Proudly the flood comes in, shouting, foaming, advancing, Long it holds at the high, with bosom broad outswelling, All throbs, dilates⁠—the farms, woods, streets of cities⁠—workmen at work, Mainsails, topsails, jibs, appear in the offing⁠—steamers’ pennants of smoke⁠—and under the forenoon sun, Freighted with human lives, gaily the outward bound, gaily the inward bound, Flaunting from many a spar the flag I love.