  Where Passaconaway was wont to stand, Piercing the distance with intrepid eye, The teeming mills their rhythmic shuttles ply. Many knelt subservient to the hand Of that good sachem of a noted band; But labor like a chieftain, leads us high, To fairer fields where richer guerdons lie Than he aspired to win; the bold demand Of Time is met by a triumphant throng Which presses onward, upward, evermore; And cities in their children true as strong Live worthy the brave men who marched before, Speeding the hum of Industry's glad song |
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