Babes newly born they carried, And bairns with wavering feet; But never a cow was there for milk, And never a stove for heat. Through icy waves they landed, They washed in frozen streams; They shivered through the nights of dread With horror in their dreams. Through toil and want and danger High-hearted they could wait; They lived and died for the commonweal, And mothered a nursling State. They had no voice in meeting, No vote in pact or law; But of their flesh and blood is built Our strength for peace and war. Thank God for the brave women Of a hard three-hundred years! Have they not earned a nation’s trust Through sacrifice and tears? CROSS-CURRENTS Through twelve stout generations New England blood I boast; The stubborn pastures bred them, The grim, uncordial coast, Sedate and proud old cities— Loved well enough by me. Then how should I be yearning To scour the earth and sea? Each of my Yankee forbears Wed a New England mate; They dwelt and did and died here, Nor glimpsed a rosier fate. My clan endured their kindred; But foreigners they loathed, And wandering folk, and minstrels, And gypsies motley-clothed. Then why do patches please me, Fantastic, wild array? Why have I vagrant fancies For lads from far away? My kin were godly Churchmen— Or paced in elders’ weeds; But all were grave and pious And hated heathen creeds. Then why are Thor and Wotan To me dread forces still? Why does my heart go questing For Pan beyond the hill? My people clutched at freedom, (Though others’ wills they chained) But made the Law and kept it, And Beauty they restrained. Then why am I a rebel To laws of rule and square? Why would I dream and dally, Or, reckless, do and dare? O righteous, solemn Grandsires, O Dames, correct and mild, Who bred me of your virtues, Whence comes this changeling child?