William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Pilgrim FathersT
On a stern and rock-bound coast;
And the woods against the stormy sky
Their giant branches toss’d;
The hills and waters o’er,
When a band of exiles moor’d their bark
On the wild New England shore.
They, the true-hearted came:
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame;
In silence, and in fear:
They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.
From his nest, by the white wave’s foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roar’d:
This was their welcome home.
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas?—the spoils of war?
They sought a faith’s pure shrine.
The soil where first they trod!
They left unstain’d what there they found—
Freedom to worship God!