( TO JOHN GODFREY MOORE )

New E NGLAND'S head is cool,
Her heart a living spring,
Her hand a tempered tool,
Her throat was made to sing,
Her genius comprehends,
Her habits ever steady,
Her means embrace her ends,
Her spunk is right and ready.

She did conceive our land
A Continental nation,
She made the mighty stand,
She forced the Declaration,
She gave us clocks to heed,
She set the West in motion,
She made our fathers read,
Her food fields were the ocean.

Wherever went her sons
The mill wheels churned the waters,
The spin wheel swifter runs
For her free-jointed daughters,
Her poverty can lend,
She never is depender,
A teacher or a friend
New England is the lender.

Who blames her that she strove
To be the saint-elected?
As from the brain of Jove
Minerva was projected?
Idealist alone,
She drew her out of Edom;
A Book is still her throne,
Her influence is Freedom.

Fatter are others' fields;
Her dower is some duty.
Her rocky verdure yields
The most transcendent beauty.
Organic as some realm
And scented like a blossom,
Her spread is like her elm,
The Mayflower's in her bosom.