We had rigged the nursery sofa, by the grace of the powers that be,

To sail like Nelson’s frigates, all ready for after tea,

And I was to be look-out man, for I’m much too old to steer,

While Peggy lay aft as helmsman, for she will be five next year.

We weighed, by the nursery fender, our bows to the cheerful glow

Of logs, from an old three-decker that had lived long years ago.

And “What do you see?” cried the helmsman, for so begins our game,

Then I shaded my eyes, as she told me, and peered through the rainbow flame.

But maybe the light was fickle, for though I tried my best,

I saw but a ship that battled on the surge of a world’s unrest.

“You’re saying it wrong,” said the helmsman, who knows it line for line,

And she edged along to the fo’c’sle and slipped her hand in mine.

Then “Look again” she pleaded, so I looked as I was bid,

And I knew that the veil was lifted where the heart of things lies hid,

For I saw why love must conquer by faith through suffering,

And I heard the Songs of Service that the old ships loved to sing.

And I watched in breathless wonder, for I dared not break the spell,

Till the picture flickered and faded as the dying embers fell,

Then I turned to look at the helmsman, and lo! she had sped amain,

To carry the news to dreamland, that a blind man saw again.

["The St. Martin's Review."