Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MINUTEMEN OF NORTHBORO, by WALLACE RICE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MINUTEMEN OF NORTHBORO, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Tis noonday by the buttonwood, with slender shadowed bud
Last Line: And take the plough again in peace, their warrior's duty done.
Alternate Author Name(s): Groot, Cecil De
Subject(s): American Revolution; Lexington, Battle Of (1775); Concord, Battle Of


'TIS noonday by the buttonwood, with slender-shadowed bud;
'Tis April by the Assabet, whose banks scarce hold his flood;
When down the road from Marlboro' we hear a sound of speed --
A cracking whip and clanking hoofs -- a case of crying need!
And there a dusty rider hastes to tell of flowing blood,
Of troops a-field, of war abroad, and many a desperate deed.

The Minute-Men of Northboro' were gathering that day
To hear the Parson talk of God, of Freedom and the State;
They throng about the horseman, drinking in all he should say,
Beside the perfumed lilacs blooming by the Parson's gate:

"The British march from Boston through the night to Lexington;
Revere alarms the countryside to meet them ere the sun;
Upon the common, in the dawn, the redcoat butchers slay;
On concord march, and there again pursue their murderous way;
We drive them back; we follow on; they have begun to run:
All Middlesex and Worcester's up: Pray God, ours is the day!"

The Minute-Men of Northboro' let rust the standing plough,
The seed may wait, the fertile ground up-smiling to the spring.
They seize their guns and powder-horns; there is no halting now,
At thought of homes made fatherless by order of the King.

The pewter-ware is melted into bullets -- long past due,
The flints are picked, the powder's dry, the rifles shine like new.
Within their Captain's yard enranked they hear the Parson's prayer
Unto the God of armies for the battles they must share;
He asks that to their Fathers and their Altars they be true,
For Country and for Liberty unswervingly to dare.

The Minute-Men of Northboro' set out with drum and fife;
With shining eyes they've blest their babes and bid their
wives good-by.
The hands that here release the plough have taken up a strife
That shall not end until all earth has heard the battle-cry.

At every town new streams of men join in the mighty flow;
At every crossroad comes the message of a fleeing foe:
The British force, though trebled, fails against the advancing tide.
Our rifles speak from fence and tree -- in front, on every side.
The British fall: the Minute-Men have mixed with bitterest woe
Their late vainglorious vaunting and their military pride.

The Minute-Men of Northboro' they boast no martial air;
No uniforms gleam in the sun where on and on they plod;
But generations yet unborn their valor shall declare;
They strike for Massachusetts Bay; they serve New England's God.

The hirelings who would make us slaves themselves are backward hurled,
On Worcester and on Middlesex their flag's forever furled.
Theirs was the glinting pomp of war; ours is the victor's prize:
That day of bourgeoning has seen a race of freemen rise.
A Nation born in fearlessness stands forth before the world
With God her shield, the Right her sword, and Freedom in her eyes.

The Minute-Men of Northboro' sit down by Boston-town;
They fight and bleed at Bunker Hill; they cheer for Washington.
In thankfulness they speed their bolt against the British Crown;
And take the plough again in peace, their warrior's duty done.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net