  Age after age the tireless sea doth fling Its serried waves against this frowning rock, (Whose base has known a thousand years of shock,) And shouts its purpose to its floor to bring. High up and landward now the ravens wing, On trees sure-rooted inland nests the hawk; Instinct of doom! for here swift ships shall dock, And give of east and west, and commerce sing. Warriors of truth, unwearied host of God, Who, like the deep, march to the signs of heaven, "Thus saith the Lord" your cry, count not the years! Grey superstition's crumbling front shall nod Beneath the iteration of your steven, And God's sweet love flood all the place of tears. |
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