Along with 18^th century music favored by Tories and Patriots, and compositions linked to the legacy of the midnight ride, the highlight of our November 13, 2025 concert program was a new piece by Regie Gibson, Poet Laureate of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. We all agree that this dynamic and touching poetic take on the life and legacy of Paul Revere is a gift to the ear and to the heart.  We are thrilled to provide both the audio and text of the poem for your enjoyment.

Dear, Paul Revere or Forge, Shape, Shine!
By Regie O’Hare Gibson- Inaugural Poet Laureate of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts

You exist in our collective national imagination forever on horseback—
as if you were born atop a steed galloping at a speed at which you could never dismount. As if we’d allow that eternal, ever-image of you to disappear. (It would appear to be one we cannot do without)

But, please, climb down— if only for a moment, that you might be briefly seen
not only as elevated legend— but, as a human-being.
Seen simply as a silver-smith’s son apprenticed to your French immigrant father— with whom you physically fought over which church to join to best serve God.
Seen as a 19yr-old— grief-stricken after his death—bereft— left to be the man
of the house. Left to finish learning his trade:

To assess and take the measure of metal—to Forge, Shape, Shine— Forge, Shape, Shine— Forge, Shape, Shine it into something useful—something precious that will last.

To support your family you learned all he taught— poured the molten metal of yourself into making useful things that could be bought: Kettles, mugs, forks, spoons— tea sets wealthy women would use in late afternoons. And, like the true craftsman you were— You took pride in your work and did it well.

I wonder, Paul, how did the call to service first find you?

In that shop, did you watch a handful of silver melt in an ingot and… had not so much a thought… but a sense…that if not caught would disappear… fast

Oh! This is like my country
A precious metal I can help forge, shape, shine
into a cherished thing that will last!                    

Warren must have sensed that you and he shared an idea of what could be…
So, he approached you to join the Sons of Liberty and help end British tyranny
over the colonies.

I can almost see the two of you speaking, planning, plotting over drinks at the Green Dragon Tavern or Saint Andrew’s Masonic Lodge— you, tipping a tankard of ale or rum—
Warren sipping a glass of sherry, madeira, or some expensive port wine.
I imagine that, when he introduced you to the gentlemen, the elite, the refined: (The “powdered-wig” kind) they must have thought you inferior—a “lesser sort”.
You had to have sensed them making sport of you. Looking down their noses at you. You, who could never be a gentleman like them. You, who had none of their oratory, social polish, education or trust fund who had to work to earn every cent. They could smell “Common” coming from you like stable stench.

I imagine them slightly sneering at your hands— rough hewn and calloused, the cracked knuckle-skin, how the nape of your neck had been rubbed smooth by the leather strap of an artisans apron.

Thankfully, men like you were not born to be gentlemen like them, at all—
because, men like you, Paul, are not bred!— No, instead, men like you are self-made. Men like you are Forged, Shaped, Shined by the times in which they live.

Men like you take what fate has given, make something of it— and give.
Give their sweat and heart and blood. Give their devotion to the slow, day by day,
inglorious labor liberty demands: The work that cracks knuckle-skin, the work that callouses hands!

Men like you understand that bringing freedom into being requires the kind of work no one will ever see. It’s not the kind of work you BOAST about— but the kind of work you BE about:
Forge, Shape, Shine—Forge, Shape, Shine—Forge, Shape, Shine!

And, no doubt— your life was about the work, Paul.
Even through all the non-acknowledgements and constant denials from those who thought themselves your betters. Through all life’s trials. Through the death of wife and child after child after child after child after child— you still worked. You still gave.

And after the war— when Boston was battered and beleaguered—you gave and worked to rebuild her— returned to your shop and to the making of useful, needed things: Copper sheeting. Church-tower bells. Munitions and Cannons. Carpenter nails: Those often overlooked things we hardly notice them at all. Yet, without which many a great house falls. And for 250 years, Paul, extraordinarily-ordinary folks like you have been the nails holding this precious house together.

Well, now we need that spirit of yours more than ever!
We need the spirit of work and give YOU will forever be.
Need you to help us reshape the precious metal of our country—
To help us remove the tarnish darkening its shine.
To help us reforge ourselves (while there is still time) into something useful that will work
and give, sacrifice and fight for the soul of this nation in-spite of how spectered we are by grief and fear.

We need the spirit of you, Paul Revere— showing us how to get back on that horse and brave these benighted times.

No, do NOT ride FOR us anymore, but may WE ride with YOU! Ride through the night, cry out and alarm every American village and farm—Cry out in defiance and demand that each of us be the voice in the darkness— be the knock at the door, be the word that echoes forevermore—borne on the night-wind of the past, through all our history, to the last— for in this hour of darkness and peril and need let us all waken and listen and hear above the hurrying hoof-beats of steeds, the midnight message ringing and seeking to cling to each ear:*

That every American who forges, shapes, and shines
in their own way to insure tyranny in this country
will never again hold sway—Is and will be:

Paul Revere.

*This segment is added as an homage to Longfellow’s The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.

© 2025 Regie O’Hare Gibson All rights reserved. Except for educational purposes in an educational or public institution accredited in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts no part of this text may be copied, published, recorded, or reproduced in any format without express permission of the copyright holder.