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Poem	Steer on, bold sailor--Wit may mock thy soul that sees the land, And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand, Yet ever--ever to the West, for there the coast must lie, And dim it dawns, and glimmering dawns before thy reason's eye; Yea, trust the guiding God--and go along the floating grave, Though hid till now--yet now behold the New World o'er the wave! With genius Nature ever stands in solemn union still, And ever what the one foretells the other shall fulfil.
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