And stout their grateful millions stand on guard, Their brain and muscle working thee reward— The solid Dutch, the level English strain, The gifted French, our allies tried and true, The German staunch, the Kelt of Ireland bold, Italian fire and Spanish pride; the Jew Keen-witted, dragging here no ghetto chain; Each giving thee their lore, their art of old; Each fired by thee with hopes and raptures new. And Queen, thy women exquisite, Thy clear-eyed maids, thy mothers pure— Pledge of thy greatness sweetly to endure! By these I bless thee in thy day of joy, Thy wide-thrown halls, thy hospitable board, Thy heart of anxious service, and the rays Of kindliness within thy bosom stored. No evil shall thy graciousness destroy, And so I bid thee with increasing days No whit thy fair ambitions to abate; Fulfill thy destiny of good and great. Hark, the message of Manhattan’s soul! _Constant my soul on the hard path of duty, Striving to win to the levels above, Longing my soul in the gardens of beauty, Eager my soul in the service of love, Tender my soul to the angels of pity, Humble my soul to the bearers of light, Fearless my soul at the gates of the city, Stalwart my soul for the ultimate right._ _Mighty my dreams of a city imperial, Radiant, free with an ordered law, Rich, but with mind-gold beyond the material, Powerful, merciful, just without flaw, Thrift-strong and gentle-voiced, rippling with laughter, Song-filled, and thrilled with the triumphs of art, Poverty banished, and now and hereafter, Peace in my bosom, joy in my heart._ IRISH STARS IN THE ARCHIVES OF NEW YORK PROVINCE. BY HON. HUGH HASTINGS, FORMER STATE HISTORIAN OF NEW YORK.