And rooted out the false and vain,
And chastened them to aptness for
Devotion and the deeds of war,
And death which smiles and cheers in spite of pain.
Beyond the bar the land-wind dies,
The prows becharmed at anchor swim:
A summer night; the stars withdrawn look down—
Fair eve of battle grim.
The sentries pace, bonetas glide;
Below, the sleeping sailor swing,