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[351] Outspake the ancient Amtman,
     At the gate of Helsingfors:
“Why comes this ship a-spying
     In the track of England's wars?”

‘God bless her,’ said the coast-guard,—
     “God bless the ship, I say.
The holy angels trim the sails
     That speed her on her way!

Where'er she drops her anchor,
     The peasant's heart is glad;
Where'er she spreads her parting sail,
     The peasant's heart is sad.

Each wasted town and hamlet
     She visits to restore;
To roof the shattered cabin,
     And feed the starving poor.

The sunken boats of fishers,
     The foraged beeves and grain,
The spoil of flake and storehouse,
     The good ship brings again.

And so to Finland's sorrow
     The sweet amend is made,
As if the healing hand of Christ
     Upon her wounds were laid! “

Then said the gray old Amtman,
     “The will of God be done!

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