"Herein! herein!
Gesellen alle, schliesst den Reihen,
Dass wir die Glocke taufend weihen!
CONCORDIA soll ihr Name sein.
Zur Eintracht, zu herzinnigen Vereine
Versammle sie die liebende Gemeine!"
CONCORDIA its name shall be!" was the sound of Schiller's Bell in my ears when I began this book about the Sage of Concord. Its name could not be that, for it would promise too much, but none would be truer for a full story of Emerson and his friends. The prophecy of Weimar was fulfilled when from a race passed through furnaces, heated by heavenly and earthly Star-chambers, refined and tempered by love and culture, fashioned in mould of a New World, this pure genius was raised aloft in its tower over the broken forms that had held it, and there, in tones melodious with all sweetness and the nobleness of human life, summoned all souls to inward and outward harmony.
"The town of Concord is one of the oldest towns in this country, far on now in its third century. The selectmen have once in every five years perambulated
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