Samuel Kettell, ed. Specimens of American Poetry. 1829.
By On Laying the Corner Stone of the Bunker Hill MonumentJohn Pierpont (17851866)
O,
’T is the high place of freedom’s birth!
God of our fathers! is it not
The holiest spot of all the earth?
The robber roams o’er Sinai now;
And those old men, thy seers, abide
No more on Zion’s mournful brow.
Since round its head the war-cloud curl’d,
And wrapp’d our fathers, where they knelt
In prayer and battle for a world.
And we, the children of the brave,
From the four winds are gather’d round,
To lay our offering on their grave.
Free as the waves below us spread,
We rear a pile, that long shall throw
Its shadow on their sacred bed.
While o’er their couch thy sun shall flame:
Thine ear was bow’d to hear their call,
And thy right hand shall guard their fame.