Save that commission come, too, from above.
Souls sunk in ice-holes, or in gilded shine,
May call us wild, fantastic, if they will;
We know our birth-place was another clime—
We come a different mission to fulfill.
We dare the smoke-wreath on the crater’s verge;
We look, undaunted, on the lava-flame;
From the tornado’s whirl we safe emerge;
To thee we come, in gentle childhood’s name!
Enough of tempest—earthquake—has been thine;