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.