Knowledge

THEY were islanders, our fathers were,
    And they watched the encircling seas,
And their hearts drank in the ceaseless stir,
    And the freedom of the breeze;
Till they chafed at their narrow bounds
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    And longed for the sweep of the main,
And they fretted and fumed like hounds
    Held in within sight of the plain,
                        And the play
                        And the prey.
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So they built them ships of wood, and sailed
    To many an unknown coast;
They braved the storm and battles hailed,
    And danger they loved most;
Till the tiny ships of wood
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    Grew powerful on the globe
And the new-found lands for good
    They wrapped in a wondrous robe
                        Of bold design,
                        Our brave ensign.
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And islanders yet in a way are we,
    Our knowledge is still confined,
And we hear the roar of encircling sea,
    To be crossed in the ship of the mind;
And we dream of lands afar,
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    Unknown, unconquered yet,
And we chafe at the bounds there are,
    And our spirits fume and fret
                        For the prize
                        Of the wise.
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But we'll never do aught, I know, unless
    We are brave as our sires of old,
And face like them the bitterness
    Of the battle and storm and cold;
Unless we boldly stand,
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    When men would hold us back,
With the helm-board in our hand,
    And our eyes to the shining track
                        Of what may be
                        Beyond the sea.
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There are rocks out there in that wide, wide sea,
    'Neath many a darkling stream,
And souls that once sailed out bold and free
    Have been carried away in a dream;
For they never came back again—
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    On the deep the ships were lost;
But in spite of the danger and pain,
    The ocean has still to be crossed,
                        And only they do
                        Who are brave and true.