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And near it the anchor, whose giant hand
Would reach down and grapple with the land,
And immovable and fast

Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast!
And at the bows an image stood,
By a cunning artist carved in wood,
With robes of white, that far behind
Seemed to be fluttering in the wind.
It was not shaped in a classic mould,
Not like a Nymph or Goddess of old,
Or Naiad rising from the water,
But modelled from the master's daughter!
On many a dreary and misty night,
"T will be seen by the rays of the signal light,
Speeding along through the rain and the dark,
Like a ghost in its snow-white sark,
The pilot of some phantom bark,
Guiding the vessel, in its flight,
By a path none other knows aright!

Behold, at last,

Each tall and tapering mast
Is swung into its place;
Shrouds and stays
Holding it firm and fast!

Long ago,

In the deer-haunted forests of Maine,
When upon mountain and plain
Lay the snow,

They fell,-those lordly pines!
Those grand, majestic pínes !
'Mid shouts and cheers

The jaded steers,

Panting beneath the goad,

Dragged down the weary, winding road
Those captive kings so straight and tall,
To be shorn of their streaming hair,
And, naked and bare,

To feel the stress and the strain
Of the wind and the reeling main,
Whose roar

Would remind them forevermore

And everywhere

The slender, graceful spars
Poise aloft in the air,

And at the mast-head,

White, blue, and red,

A flag unrolls the stripes and stars.

Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless,

In foreign harbors shall behold"

That flag unrolled

"T will be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his native land,

The great sun rises to behold the sight.
The ocean old,
Centuries old,

All is finished! and at length

Has come the bridal day

Of beauty and of strength.
To-day the vessel shall be launched!
With fleecy clouds the sky is blanched,

Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled,
Paces restless to and fro,

And o'er the bay,

Slowly, in all his splendors dight,

Up and down the sands of gold.
His beating heart is not at rest;
And far and wide,

With ceaseless flow,

His beard of snow

Heaves with the heaving of his breast.
He waits impatient for his bride.
There she stands,

With her foot upon the sands,
Decked with flags and streamers gay,
In honor of her marriage day,

Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending,
Round her like a veil descending,
Ready to be

The bride of the gray old sea.

Of their native forests they should not see Seems at its distant rim to rise


On the deck another bride

Is standing by her lover's side.
Shadows from the flags and shrouds,
Like the shadows cast by clouds,
Broken by many a sunny fleck,
Fall around them on the deck.

And climb the crystal wall of the skies,
And then again to turn and sink,

As if we could slide from its outer brink.
Ah! it is not the sea,

It is not the sea that sinks and shelves,
But ourselves

That rock and rise

With endless and uneasy motion,
Now touching the very skies,

Now sinking into the depths of ocean.
Ah! if our souls but poise and swing
Like the compass in its brazen ring,
Ever level and ever true

Filling his heart with memories sweet and To the toil and the task we have to do,


We shall sail securely, and safely reach
The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach
The sights we see, and the sounds we hear,
Will be those of joy and not of fear!"

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Of the sailor's heart,

All its pleasures and its griefs,
All its shallows and rocky reefs,
All those secret currents, that flow
With such resistless undertow,
And lift and drift, with terrible force,
The will from its moorings and its course.
Therefore he spake, and thus said he :-
"Like unto ships far off at sea,
Outward or homeward bound, are we.
Before, behind, and all around,
Floats and swings the horizon's bound,

Then the Master,

With a gesture of command,
Waved his hand;
And at the word,


Loud and sudden there was heard,
All around them and below,
The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
Knocking away the shores and spurs.
And see she stirs !

With one exulting, joyous bound, She leaps into the ocean's arms.

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And in the wreck of noble lives Something immortal still survives!

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!
Sail on, O UNION, strong and great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what a forge and what a heat
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope!
Fear not each sudden sound and shock,
'T is of the wave and not the rock;
'T is but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale!
In spite of rock and tempest's roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea!
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee,
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee,-are all with thee!


JUST above yon sandy bar,

As the day grows fainter and dimmer, Lonely and lovely, a single star

Lights the air with a dusky glimmer.


But in the fisherman's cottage
There shines a ruddier light,
And a little face at the window
Peers out into the night.

Into the ocean faint and far

Falls the trail of its golden splendor,
And the gleam of that single star
Is ever refulgent, soft, and tender

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Southward through day and dark,
They drift in close embrace,
With mist and rain, o'er the open main;
Yet there seems no change of place.

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Nothing useless is, or low;

Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.


ALL are architects of Fate,

Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays

Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;

Leave no yawning gaps between,
Think not, because no man sees,

Such things will remain unseen.

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken
The bond which nature gives,

Thinking that our remembrance, though un- SAND OF THE DESERT IN AN HOURspoken,


May reach her where she lives.

In the elder days of Art,

Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,

Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete.
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain

To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

A HANDFUL of red sand, from the hot clime
Of Arab deserts brought,
Within this glass becomes the spy of Time,
The minister of Thought.

How many weary centuries has it been
About those deserts blown!

How many strange vicissitudes has seen,
How many histories known!

Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite
Trampled and passed it o'er,
When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight
His favorite son they bore.

Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare,
Crushed it beneath their tread ;

Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air
Scattered it as they sped;

Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth
Held close in her caress,

Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith
Illumed the wilderness;

Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms
Pacing the Dead Sea beach,


And singing slow their old Armenian psalms
In half-articulate speech;

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