First the few who fell they buried, then returned to daily labor.
Glowed the fire within the forges, ran the ploughshare down the furrow,
Clicked the bobbin-loaded shuttle—both our fight and toil were thorough;
If we labored in the battle, or the shop, or forge, or fallow,
Still there came an honest purpose, casting round our deeds a halo.
Though they strove again, these minions of Germaine and North and Gower,
They could never make the weakest of our band before them cower;
Neither England’s bribes nor soldiers, force of arms nor titles splendid,
Could deprive of what our fathers left as rights to be defended.
And the flame from Concord, spreading, kindled kindred conflagrations,