Hail, All Hail Holyoke!
Thou sittest on they green hill
Like a queen on her throne.
The smoke from a hundred chimneys
Thy coronet.
The gleaming river at they feet
Thy necklace of brilliants;
Thy robe, the mist from the plunging waters
Of the swift flowing river—
Silent and swift, like the moccasined feet
of the savage, who once roamed its borers.
And as thou sittest there, O Queen,
Thou art looking back, with brooding eyes
On the days of thy youth;
On green field where cattle were grazing
Mild eyed, and gentle;
Scattered hamlets, with farm houses
Nestling amid their green trees;
And the broad river, flowing on
In silent majesty, to the sea.
Little recking of bit, and of curb,
That should tame its wild freedom.
And here, and there, were hints
Of what thou wouldst be, O Queen.
A fair City.
But long it remained still a city of dreams,
And unfulfilled hopes.
Then Industry came, with his twin brothers,
Labor and Power.
They harnessed the river, and bowed its proud crest
To their will.
Mountains were scaled to their heights;
Noble trees, and thick forests were laid low
For the iron road, and the clanging bell of the street car;
And the green fields were covered
With acres of brick and stone;
And tall buildings, that trembled an throbbed
With the clanking of wheels.
Shuttles were flying, spindles were turning.
And great thoughts of great men
Hammered out in iron, and steel,
Stood like sentient beings, obeying the will
Of the doers of things to be done.
And the hum, and the bustle of Labor
Was heard in the land;
And forth from its hands came the needs of the world,
In finished perfection.
And so thy fair dream became true, O Queen—
With shining eyes thou dost see its perfection.
Broad streets and fair mansions;
Churches whose slender spired crowned with the cross.
Point toward heaven;
Schools for the needs of the children;
Gifted daughters; noble sons,
Rulers, who govern all wisely and well;
Heroes, who gave up their live for their country
And sleep on her breast.
Pulpits from which comes the Word—
To comfort and bless.
Glorious music, that carries our souls up to God;
The press, flashing news round the earth,
Giving us knowledge of far distant climes—
All are for thee, and thy people.
And thou are fair, O Queen!
Trail not thy robes in the dust;
Keep thy heart pure;
Let no unclean thing soil thy name.
Stand for Justice, for Truth, and the Right.
As the seed struggles, cramped and in the dark,
Up toward the light;
Up toward the perfect flower,
So thou toward light and knowledge and power,
Up toward the stars, and beyond them.
And our arms shall enfold thee;
With our hearts we will love thee;
And with drawn swords, and with lips pressed to wine
We pledge thee—
Hail, All Hail, Holyoke,
Beautiful Queen!
Our allegiance is thine!
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