(The greatest tribute paid to this greatest man is the following from the pen of Oregon's poet—Joaquin Miller.)
Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind the Gates of Hercules;
Behind him not the ghost of shores.
Behind him only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now, we must pray.
For lo, the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm'r'l speak: What shall I say?"
"Why say, 'Sail on! sail on! sail on!'"
"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home: as spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say.
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
'Sail on! sail on! sail on! sail on!'"
They sailed and sailed as the winds might blow.
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way.
For God from these dread seas is gone;
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l, speak, and say — "
He said: "Sail on! sail on! sail on!"
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows its teeth tonight.
He curls his lips, he lies in wait.
With lifted teeth as if to bite!
Brave Adm'r'l say but one good word:
"What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt as a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! sail on!"
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck.
And peered through darkness. Ah. that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck.
A light! A light! A light! A light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On. sail on."
