TOWN
HILL
" Upon its foot the busy town is spread.
Where grief and joy, the twain in one allied,
Three centuries have wandered side by side.
Upon its slopes rest quietly the dead;
And drooping gravestones mark the foot and head,
Where early settlers yet in hope abide,
Where honored patriots lie in stately pride,
Whose glowing epitaphs may still be read;
Upon its brow the village children stroll;
Here, close to heaven, young lovers true vows plight
Beneath the stars; burdened with earthly dole,
Hither the weary come and find new might.
Sky, land, and sea uplift the human soul;
Past. present, future, mingle on this height.
(Note-- This was originally published in New England Magazine in a more stylized page. Click the link below to see that page.)