 | The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
HOMEWARD BOUND
ON THE RETURN TO AMERICA OF THE REMAINS OF JOHN PAUL JONES
With proud, uplifted head
The fair Republic claims her dead;
With outstretched hands—the hands he fought to free—
Awaits, O not in ruth,
The lover of her youth,
Her Bayard of the sea.
Let the sea once more caress him
And the Land he loved possess him,
For now the years are sped—
The proud Republic claims her dead.
The fair Republic claims her dead;
With outstretched hands—the hands he fought to free—
Awaits, O not in ruth,
The lover of her youth,
Her Bayard of the sea.
Let the sea once more caress him
And the Land he loved possess him,
218
The proud Republic claims her dead.
Atlantic waves, that smiled
Of old so oft to greet your child,
List not to hear his battle-orders ring;
Care not to break his sleep,
But softly, softly bring
Your nursling of the deep,
With his birthright flag above him,
To the shores that own and love him,—
Of old their rover wild,
Now held in slumber as a child.
Of old so oft to greet your child,
List not to hear his battle-orders ring;
Care not to break his sleep,
But softly, softly bring
Your nursling of the deep,
With his birthright flag above him,
To the shores that own and love him,—
Of old their rover wild,
Now held in slumber as a child.
The oaken ship that won
His storied sea-fight, gun to gun,
To Freedom's flag its red baptism gave,—
A flame, still made reply,
Fought on to victory,
Then plunged beneath the wave.
Let the squadrons close around him
Till the nation's hands have crowned him
Whose fierce sea-fight he won
'Twixt the setting and the rising of the sun.
His storied sea-fight, gun to gun,
To Freedom's flag its red baptism gave,—
A flame, still made reply,
Fought on to victory,
Then plunged beneath the wave.
Let the squadrons close around him
Till the nation's hands have crowned him
Whose fierce sea-fight he won
'Twixt the setting and the rising of the sun.
Not far from ocean's strand,
His tomb, made lasting by her hand,
Shall henceforth tell within the guarded field
Of him who that dread night
Began anew the fight,
And, sinking, could not yield.
Down the lengthened line bequeath it,
Let our sailor sons enwreathe it,
And the challenge and command
Be heard anear it and the strand.
His tomb, made lasting by her hand,
Shall henceforth tell within the guarded field
Of him who that dread night
Began anew the fight,
And, sinking, could not yield.
Down the lengthened line bequeath it,
Let our sailor sons enwreathe it,
And the challenge and command
Be heard anear it and the strand.
219
Erect, with shining head,
The great Republic claims her dead;
Nor, in that day when every stripe and star
Proclaims the reign of Peace,
Shall honor to him cease
Nor Fame his laurel mar.
Though no battle-peal awake him,
Time upon its scroll shall make him
One of Earth's heroes dead
Whose deeds that golden day more swiftly sped.
The great Republic claims her dead;
Nor, in that day when every stripe and star
Proclaims the reign of Peace,
Shall honor to him cease
Nor Fame his laurel mar.
Though no battle-peal awake him,
Time upon its scroll shall make him
One of Earth's heroes dead
Whose deeds that golden day more swiftly sped.
July 12, 1905.
| The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |