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Plymouth Rock Escaped from all the perils of the sea,- Storms, shoals,-the angry and engulphing waves,- Here stand we, on a savage shore,-all free, Thy freemen, Lord! and not of man the slaves. Here will we toil and serve thee, till our graves On these bleak hills shall open.-When the blood Thou pourest now so warm along our veins Shall westward flow, till Mississippi's flood Gives to our children's children his broad plains, Ne'er let them wear, O God, or forge a bondman's chains! John Pierpont's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1173 |
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