Thomas S. Chard, Across the Sea and Other Poems
“ But still the Headland seems a weary way; My boatmen, too, are old, and oft an oar Slips from a feeble hand, but yet the shore Upon whose forehead beams the evening star, Is nearer still and nearer every day.What matters that my boatmen now are old, Why should I grieve that with a feeble hand I hold the swaying helm? The waves no more Rise o'er the prow to keep me from the shore, The silken sail at last the breezes hold, The tide of Love sets toward the Heavenly Land. ”
