Classic Poem

Their great gray ships go plunging forth;
The waves, wind-wakened from the north,
Swarm up their bows and fall away,
And wash the air with golden spray.

Far off is flung their battle-line;
Far off their great guns flame and shine;
And we are one with them — we rise
With dawning thunder in our eyes
To join the embattled hosts that kept
Their pact with freedom while we slept!