 | Poems by John B. Tabb |  |
36
HELPMATES.
Says the Land, “O sister Sea,
Had'st thou not borne the voyagers to me,
Vain were their visions grand,
And I, e'en now, perchance, a stranger-land:
So, thine the glory be!”
Had'st thou not borne the voyagers to me,
Vain were their visions grand,
And I, e'en now, perchance, a stranger-land:
So, thine the glory be!”
Says the Sea, “Nay, brother Land;
Had'st thou not outward stretched the saving hand,
My bosom now had kept
The secret where the souls heroic slept;
'This in thy strength they stand!”
Had'st thou not outward stretched the saving hand,
My bosom now had kept
The secret where the souls heroic slept;
'This in thy strength they stand!”
| Poems by John B. Tabb | |