Still pointing upward to the skies,
Unwritten sermons, and rebukes of love,
To point thy toiling throngs to worlds above.
AN ODE
[Written for the Semi-centennial Celebration at Bowdoin College, August 31, 1852.]
From waves that break to break again,
From winds that die to gather might,
How pleasant on the stormy main
Appears the sailor’s native height.