Never there was a lovelier town than our Falmouth by the sea.
Tender curves of sky look down on her grace of knoll and lead.
Sweet her nestled Mayflower blows ere from prouder haunts the spring
Yet has brushed the lingering snows with a violet-colored wing.
Bright the autumn gleams pervade cranberry marsh and bushy wold,
Till the children's mirth has made millionaires in leaves of gold;
And upon her pleasant ways, set with many a gardened home,
Flash through fret of dropping sprays visions far of ocean foam.
Happy bell of Paul Revere, sounding o'er such blest demesne,
While a hundred times the year weaves the round from green to green.
Never were there friendlier folk than in Falmouth by the sea,
Neighbor-households that invoke pride of sailor pedigree.
Here is princely interchange of the gifts of shore and field,
Starred with treasures rare and strange that the liberal sea-chests yield.
Culture here burns breezy torch, where gray captains, bronzed of neck,
Tread their little length of porch with a memory of the deck.
Ah, and here the tenderest hearts, here where sorrows sorest wring,
And the widows shift their parts, comforted and comforting.
Holy bell of Paul Revere calling such to prayer and praise,
While a hundred times the year herds her flock of faithful days!
Greetings to thee, ancient bell, of our Falmouth by the sea!
Answered by the ocean swell, ring thy centuried Jubilee!
Like the white sails of the Sound, hast thou seen the years drift by,
From the dreamful, dim profound to a goal beyond the eye.
Long thy maker lieth mute, hero of a faded strife; thou hast toiled from seed to fruit
Generations three of life, still thy mellow voice and clear
Floats o'er land and listening deep, and we deem our fathers hear
From their shadowy hill of sleep.
Ring thy peals for centuries yet, living voice of Paul Revere!
Let the future not forget what the past accounted dear!