We who have challenged fate To buy the boon of peace, Shall we not watch and wait, Nor from the vigil cease? Pray God for strength and trust his word, Guarding our treasure with a sword! We who have burned the past Upon an altar fire, Will pay our lives at last To win the soul’s desire. Give us our peace! Renew our faith, O Lord, to seek it unto death! THE ELDER Come, let us build a temple to God, Here in the wilderness, made by our might, Set in our midst, the center of life. Smite the tall pines that fall with a roar! Hew the great logs and heave them in place Square is the meeting-house, simple and stern, Barren of beauty, honestly builded, A shield from the arrow that flieth by day, A haven from storm and peril of night. Slender the spire that points to the sky, First one of many to blaze out a path Through the wild jungle, lifting men’s eyes Out of the shadow into the light. Old men and maidens, young men and children, Enter His house with thanksgiving and praise! PILGRIM MOTHERS Patter, patter, in and out, Go the women’s loyal feet. Hither, thither, roundabout, Late and early hear the beat; To the crib, the well, the hay, From the kitchen to the loom; Treading out a people’s way, From the cradle to the tomb. Flutter, flutter, to and fro, Busy hands fly out and in. Flaxen threads are white as snow,— Rough the little hands that spin; Drawing out the thread of life, Working early, winding late; Gentle mother, noble wife, Knitting firm a nation’s fate. PILGRIM FATHERS Lord of the harvest and the toil, Prosper the laborer on thy soil. Steady the shoulder to the plow, And let there be no faltering now. Our lot is in a goodly land; Inspire the heart and steel the hand To build a fabric grandly sure In righteousness that shall endure! THE CONGREGATION