Classic Poem

An island stands in the Western Sea,
The Western Sea, with the peaceful name,
Where the lights are silver and darks are blue,
And no two lights are ever the same.
Where with dazzling white the great waves break,
And the path of the sun leaves a golden wake
Down which the saints in glory walk,
From the heaven above to the heaven of thought.
And the island raises its silver crest
Far above this sea of the West.

Were they godly men, or mere buccaneers
Who gave the island its holy name,
Who called aloud in their craven fears
When the winds were fierce, and the heavens aflame,
When the sea was wild, and man's heart faints,
And they crossed themselves and called on the saints?

Then Santa Rosa heard their cry,
And Santa Barbara hastened nigh.
And the great archangel San Miguel,
With his mighty sword came down to quell
The raging storm, as the dragon of old,
And guided the ship to a peaceful fold,
To a sheltered spot beneath the lee
Of the isle that stands in the Western sea.

There stands the isle in the Western Sea,
The island that bears the holy name,
And raises its head so peacefully
In storm and sunshine still the same.
It stands far out in the Western sky,
The clouds about it gather nigh,
And light it up at even song
With colors that to heaven belong.
Far, far out in the Western sea
Its mountains stand immovably;
It suffers neither change nor loss,
It has the peace of the Holy Cross.