So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,— A cry of defiance and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo forevermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere. HYMN BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON (_This poem was written to be sung at the completion of the Concord Monument, April 19, 1836._) By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, or leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee. A SONG FOR LEXINGTON BY ROBERT KELLEY WEEKS The spring came earlier on Than usual that year; The shadiest snow was gone, The slowest brook was clear, And warming in the sun Shy flowers began to peer. ’Twas more like middle May, The earth so seemed to thrive, That Nineteenth April day Of Seventeen Seventy-Five; Winter was well away, New England was alive! Alive and sternly glad! Her doubts were with the snow; Her courage, long forbade, Ran full to overflow; And every hope she had Began to bud and grow. She rose betimes that morn, For there was work to do; A planting, not of corn, Of what she hardly knew,— Blessings for men unborn; And well she did it, too! With open hand she stood, And sowed for all the years, And watered it with blood, And watered it with tears, The seed of quickening food For both the hemispheres. This was the planting done That April morn of fame; Honor to every one To that seed-field that came! Honor to Lexington, Our first immortal name! THE REVOLUTIONARY ALARM BY GEORGE BANCROFT Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but it was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the war-message from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the backwoods; the plains to the highlands; and it was never suffered to droop till it had been borne North and South, and East and West, throughout the land.