Proudly the flood comes in, shouting, foaming, advancing,
Long it holds at the high, with bosom broad outswelling,
All throbs, dilates — the farms, woods, streets of cities — workmen at work,
Mainsails, topsails, jibs, appear in the offing — steamers’ pennants of smoke — and under the forenoon sun,
Freighted with human lives, gaily the outward bound, gaily the inward bound,
Flaunting from many a spar the flag I love.