!

    Suddenly the sharp cry came:

    “Look! St. Michael’s is aflame!”

    Round the low tower wall the fire

    Snake-like wound its coil of ire.

    Sacred in its gray respect

    From the jealousies of sect,

    “Save it,” seemed the thought of all,

    “Save it, though our roof-trees fall!”

    Up the tower the young men sprung;

    One, the bravest, outward swung

    By the rope, whose kindling strands

    Smoked beneath the holder’s hands,

    Smiting down with strokes of power

    Burning fragments from the tower.

    Then the gazing crowd beneath

    Broke the painful pause of breath;

    Brave men cheered from street to street,

    With home’s ashes at their feet;

    Houseless women kerchiefs waved:

    “Thank the Lord! St. Michael’s saved!”

    II.
    In the heart of Boston town

    Stands the church of old renown,

    From whose walls the impulse went

    Which set free a continent;

    From whose pulpit’s oracle

    Prophecies of freedom fell;

    And whose steeple-rocking din

    Rang the nation’s birth-day in!

    Standing at this very hour

    Perilled like St. Michael’s tower,

    Held not in the clasp of flame,

    But by mammon’s grasping claim.

    Shall it be of Boston said

    She is shamed by Marblehead?

    City of our pride! as there,

    Hast thou none to do and dare?

    Life was risked for Michael’s shrine;

    Shall not wealth be staked for thine?

    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!”

    1879.