With heart pain and with quiver of the lip,

I bid my boy "good bye," with words of cheer.

I hug him to my heart to hide a tear,

And hold him close so long, that no tongue-slip

Could more betray my bodings for his ship,

Or troop, when landed. It is when I hear

My daughters' voices, that I shame off fear

And take my boy's both hands with firmest grip.

Go, son, and, though with thy young life 'tis blown,

Blare thou the Bugle, rousing man to sweep

The monsters back to Hell's profoundest deep,

Where, mocking Spring and Sun-rise, they have grown

On longings for the sea, the world must weep

When, from its heart, the hope of Peace has flown.