text: Barnes Buckminster, 1801

Welcome the day from which our state
Computes the era of it's date;
This day a government began;
Essential to the rights of man,

Oh, may its blessings ne'er expire,
'til time's extinct, the globe's on fire.

Not fifty years have rolled away
Since savage yells spread wide dismay;
Where now rich fields of yellow corn;
The suburbs of our town adorn,

The Maple, screen for Indian darts,
Now yields the wealth of Indies marts.

Vermont, thy sons are more than blessed,
In wealth increasing, public rest;
Thy rulers from the people's choice;
Obedient to the public voice -

Possess the pow'r, the goodness, will,
A nation's interest to fulfill.

Ye mountaineers, to you are giv'n,
These favors by propitious heav'n;
Let gratitude employ your themes,
By day your tho'ts by night your dreams.

The Freedom, like your mountain scene,
Shall flourish in perennial green.