AN APOSTROPHE.
Reading edition
Old Plymouth is a rambling town, And many leagues of beach there are, Where echoes still the iron-sleet And glows the crimson heart of war. The smoke of battle pressing down Still lurks where Liberty was bought, And minute-men come pouring in, Nor lust of power, or gold they sought. Clear eyed they stand, of knotty arm, O God of Fortune, Fate and Crown, Make sure the bonds of brotherhood ’Twixt this old world and Plymouth-town.