The Anchor

Strong trust of the bold sailor On the shores of sudden storm! How massive is its structure, How able is its form! Old ocean's bed-rock gripping With the hurricane's tug 'twill cope, And therefore 'tis the emblem held Of faith and stedfast hope.

Where never plummet sounded, By the bleak and stormy steep, Like a thunderbolt down rushing It is shot into the deep: Down where some mute sea monster Its hideous hulk uprears, And mightiest Silence drowned hath lain For many a thousand years.

In some famed bay of battle When plung'd with sullen roar— In Navarine, Aboukir, Or by Danish Elsinore; How meetly there it slumbers: Beneath the sounding wave. Amid the bones of gallant Tars In glory's watery grave!

In the bright and land-locked Haven— The weary voyage o'er, While only pleasant breezes Breathe welcome from the shore, Its noble form down dropping Into the quiet sand, Gives signal to the first glad boat Off putting for the strand.

Firm surety in the calmness, Strong resquer in the storm, A child when first beholding Thy aptitude of form, Might well divine the dangers With which 'tis thine to cope, And take thee as an emblem meet Of faith and stedfast hope.