Though sparkling frost may gem Night’s coronet

Though sparkling frost may gem Night’s coronet, Here in her heart are glowing love and fire; Here are that beauty, worth and honor met, New England has, and all the world admire; And from the scene that here serenely beams, Oft Genius culls her bright and native spark; From noble lore and earth’s illustrious names, Ambition kindles in some head and heart.

And to these fires our worth is largely traced, In many noble sons around them bred; Whose efforts have their country’s welfare graced, And on the world a pride and blessing shed: Here statesmanship has found its dawning light; Here eloquence its spark of thrilling fire; Here valor sprang to guard the Nation’s right; And here has inspiration strung the lyre.

Thus, as our mountain streams, obscure and lone, Swell into manufacture’s vital veins; Or, as our twigs to spars and masts are grown, To bear our products o’er the ocean plains; So do our sons on native hillsides, cast Their genius till are glory’s spindles whirled; Or genius’ twig becomes a mighty mast, To waft our worth and honor round the world.

Nor can these daughters be refused our pride, Whose bosoms are the fertile vales of all; Whose tender influence rolls a stronger tide Than ocean, held in Luna’s heavenly thrall; For only twice a month can Luna heap The wave along the counter-braving shore; But this fair Luna ever swells the deep Of human life, all earth and ocean o’er.

And every virtue which the lyre has rung, Was nourished in her lovely womanhood; And every ill that round the cradle hung, Was soothed or banished by her fortitude. Too proudly can our grateful bosoms prize The sisters, wives and mothers of to-day; The sisters, wives and mothers in the skies; The sisters, wives and mothers yet to be?