Stand.

Where Passaconaway was wont to stand, Piercing the distance with intrepid eye, The teeming mills their rhythmic shuttles ply. Many knelt subservient to the hand Of that good sachem of a noted band; But labor like a chieftain, leads us high, To fairer fields where richer guerdons lie Than he aspired to win; the bold demand Of Time is met by a triumphant throng Which presses onward, upward, evermore; And cities in their children true as strong Live worthy the brave men who marched before, Speeding the hum of Industry's glad song O'er heights the noble red man trod of yore.