When the Great Gray Ships Come In
By Guy Wetmore Carryl (1873-1904) |
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To eastward
ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea,
On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost
isles are free,
And the furthermost isles make answer,
harbor, and height, and hill,
Breaker and beach cry each
to each, "'T is the Mother who calls! Be still!"
Mother!
new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,
Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her
sovereign arm,
Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons,
who bade her navies roam,
Who calls again to the leagues
of main, and who calls them this time home!
And the
great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest,
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the
golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of
crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad
wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the
strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle blast
the length of the long blockade,
And eyes of vigil weary
are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from
lip to lip it is "Peace! Thank God for peace."
Ah, in
the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show
The sons of
these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go,�
How, when the stirring summons smote on her children's ear,
South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land
answered, "Here!"
For the soul of the soldier's story and
the heart of the sailor's song
Are all of those who meet
their foes as right should meet with wrong,
Who fight
their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they
trod,
Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace
of their country's God!
Yes, it is good to battle,
and good to be strong and free,
To carry the hearts of a
people to the uttermost ends of sea,
To see the day steal
up the bay where the enemy lies in wait,
To run your ship
to the harbor's lip and sink her across the strait:�
But
better the golden evening when the ships round heads for
home,
And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a
swirl of seething foam,
And the people wait at the
haven's gate to greet the men who win!
Thank God for
peace! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come
in! |
By
Guy Wetmore Carryl (1873-1904)
Listed November 27, 2012
New York Harbor, August 20, 1898
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