THE
RETURN OF THE MAYFLOWER
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DOWN
the sparkling Channel,
Out of Plymouth Sound,
What gallant little craft is this
Making outward bound?
Who crowd along her taffrail
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To look
their last on home,
While the seas beneath her forefoot
Are trampled into foam,
And in the morning sunlight
Her last sail is unfurled?
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She’s
the Mayflower out from Plymouth,
Bound for the New World.
What cargo does she carry,
And what port will she make?
She has a hundred souls on board
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| Would
die for conscience’ sake.
And she will come to anchor
On a far Western beach,
By God's grace, past the farthest bounds
That tyranny can reach.
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No Argo ever carried,
No pilgrim ever planned,
A more sublime adventure
Than this exalted band.
They bear the flower of England,
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To plant
it over sea—
The holy seed of Runnymede
That men call Liberty.
And lo, that magic blossom
Shall flourish and increase,
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To glad
the souls of all mankind,
And fill the world with peace.
Warm are the Devon moorlands
In the September sun,
And over the dim unknown sea-rim
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| The
Mayflower has gone. |
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II
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Looming
up the Channel,
Making Plymouth Sound,
What man-of-war is this that comes
Racing, victory bound?
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Speeding as to battle,
On she comes amain,
Swift as an eagle’s shadow
Across the summer plain.
In power and in beauty
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Commanding
on the seas,
She leads a stranger battle line—
What men, what ships are these?
Look, where she flies her colors—
The white and crimson bars,
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The
ensign of the Rights of Man,
The Glory of the Stars!
Back from the ports of promise
Beyond the Western sea,
These are the breed of Runnymede,
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| The
Sons of Liberty.
To cheers that give her welcome
What answer will she make?
Hark to her thousand souls on board
Would die for freedom’s sake!
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To stay the ancient altars,
Where fire of justice burns,
For freedom still as God may will,
The Mayflower returns.
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