This “sentiment” was read on the same occasion as the “Family Record,”
which immediately follows it. The latter poem is the dutiful tribute of a
son to his father and his father’s ancestors, residents of Woodstock from
its first settlement.
THE Ship of State! above her skies are blue,
But still she rocks a little, it is true,
And there are passengers whose faces white
Show they don’t feel as happy as they might;
Yet on the whole her crew are quite content,
Since its wild fury the typhoon has spent,
And willing, if her pilot thinks it best,
To head a little nearer south by west.
And this they feel: the ship came too near wreck,
In the long quarrel for the quarter-deck,
Now when she glides serenely on her way,–
The shallows past where dread explosives lay,–
The stiff obstructive’s churlish game to try
Let sleeping dogs and still torpedoes lie!
And so I give you all the Ship of State;
Freedom’s last venture is her priceless freight;
God speed her, keep her, bless her, while she steers
Amid the breakers of unsounded years;
Lead her through danger’s paths with even keel,
And guide the honest hand that holds her wheel!
WOODSTOCK, CONN., July 4, 1877.