The Maccabaean

And many sailors there upon the deck,Recount their yarns, and all the tales are sad;They speak of thirst, of toiling and of wreck,Of comrades dead, of lonely men gone mad—But oft came moments when the heart, they say,Leapt high with visions of a brighter day.

Moments

Sluggish flowed the long, dark stream of years,Engulfing all but one frail phantom craft;Its blood-red decks were washed by human tears,And only sighs upon the sails did waft—But now fresh breezes fleck the sea with white,The ship bounds on, the harbor is in sight.