Classic Poem

I will believe but what I see:
The ocean is a myth, " he cried.
" I've looked on hills and vales and plains,
But never o'er the rushing tide. "

He came where, by a river's bank,
Men built a structure strange and high,
With hollow sides and anchors huge,
And masts that lifted to the sky.

And, while he laughed these men to scorn,
The winds blew fresh far out to sea,
While tides flowed in and tides flowed out,
And ships went sailing glad and free.

The Master-builder of the world,
Here, on the narrow ways of time,
Rears souls so grand their range must be
'Neath wider skies in some far clime.