Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that sings of fame:
Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear,—
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang; this the stars heard and the sea!
And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang to the anthems of the free!
The ocean-eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared;—this was their welcome home.
There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim band;
Why had they come to wither there, away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth;