“They were building well for a race unborn,
As the British plowed through the waving corn,
For the birth-pang of Freedom rang that morn.”
The Battle of Bunker Hill that followed was but the natural sequence. Defeated though the patriots were in this their first real battle, it was a defeat that spelled for them ultimate victory. This they recognized dimly, but certainly, as they knew that they had gone into battle with a prayer on their lips for themselves, for their homes, and their country. Their hearts were fired anew for freedom. Their arms would be strengthened to their desires. As the lights from the belfry of Old North Church revealed to Paul Revere the route the British were to take against them in the memorable beginnings at Lexington and Concord, so the light from the Great Book above its chancel rail would direct them the way they should go.
The Battle of Lexington.
LEXINGTON
With one impulse the colonies sprung to arms; with one spirit they pledged themselves to each other, “to be ready for the extreme event.” With one heart the continent cried, “Liberty or Death!”
Bancroft.
SLOWLY the mist o’er the meadow was creeping,
Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun,
When from his couch while his children were sleeping,
Rose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun.
Waving her golden veil
Over the silent dale,
Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire;
Hushed was his parting sigh,
While from his noble eye,
Flashed the last sparkle of liberty’s fire.
On the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing,
Calmly the first-born of glory have met,
Hark! the death-volley around them is ringing!
Look! with their lifeblood the young grass is wet!
Faint is the feeble breath,
Murmuring low in death,—
“Tell to our sons how their fathers have died; ”
Nerveless the iron hand,
Raised for its native land,
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side.
Over the hillsides the wild knell is tolling,
From their far hamlets the yeomanry come;
As through the storm-clouds the thunderburst rolling
Circles the beat of the mustering drum.
Fast on the soldier’s path
Darken the waves of wrath,
Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall;
Red glares the muskets’ flash,
Sharp rings the rifles’ crash
Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall.