'Build me straight, O worthy Master! 
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel, 
That shall laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!' 
The merchant's word 
Delighted the Master heard; 
For his heart was in his work, and the heart 
Giveth grace unto every Art. 
A quiet smile played round his lips, 
As the eddies and dimples of the tide 
Play round the bows of ships, 
That steadily at anchor ride. 
And with a voice that was full of glee, 
He answered, 'Erelong we will launch 
A vessel as goodly, and strong, and stanch, 
As ever weathered a wintry sea!' 

And first with nicest skill and art, 
Perfect and finished in every part, 
A little model the Master wrought, 
Which should be to the larger plan 
What the child is to the man, 
Its counterpart in miniature; 
That with a hand more swift and sure 
The greater labor might be brought 
To answer to his inward thought. 
And as he labored, his mind ran o'er 
The various ships that were built of yore, 
And above them all, and strangest of all 
Towered the Great Harry, crank and tall, 
Whose picture was hanging on the wall, 
With bows and stern raised high in air, 
And balconies hanging here and there, 
And signal lanterns and flags afloat, 
And eight round towers, like those that frown 
From some old castle, looking down 
Upon the drawbridge and the moat. 
And he said with a smile, 'Our ship, I wis, 
Shall be of another form than this!' 
It was of another form, indeed; 
Built for freight, and yet for speed, 
A beautiful and gallant craft; 
Broad in the beam, that the stress of the blast, 
Pressing down upon sail and mast, 
Might not the sharp bows overwhelm; 
Broad in the beam, but sloping aft 
With graceful curve and slow degrees, 
That she might be docile to the helm, 
And that the currents of parted seas, 
Closing behind, with mighty force, 
Might aid and not impede her course. 
In the ship-yard stood the Master, 
With the model of the vessel, 
That should laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle! 

Covering many a rood of ground, 
Lay the timber piled around; 
Timber of chestnut, and elm, and oak, 
And scattered here and there, with these, 
The knarred and crooked cedar knees; 
Brought from regions far away, 
From Pascagoula's sunny bay, 
And the banks of the roaring Roanoke! 
Ah! what a wondrous thing it is 
To note how many wheels of toil 
One thought, one word, can set in motion! 
There 's not a ship that sails the ocean, 
But every climate, every soil, 
Must bring its tribute, great or small, 
And help to build the wooden wall!
The sun was rising o'er the sea, 
And long the level shadows lay, 
As if they, too, the beams would be 
Of some great, airy argosy, 
Framed and launched in a single day. 
That silent architect, the sun, 
Had hewn and laid them every one, 
Ere the work of man was yet begun. 
Beside the Master, when he spoke, 
A youth, against an anchor leaning, 
Listened, to catch his slightest meaning. 
Only the long waves, as they broke 
In ripples on the pebbly beach, 
Interrupted the old man's speech. 
Beautiful they were, in sooth, 
The old man and the fiery youth! 
The old man, in whose busy brain 
Many a ship that sailed the main 
Was modelled o'er and o'er again;
- 
The fiery youth, who was to be 
The heir of his dexterity, 
The heir of his house, and his daughter's hand, 
When he had built and launched from land 
What the elder head had planned. 

'Thus,' said he, 'will we build this ship! 
Lay square the blocks upon the slip, 
And follow well this plan of mine. 
Choose the timbers with greatest care; 
Of all that is unsound beware; 
For only what is sound and strong 
To this vessel shall belong. 
Cedar of Maine and Georgia pine 
Here together shall combine. 
A goodly frame, and a goodly fame, 
And the Union be her name! 
For the day that gives her to the sea 
Shall give my daughter unto thee!'

The Master's word 
Enraptured the young man heard; 
And as he turned his face aside, 
With a look of joy and a thrill of pride 
Standing before 
Her father's door, 
He saw the form of his promised bride. 
The sun shone on her golden hair, 
And her cheek was glowing fresh and fair, 
With the breath of morn and the soft sea air. 
Like a beauteous barge was she, 
Still at rest on the sandy beach, 
Just beyond the billow's reach; 
But he 
Was the restless, seething, stormy sea!

Ah, how skilful grows the hand 
That obeyeth Love's command! 
It is the heart, and not the brain, 
That to the highest doth attain, 
And he who followeth Love's behest 
Far excelleth all the rest!
Thus with the rising of the sun 
Was the noble task begun