The Ships Of St. John

Smile, you inland hills and rivers!     Flush, you mountains in the dawn!     But my roving heart is seaward     With the ships of gray St. John.     Fair the land lies, full of August,     Meadow island, shingly bar,     Open barns and breezy twilight,     Peace and the mild evening star.     Gently now this gentlest country     The old habitude takes on,     But my wintry heart is outbound     With the great ships of St. John.     Once in your wide arms you held me,     Till the man-child was a man,     Canada, great nurse and mother     Of the young sea-roving clan.     Always your bright face above me     Through the dreams of boyhood shone;     Now far alien countries call me     With the ships of gray St. John.     Swing, you tides, up out of Fundy!     Blow, you white fogs, in from sea!     I was born to be your fellow;     You were bred to pilot me.     At the touch of your strong fingers,     Doubt, the derelict, is gone;     Sane and glad I clear the headland     With the white ships of St. John.     Loyalists, my fathers, builded     This gray port of the gray sea,     When the duty to ideals     Could not let well-being be.     When the breadth of scarlet bunting     Puts the wreath of maple on,     I must cheer too,--slip my moorings     With the ships of gray St. John.     Peerless-hearted port of heroes,     Be a word to lift the world,     Till the many see the signal     Of the few once more unfurled.     Past the lighthouse, past the nunbuoy,     Past the crimson rising sun,     There are dreams go down the harbor     With the tall ships of St. John.     In the morning I am with them     As they clear the island bar,--     Fade, till speck by speck the midday     Has forgotten where they are.     But I sight a vaster sea-line,     Wider lee-way, longer run,     Whose discoverers return not     With the ships of gray St. John.