Prayer at Sea After Victory

“The land shall never rue,So England to herself do prove but true.”--Shakspeare.

Through evening’s bright reposeA voice of prayer arose,When the sea-fight was done:The sons of England knelt,With hearts that now could melt,For on the wave her battle had been won.

Round their tall ship, the mainHeaved with a dark red stain,Caught not from sunset’s cloud;While with the tide swept pastPennon and shiver’d mast,Which to the Ocean-Queen that day had bow’d.

But free and fair on high,A native of the sky,Her streamer met the breeze;It flow’d o’er fearless men,Though, hush’d and child-like then,Before their God they gather’d on the seas.

Oh! did not thoughts of homeO’er each bold spirit come,As from the land sweet gales?In every word of prayerHad not some hearth a share,Some bower, inviolate midst England’s vales?

Yes! bright, green spots that layIn beauty far away,Hearing no billow’s roar,Safer from touch of spoil,For that day’s fiery toil,Rose on high hearts, that now with love gush’d o’er.

A solemn scene and dread!The victors and the dead,The breathless burning sky!And, passing with the raceOf waves that keep no trace,The wild, brief signs of human victory!

A stern, yet holy scene!Billows, where strife hath been,Sinking to awful sleep;And words, that breathe the senseOf God’s omnipotence,Making a minster of that silent deep.

Borne through such hours afar,Thy flag hath been a star,Where eagle’s wings ne’er flew:England! the unprofaned,Thou of the earth unstain’d,Oh! to the banner and the shrine be true!