Annapolis

The mother sits by Severn side,
  Where Severn joins the Bay,
    And great gray ships go down the tide
  And carry her sons away.
    They carry them far, they carry them wide,
  To all the Seven Seas,
    But never beyond her love and pride,
    And ever the deathless tales abide
  They learned at the Mother's knees.

    Stern she is, as well becomes
  The nurse of gentle men,
    Who trains their tread to roll of drums,
  Their hands to sword and pen.
    Her iron-blooded arteries hold
  No soft Corinthian strain;
    The Attic soul in a Spartan mould,
    Loyal and hardy, clean and bold,
  Shall govern the roaring main.

    They come from South, they come from North,
  They come from East and West;
    And who can say, when all go forth,
  That any of these are best?
    With names unknown, and names that won
  Their fame in a hundred fights,
    The admiral's son, and the ploughman's son,
    Mothered by her, they all are one,
  Her race of sailor knights.

    Young and eager and unafraid,
  As neophytes they kneeled
    And watched their arms, and only prayed
  "Keep stain from every shield."
    Naught else they fear as they hunt the foes
  Through fog, and storm, and mine,
    Keen for the joy of the battle blows;
    But God make strong the hearts of those
Who love, and are left behind.