voyaged through that placid land,
Until we came to shoals, and sent a boat
Upstream to find—what I already knew—
We travelled on a river, not a strait.
But what a river! God has never poured
A stream more royal through a land more rich.
Even now I see it flowing in my dream,
While coming ages people it with men
Of manhood equal to the river’s pride.
I see the wigwams of the red-men changed
To ample houses, and the tiny plots
Of maize and green tobacco broadened out
To prosperous farms, that spread o’er hill and dale
The many-coloured mantle of their crops.
I see the terraced vineyard on the slope
Where now the fox-grape loops its tangled vine,
And cattle feeding where the red deer roam,
And wild-bees gathered into busy hives
To store the silver comb with golden sweet;
And all the promised land begins to flow
With milk and honey. Stately manors rise
Along the banks, and castles top the hills,
And little villages grow populous with trade,
Until the river runs as proudly as the Rhine—
The thread that links a hundred towns and towers!
Now looking deeper in my dream, I see
A mighty city covering the isle
They call Manhattan, equal in her state
To all the older capitals of earth—
The gateway city of a golden world—
A city girt with masts, and crowned with spires,
And swarming with a million busy men,
While to her open door across the bay
The ships of all the nations flock like doves.
My name will be remembered there, the world
Will say, “This river and this isle were found
By Henry Hudson, on his way to seek
The Northwest Passage.” Yes, I seek it still—
My great adventure and my guiding star!
For look ye, friends, our voyage is not done;
We hold by hope as long as life endures!
Somewhere among these floating fields of ice,
Somewhere along this westward widening bay,
Somewhere beneath this luminous northern night,
The channel opens to the Farthest East—
I know it—and some day a little ship
Will push her bowsprit in, and battle through!
And why not ours—to-morrow—who can tell?
The lucky chance awaits the fearless heart!
These are the longest days of all the year;
The world is round and God is everywhere,
And while our shallop floats we still can steer.
So point her up, John King, nor’west by north
We’ll keep the honour of a certain aim
Amid the peril of uncertain ways,
And sail ahead, and leave the rest to God.
Hymn of Labor
Jesus, Thou divine Companion,
By Thy lowly human birth
Thou hast come to join the workers,
Burden-bearers of the earth.
Thou, the Carpenter of Naz’reth,
Toiling for Thy daily food,
By Thy patience and Thy courage,
Thou hast taught us toil is good.
They who tread the path of labor
Follow where Thy feet have trod;
They who work without complaining
Do the holy will of God.
Thou, the peace that passeth knowledge,
Dwellest in the daily strife;
Thou, the Bread of heaven, art broken
In the sacrament of life.
Every task, however simple,
Sets the soul that does it free;
Every deed of love and kindness
Done to man is done to Thee.
Jesus, Thou divine Companion,
Help us all to work our best;
Bless us in our daily labor,
Lead us to our Sabbath rest.
The Distant Road
Blessed is the man that beholdeth the face of a friend in a far country,
The darkness of his heart is melted by the dawning of day within him,
It is like the sound of a sweet music heard long ago and half forgotten:
It is like the coming back of birds to a wood when the winter is ended.
I knew not the sweetness of the fountain till I found it flowing in the desert,
Nor the value of a friend till we met in a land that was crowded and lonely.
The multitude of mankind had bewildered me and oppressed me,
And I complained to God, Why hast thou made the world so wide?
But when my friend came the wideness of the world had no more terror,
Because we were glad together among men to whom we were strangers.
It seemed as if I had been reading a book in a foreign language,
And suddenly I came upon a page written in the tongue of my childhood.
This was the gentle heart of my friend who quietly understood me,
The open and loving heart whose meaning was clear without a word.
O thou great Companion who carest for all thy pilgrims and strangers,
I thank thee heartily for the comfort of a comrade on the distant road.
The Welcome Tent
This is the thanksgiving of the weary,
The song of him that is ready to rest.
It is good to be glad when the day is declining,
And the setting of the sun is like a word of peace.
The stars look kindly on the close of a journey,
The tent says welcome when the day’s march is done.
For now is the time of the laying down of burdens,
And the cool hour cometh to them that have borne the heat.
I have rejoiced greatly in labour and adventure;
My heart hath been enlarged in the spending of my strength.
Now it is all gone, yet I am not impoverished,
For thus only I inherit the treasure of repose.
Blessed be the Lord that teacheth my fingers to loosen,
And cooleth my feet with water after the dust of the way.
Blessed be the Lord that giveth me hunger at nightfall,
And filleth my evening cup with the wine of good cheer.
Blessed be the Lord that maketh me happy to be quiet,
Even as a child that cometh softly to his mother’s lap.
O God, thy strength is never worn away with labour:
But it is good for us to be weary and receive thy gift of rest.
The Great Cities
How wonderful are the cities that man hath builded:
Their walls are compacted of heavy stones,
And their lofty towers rise above the tree-tops.
Rome, Jerusalem, Cairo, Damascus—
Venice, Constantinople, Moscow, Pekin—
London, New York, Berlin, Paris, Vienna—
These are the names of mighty enchantments,
They have called to the ends of the earth,
They have secretly summoned a host of servants.
They shine from far sitting beside great waters,
They are proudly enthroned upon high hills,
They spread out their splendour along the rivers.
Yet are they all
