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I.
In a radiant vale, by a silver, tree-fringed stream,
Deep-studded by the purple, crouching hills,
That patient, beast-like, brood o'er thee;—'twould seem
Earth had no fairer sight than that which thrills
My heart, oh! best-loved city! as on thee,
All proud I look.—And yet 'tis not alone
The glory of thy setting that I see,
But the brave hearts that toiled laboriously,
And loving hands that builded stone on stone,
Rearing the stately pile from infancy.
II.
Thy granite tower hath many a wondrous tale
Of those on whom its kindly face hath gazed;
Of deep devotion, love and work, and pale
And weary doubt. Ah! not a stone was raised,
But echoes still the throbbing of the heart
Of men who are no more. The stir and hum
Of factory-wheel, and waters harness'd fast
By human-hands,—ah! these are but a part
Of herculean tasks, of which the sum
Will ne'er be known, till mortal life be past.
III.
'Tis not the pomp and stir of war doth make
Thy past so great; but slow and patient toil,
And high ideals.—Our duty then to take
The princely heritage, and not to soil
The emblazoned shield, hold out escutcheon high!
Noblesse oblige! 'Tis craven to forget.—
Till now, oh! city fair! thou'st been a youth,
Intent on growth; now thy maturer eye
Should broader vision take, and, resolutely set,
Turn thy face upward toward the truth.
IV.
May'st thou shine out, a beacon light, and seek
To make thy flame more pure;—so pure and bright,
That many a tremulous hear, surcharged and weak,
May look to thee, when all around is night.
Look to the alien at thy gate; extend
To him the cheering radiance of thy flame.
Be thou a gracious friend, a guiding light,
A champion, ever ready to defend
What's best. Ah! stoop not to a lowly aim!
In future days let Holyoke stand for Right.
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