What welcome sound salutes his list'ning ears?
It is the loon's lone cry the wanderer hears;
That piercing larum note, so near and shrill,
Revives his courage; all his senses thrill.
Then struggling rays of sunlight catch his eye,
And in the heavens a glimpse of azure sky;
Then fair the wind, and bright the beam of day,
Dispersed the misty shadows far away;
And all the world and all the waters bright,
In beauty stand revealed in living light.
O wretched prisoner of the sea, behold!
The battlements of heaven shall now unfold,
And on the heights not raised by human hands,
See where yon fair celestial city stands,
Port Townsend, where the shining water flows,
Invites to rest, refreshment, and repose.
O night of nights! so fraught with peril dread,
When effort seemed in vain and hope was dead!
Oh, day of days! when rescued from the wave,
A Paradise seemed opening from the grave.
O sweet the day! Thrice ten the years have sped
Since there the stranger laid his weary head;
But never can the picture of that spot,
Engraved in grateful memory, be forgot.
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