Above the sea the hill-tops fair-- God's towers--began to rise, And odors rare breathe through the air, Like balms of Paradise. Through burning skies the ospreys flew, And near the pine-cooled shores Danced airy boat and thin canoe, To flash of sunlit oars. "Pray to the Lord with fervent lips," The leader shouted, "pray!" Then prayer arose, and all the ships Sailed into Boston Bay. The white wings folded, anchors down, The sea-worn fleet in line, Fair rose the hills where Boston town Should rise from clouds of pine; Fair was the harbor, summit-walled, And placid lay the sea. "Praise ye the Lord," the leader called; "Praise ye the Lord," spake he. "Give thanks to God with fervent lips, Give thanks to God to-day," The anthem rose from all the ships, Safe moored in Boston Bay. "Praise ye the Lord!" Primeval woods First heard the ancient song, And summer hills and solitudes The echoes rolled along. The Red Cross flag of England blew Above the fleet that day, While Shawmut's triple peaks in view In amber hazes lay. "Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips, Praise ye the Lord to-day," The anthem rose from all the ships Safe moored in Boston Bay. The Arabella leads the song-- The Mayflower sings below, That erst the Pilgrims bore along The Plymouth reefs of snow. Oh! never be that psalm forgot That rose o'er Boston Bay, When Winthrop sang, and Endicott, And Saltonstall, that day: "Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips, Praise ye the Lord to-day;" And praise arose from all the ships, Like prayers in Yarmouth Bay. That psalm our fathers sang we sing, That psalm of peace and wars, While o'er our heads unfolds its wing The flag of forty stars. And while the nation finds a tongue For nobler gifts to pray, 'Twill ever sing the song they sung That first Thanksgiving Day: "Praise ye the Lord with fervent lips, Praise ye the Lord to-day;" So rose the song from all the ships, Safe moored in Boston Bay. Our fathers' prayers have changed to psalms, As David's treasures old Turned, on the Temple's giant arms, To lily-work of gold. Ho! vanished ships from Yarmouth's tide, Ho! ships of Boston Bay, Your prayers have crossed the centuries wide To this Thanksgiving Day! We pray to God with fervent lips, We praise the Lord to-day, As prayers arose from Yarmouth ships, But psalms from Boston Bay. HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH.