The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
This is a lovely piece of musical art too.
Kurt Weill has this as one of four "Walt Whitman Songs."
The second, and far longer, of his Lincoln elegy poems is:
Go here for my first "in memoriam" post, about Lincoln's assassination, how it affected Reconstruction and more.