The sea will do its worst, and life
Be sobbed out in a bubbling breath;
But firmly in the coward strife
There stands a man who has conquered Death!
A soul that masters wind and wave,
And towers above a sinking deck;
A bridge across the gaping grave;
A rainbow rising o'er the wreck.
Others he saved; he saved the name
Unsullied that he gave his wife:
And dying with so pure an aim,
He had no need to save his life!
Lord! how they shame the life we live,
These sailors of our sea-girt isle,
Who cheerily take what Thou mayst give,
And go down with a heavenward smile!
The men who sow their lives to yield
A glorious crop in lives to be:
Who turn to England's harvest-field
The unfruitful furrows of the sea.
With such a breed of men so brave,
The Old Land has not had her day;
But long her strength, with crested wave,
Shall ride the Seas, the proud old way.
THE HAPPIEST LAND.
BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
There sat one day in quiet,
By an alehouse on the Rhine,
Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.
The landlord's daughter filled their cups
Around the rustic board;
Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.