HYMN ANCESTRAL.
Reading edition
O, the glory of the Autumn On the old New England hills, When the summer-leaf is dying in its pride; O, the song of wine and wonder Where the wild grape’s udder fills; O, the hymn of homage where the gentians hide. O, the dream enchanted woodlands; O, the spell that’s on the seas, And the cricket’s lovesick murmur of repose; O, the gossamer and damask Spreading underneath the trees; O, the silken tassels where the tangle grows. Let me slumber ’neath the shadow Of the old New England hills, Weave my raiment of the starlight when I die; May the storms caress my temple, May the winds caress my throne, In the Pilgrims’ hallowed sands O let me lie.