The Homing

Admiral, Admiral, sailing home—
Sailing home through the far, dim seas,
Know you the sound that over the foam
Rises and sinks in the sunset breeze?

Know you the thrill and know you the start
That pulses and runs through the wind and the spray,
Pulses and runs from a nation's heart
To meet you and greet you over the way?

Not for the might of your guns alone,
Thundering doom by the Eastern gate;
Not for the bugle of victory blown,—
Not for these do we watch and wait!

The glory is sweet—ay, sweet to the soul
Of a people proud in the pride of youth,
But sweeter to know, as the seasons roll,
Our men, as of old, are men in truth!