SAXON GRIT* WORN with the battle by Stamford town, While the acorns were falling, one autumn day. Then the Norman said, "I am lord of the land; By tenor of conquest here I sit; I will rule you now with the iron hand But he had not thought of the Saxon grit. He took the land, and he took the men, And burnt the homesteads from Humber to Made the freemen serfs by a stroke of the pen, To the merry green wood went bold Robin Hood, With his strong-hearted yeomanry ripe for the fray, Driving the arrow into the marrow Of all the proud Normans who came in his way; *Read on "Forefathers' Day" at the banquet of the New England Society, in response to the toast, "Saxon Grit." Scorning the fetter, fearless and free, This merry old rogue with the Saxon grit. And Kett the tanner whipt out his knife, And Watt the smith his hammer brought down, For ruth of the maid he loved better than life, And by breaking a head made a hole in the Crown. From the Saxon heart rose a mighty roar, "Our life shall not be by the king's permit; We will fight for the right we want no more " Then the Norman found out the Saxon grit. For slow and sure as the oaks had grown Then rising afar in the Western sea, A new world stood in the morn of the day, Ready to welcome the brave and free Who could wrench out the heart and march away From the narrow, contracted, dear old land, Steadily steering, eagerly peering, Trusting in God, your fathers came, They whittled and waded through forest and fen, In faith that by manhood the world wins all. Inventing baked beans, and no end of machines; Great with the rifle and great with the ax Sending their notions over the oceans, To fill empty stomachs and straighten bent backs. Swift to take chances that end in the dollar, Positive, peaceable, firm in the right; Steady for freedom and strong in her might. Then, slow and sure as the oaks have grown From the acorns that fell on the old dim day, So this sturdy manhood, in city and town, To a nobler stature will grow alway; Winning by inches, holding by clinches, Slow to contention, and slower to quit, Now and then failing, but never once quailing, Let us thank God for the Saxon grit. |