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 Then up spake John de Matha:
“God's errands never fail!
Take thou the mantle which I wear,
And make of it a sail.”
They raised the cross-wrought mantle,
The blue, the white, the red;
And straight before the wind off-shore
The ship of Freedom sped.
‘God help us!’ cried the seamen,
“For vain is mortal skill:
The good ship on a stormy sea
Is drifting at its will.”
Then up spake John de Matha:
“My mariners, never fear!
The Lord whose breath has filled her sail
May well our vessel steer!”
So on through storm and darkness
They drove for weary hours;
And lo! the third gray morning shone
On Ostia's friendly towers.
And on the walls the watchers
The ship of mercy knew,—
They knew far off its holy cross,
The red, the white, and blue.
And the bells in all the steeples
Rang out in glad accord,
To welcome home to Christian soil
The ransomed of the Lord.
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