A sail! a sail upon the sea–a sail against the sun!
A sail, wind-filled from out the west! our waiting-time be done,
Since sword and spear and shield are here to free our hapless One!

Patiently hath she sought her Star, her Star of feast and fray,
That faded, leaving scarce a gleam to light us on the way,
Where, weary-eyed, she broods and waits the Dawning of the Day!

Her white, white hand hath listless lain for many a bitter year;
She cares no more to wake the harp that myriads thronged to hear:
The thick graves of her children rise around her far and near.

But hark! the tramp of marching men–the aid desired so long–
Hath brought the bloom to her wan cheek, and rising straight and strong,
She blesses in her holy speech the hosts she stands among.

O come, ye brave! O come, ye wise! O come, ye true of heart!
Come in your hope and loyalty, from field, from shore, and mart!
Let broad breasts make a rampart round and swords from scabbards start!