Classic Poem

Though we hope that the Epoch of Peace will arrive
When no war may disturb the immense human hive,
Yet can heart ever fail to beat fast with delight
When the fleet of the battleships breaks on the sight?

Those huge floating fortresses bristling with guns
That can hurl instant broadsides of tons upon tons
Of explosive steel shells with precision so swift
That not one fails the mark howe'er it may shift;

Their white painted walls and their turrets that turn,
Their curved simple lines from beaked prow round to stern,
Their invincible strength and their purpose make plain
As they lie in their grace on the breast of the main.

The absolute discipline wielding their crews
And making each man a machine meant to use
Like the screws on the deck or the winches and pawls
Is a gauge to assure when the country's voice calls.

When in splendid alignment the White Squadron moves.
Or anchors in port as the mission behooves,
And the cannon announce with their deafening roar
The official salute to the forts on the shore;

When the ships are all drest in their flags gayly strung
And the banner, star-sown, from the masthead is flung;
When the National Yacht, the new Mayflower , files
In majestical pride down the armor-safe aisles;

When the decks with the gallant marines are full-manned
In blue blouses, white ducks and with musket in hand;
When the twenty-one guns from each ship iterate
The respect of the Sea for the Head of the State —

Then indeed every patriot submits to the spell,
His eyes fill with tears, he feels his heart swell
At such engines of war, such defenders superb,
Alive and alert all aggression to curb.

Should a woman or man of American birth
Or a naturalized alien, wherever on earth,
Be opprest by a shah or borne off in a raid,
All the might of this fleet would be sent to his aid.

If through madness or malice the hand of a foe
Should aim at our country a desperate blow,
Not a man on those ships but would sacrifice life
And fire his last gun in the patriot strife.

Such a man was Paul Jones of The Bonhomme Richard ,
Who first bore our flag into waters afar,
Who urged the young Congress a navy to build
And perished in France with his hopes unfulfilled.

In our first war with England our fisherman ships
Compelled the " I yield " from the proud British lips,
And the prowess of Perry on Erie's blue lake
Gave the new States the crown in the glory at stake.

There was Stephen Decatur whose deeds at Algiers
Filled the Barbary pirates with well-founded fears,
Who swept through the Mediterranean Sea
And made the Dey quake in his walled Tripoli.

We see Farragut lashed to the mast at Mobile
And watching the enemy stagger and reel;
On leveed Mississippi great actions were fought
And at Hampton the Monitor miracles wrought.

For the sake of poor Cuba oppressed like a slave
Chastisement to Spain our battleships gave;
Santiago beheld a titanic defeat;
Manila was won by a dash of our fleet;

And the Oregon's rush like an arrow of Fate
From the fog-shrouded capes of the far Golden Gate
Round the tempest-beat Horn up to Jupiter bay
Told the world what a will in our proud navy lay.

On the walls of the halls of the Temple of Fame
In letters of fire should flash many a name:
The great Constellation which less than an hour
Took in bringing La Guerriere into her power;

The Wasp and the Hornet and Old Ironsides ,
Which, restored and rebuilt, at her anchor still rides;
And the frigates and sloops and ships of the line
Which in full-rigged magnificence plowed the dark brine.
Oh, would that the need of the navy might cease,
That the Powers might unite in a grand League of Peace;
But the deeds that our Army and Navy have done
Are gold in the web by History spun.