BERKSHIRE SOCIETY. 261 



Yet, O, our mother, while uncounted channs 

 Round the fresh clasp of thine embracing arms, 

 Let not our virtues in thy love decay. 

 And thy fond weakness waste our strength away. 



No ! by these hills, whose banners now displayed, 

 In blazing cohorts autumn has arrayed ; 

 By yon twin crest, amid the sinking sphere 

 Last to dissolve, and first to reappear ; 

 By these fair plains, the mountain circle screens, 

 And feeds in silence from its dark ravines ; 

 True to their home, these faithful arms shall toil 

 To crown with peace their own untainted soil ; 

 And, true to God, to freedom, to mankind, 

 If her chained bandogs faction shall unbind. 

 These stately forms, that bending even now. 

 Bowed their strong manhood to the humble plough, 

 Shall rise erect, the guardians of the land, 

 The same stern iron in the same right hand, 

 Till Graylock thunders to the parting sun, 

 The sword has rescued what the ploughshare won ! 



O. W. HOLMES, Chairman. 



