When the train cross'd the sea, 'mid shouts of joy, And the huge sea-pillars dash'd away the tide, Awhile the power of song seem'd vague, beside Those vast mechanics, mighty to convoy A length of cars high over flood and ooze; But the brief thought was feeble and unwise: No season'd oak is stronger than the Muse, For all the great cross-beams, and clamps, and ties. Brave songs may raise a people sore-deprest, And knit its strength together for the strife With foreign foes, or subtle statesman's art: Sweet hymns have lifted many a dying heart Above the world, and sped the passing life Across the waters, to the land of rest! |