When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes, they the true-hearted, came;
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 gloom with their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang with the anthems of the free!
The ocean eagle soared from his nest by the white wave’s foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared—this was their welcome home!