Never was there lovelier town 
Than our Falmouth by the sea. 
Tender curves of sky look down 
On her grace of knoll and lea. 
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 drooping sprar 
Visions far of ocean foam. 
Happy bell of Paul Revere, 
Sounding o'er such blest demesne 
While a hundred times a year 
Weaves the round from green to green. 



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 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! 



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 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 tolled 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 
That the past accounted dear!