The First Boston Thanksgiving—July, 1630.
[For Concert and Solo Recitation.]
Hezekiah Butterworth.
Solo. “Praise ye the Lord!” The psalm to-day
That rises on our ears
Rolls from the hills of Boston Bay
Through five times fifty years—
When Winthrop’s fleet from Yarmouth crept
Out to the open main,
And through the widening waters swept
In April sun and rain,
Concert. “Pray to the Lord with fervent lips,”
The leader shouted, “pray;”
And prayer arose from all the ships,
As fadeth Yarmouth Bay.
Solo. They passed the Scilly Isles that day,
And May days came, and June,
And thrice upon the ocean lay
The full orb of the moon.
And as that day, on Yarmouth Bay,
Ere England sunk from view,
While yet the rippling Solent lay
In April skies of blue,
Concert. “Pray to the Lord with fervent lips,”
Each morn was shouted, “pray;”
And prayer arose from all the ships,
As first in Yarmouth Bay.
Solo. Blew warm the breeze o’er Western seas,
Through Maytime morns and June,
Till hailed these souls the Isles of Shoals,
Low, ’neath the summer moon;
And as Cape Ann arose to view,
And Norman’s Woe they passed,
The wood-doves came the white mist through
And circled round each mast.
Concert. “Pray to the Lord with fervent lips,”
Then called the leader, “pray;”
And prayer arose from all the ships,
As first in Yarmouth Bay.
Solo. The white wings folded, anchors down,
The sea-worn fleet in line;
Fair rose the hills where Boston town
Should rise from clouds of pine;
Fair was the harbor, summit-walled,
And placid lay the sea.
“Praise ye the Lord,” the leader called;
“Praise ye the Lord,” spake he.
Concert. “Give thanks to God with fervent lips,
Give thanks to God to-day.”
The anthem rose from all the ships,
Safe moored in Boston Bay.
Solo. That psalm our fathers sung we sing,
That psalm of peace and wars,
While o’er our heads unfolds its wing,
The flag of forty stars;
And while the nation finds a tongue
For nobler gifts to pray,
’Twill ever sing the song they sung
That first Thanksgiving Day:
Concert. “Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips,
Praise ye the Lord to-day.”
So rose the song from all the ships,
Safe moored in Boston Bay.
Concert. Ho! vanished ships from Yarmouth’s tide,
Ho! ships of Boston Bay,
Your prayers have crossed the centuries wide
To this Thanksgiving Day!
We pray to God with fervent lips,
We praise the Lord to-day,
As prayers arose from Yarmouth ships,
But psalms from Boston Bay.