Classic Poem

Life at its best is but a troubled sea;
The ship is launched with snowy-spreading sail
To face the reefs, the billows and the gale,
And meet the perils that are yet to be.
The shore she left fades dimly in the lee
And on the beach the forms and faces fail;
Come what come may, or rain or sun or hail
The ship glides on, the mariner is free.

But Ah! what joy when backward o'er the foam
From stress of storms and far, unfriendly lands,
Held in the hollow of the sky's vast dome
To mark at last the well-remembered sands;
To know once more the harbor of a home
And welcome of a woman's outstretched hands.