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Our eyes were lifted to this land that lay beyond the sea.
Great dreams arose and hope was born that life could better be.
And such a fire burned in our breasts, I looked into your eyes,
And said, “Let’s go”, and you agreed to sail to-ward this prize.
We booked our passage; packed our things – no, most we left behind –
Like Will’s carved birds, Jane’s second doll. And Moll (wife sweet
…..and kind)
Left pieces of her heart and soul she’d painted, bought or sewn.
And all of us left friends behind as well as flesh and bone.
We sailed. The sea stretched endlessly. Waves rose. Would we survive?
In spite of storms and sicknesses, we stand here, still alive.
Remember how the wagon rolled so slowly down the road
Until we topped the hill today to see our new abode?
What shall we name this treasured place from which we’ll never roam?
His family spoke together, said, “Let’s name it after home.”

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The picture is mine, of The Discovery, one of three ships at Jamestown.
It was shot from the deck of the Susan Constant.

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

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Who, mid the grasses of the field
That spring beneath our careless feet,
First found the shining stems that yield
The grains of life-sustaining wheat: 

Who first, upon the furrowed land,
Strewed the bright grains to sprout, and grow,
And ripen for the reaper’s hand –
We know not, and we cannot know. 

But well we know the hand that brought
And scattered, far as sight can reach,
The seeds of free and living thought
On the broad field of modern speech. 

Mid the white hills that round us lie,
We cherish that Great Sower’s fame,
And, as we pile the sheaves on high,
With awe we utter Dante’s name. 

Six centuries, since the poet’s birth,
Have come and flitted o’er our sphere:
The richest harvest reaped on earth
Crowns the last century’s closing year.

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