Athwart the harbor lingers yet The ashen gleam of breaking day, And where the guardian cliffs are set The noiseless shadows steal away; But all the winnowed eastern sky Is flushed with many a tender hue, And spears of light are smiting through The ranks where huddled sea-mists fly.
Across the ocean, wan and gray, Gay fleets of golden ripples come, For at the birth-hour of the day The roistering, wayward winds are dumb. The rocks that stretch to meet the tide Are smitten with a ruddy glow, And faint reflections come and go Where fishing boats at anchor ride.
All life leaps out to greet the light -- The shining sea-gulls dive and soar, The swallows whirl in dizzy flight, And sandpeeps flit along the shore. From every purple landward hill The banners of the morning fly, But on the headlands, dim and high, The fishing hamlets slumber still.
One boat alone beyond the bar Is sailing outward blithe and free, To carry sturdy hearts afar Across those wastes of sparkling sea; Staunchly to seek what may be won From out the treasures of the deep, To toil for those at home who sleep And be the first to greet the sun.