FANEUIL HALL
O darling nest of rebels,
King-hated Boston town,
Whose brood is still a-rearing
To pull the tyrant down,—
Once more to Fanueil Hall, freemen, come!
There's a virtue in the name,—
And the words, they turn to flame,
That breathe from Freedom's cradle and her home.
Old abolition tocsin,
Strike out the present hour!
Throng, men, upon the ringing stones
Whence Phillips drew his power!
His mother's hand along the narrow pave
Held up his toddling feet,
And he swore to make the street
Too pure to bear the footstep of a slave.
Come! once more rock the Cradle
Whence rose our sires free men!
Till all downtrodden peoples
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