Classic Poem

Lo! here sit we mid the sun-down seas
And the white sierras. The swift, sweet breeze
Is about us here; and a sky so fair
Is bending above in its azaline hue,
That you gaze and you gaze in delight, and you
See God and the portals of heaven there.

Yea, here sit we where the white ships ride
In the morn, made glad and forgetful of night,
The white and the brown men side by side
In search of the truth, and betrothed to the right;
For these are the idols, and only these,
Of men that abide by the sun-down seas.
The brown brave hand of the harvester,
The delicate hand of the prince untried,
The rough hard hand of the carpenter,
They are all upheld with an equal pride;
And the prize it is his to be crown'd or blest,
Prince or peon, who bears him best.

Yea, here sit we by the golden gate,
Not demanding much, but inviting you all,
Nor publishing loud, but daring to wait,
And great in much that the days deem small;
And the gate it is God's, to Cathay, Japan,—
And who shall shut it in the face of man?