The Poetry Corner

To Faneuil Hall

By John Greenleaf Whittier

Men! if manhood still ye claim, If the Northern pulse can thrill, Roused by wrong or stung by shame, Freely, strongly still; Let the sounds of traffic die: Shut the mill-gate, leave the stall, Fling the axe and hammer by; Throng to Faneuil Hall! Wrongs which freemen never brooked, Dangers grim and fierce as they, Which, like couching lions, looked On your fathers' way; These your instant zeal demand, Shaking with their earthquake-call Every rood of Pilgrim land, Ho, to Faneuil Hall! From your capes and sandy bars, From your mountain-ridges cold, Through whose pines the westering stars Stoop their crowns of gold; Come, and with your footsteps wake Echoes from that holy wall; Once again, for Freedom's sake, Rock your fathers' hall! Up, and tread beneath your feet Every cord by party spun: Let your hearts together beat As the heart of one. Banks and tarrifs, stocks and trade, Let them rise or let them fall: Freedom asks your common aid, Up, to Faneuil Hall! Up, and let each voice that speaks Ring from thence to Southern plains, Sharply as the blow which breaks Prison-bolts and chains! Speak as well becomes the free: Dreaded more than steel or ball, Shall your calmest utterance be, Heard from Faneuil Hall! Have they wronged us? Let us then Render back nor threats nor prayers; Have they chained our free-born men? Let us unchain theirs! Up, your banner leads the van, Blazoned, "Liberty for all!" Finish what your sires began! Up, to Faneuil Hall