"Build me straight, O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! With oaken brace and copper band, That, like a thought, should have control And near it the anchor, whose giant hand Hold the great ship against the bellowing blast. By a cunning artist carved in wood, But modelled from the Master's daughter! 'Twill be seen by the rays of the signal light, 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! The jaded steers, Panting beneath the goad, Dragged down the weary winding road To feel the stress and the strain Of the wind and the reeling main, Would remind them for evermore Of their native forests they should not see again. And everywhere The slender, graceful spars Poise aloft in the air, White, blue, and red, A flag unrolls the stripes and stars. Ah! when the wanderer, lonely, friendless, In foreign harbours shall behold That flag unrolled, 'Twill be as a friendly hand Stretched out from his native land, Filling his heart with memories sweet and endless. All is finished! and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launched! And o'er the bay, Slowly, in all his splendours dight, Centuries old, Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest; 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 honour of her marriage day, Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, Round her like a veil descending, Ready to be The bride of the grey, old sea. On the deck another bride Is standing by her lover's side. The prayer is said, The service read, The joyous bridegroom bows his head, And ever faster Down his own the tears begin to run. The worthy pastor The shepherd of that wandering flock, That has the ocean for its wold, Of the sailor's heart, All its pleasures and its griefs, All those secret currents, that flow And lift and drift, with terrible force, "Like unto ships far off at sea, And climb the crystal wall of the skies, As if we could slide from its outer brink. It is not the sea that sinks and shelves, 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 To the toil and the task we have to do, 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, She starts, she moves,-she seems to feel And, spurning with her foot the ground, She leaps into the ocean's arms! How beautiful she is! How fair Through wind and wave, right onward steer |