Proudly the Flood Comes in

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.