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In Port

 Out of the fires of the sunset come we again to our own­
We have girdled the world in our sailing under many an orient star;
Still to our battered canvas the scents of the spice gales cling,
And our hearts are swelling within us as we cross the harbor bar.
Beyond are the dusky hills where the twilight hangs in the pine trees, Below are the lights of home where are watching the tender eyes We have dreamed of on fretted seas in the hours of long night-watches, Ever a beacon to us as we looked to the stranger skies.
Hark! how the wind comes out of the haven's arms to greet us, Bringing with it the song that is sung on the ancient shore! Shipmates, furl we our sails­we have left the seas behind us, Gladly finding at last our homes and our loves once more.

by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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