We make of Nature’s giant powers
The slaves of human Art.
Lay rib to rib and beam to beam,
And [drive the treenails free];
Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam
Shall tempt the searching sea!
Where’er the keel of our good ship
The sea’s rough field shall plow,
Where’er her tossing spars shall drip
With salt-spray caught below,