. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. mate said:Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is speak, brave Admrl; speak and say— He said: Sail on! sail on! and on! They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate This mad sea shows his teeth to-night;He curls his lips, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite:Brave Admrl, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?The words leapt like a leaping sword: Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on! Page Thirty-eight
. One hundred and one famous poems, with a prose supplement. mate said:Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is speak, brave Admrl; speak and say— He said: Sail on! sail on! and on! They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate This mad sea shows his teeth to-night;He curls his lips, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth, as if to bite:Brave Admrl, say but one good word; What shall we do when hope is gone?The words leapt like a leaping sword: Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on! Page Thirty-eight ©its Jl&m&rch nnb ©tts (Jffammrs TfivLzms Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that nightOf all dark nights! And then a speck— A light! a light! a light! a light!It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Times burst of gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: On! sail on! From Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin permission of Whitaker & Ray-Wiggin •. The Blue andThe Gray Francis Miles Finch(Born June g, 1827; Died July 31, 1907) By the flow of the inland river, Where the fleets of iron have fled,Where the blades of grave grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Under the one, the blue; Under the other, the gray. These in the robings of glory. Those in the gloom of defeat,All, with the battle blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Under the laurel, the blue; Under the willow, the gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners laden with flowers Alike for the friend and the foe;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day—Under the roses, the blue; Under the lilies, the gray. Page Thirty-nine <&ttz ]&imbxzb <m& <$nz ^famxinz ^Wms So with an equal splendor The morning sun-rays a touch impartially tender, On the blos
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