Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Vessel coming in

The Vessel Coming In.

Borne on the mighty billows of the tide,From distant lands the sons of ocean come,Spreading their amplest sails, they quickly glideOver the deep, impatient for their home.

See! on the pier, a mother takes her stand,With varied countenance of fear and joy,She in her arms, exulting, clasps her boy,Long ere he springs on his dear native land.

The wife, the tender partner of her careExpects,—and eager eyes the distant sail;The prattlers point, and say, "My father's thereAnd all the infant group his coming hail.

Dear is the hope—that on a fairer shore,I too shall meet my friends—and part no more.