Man's little acts are grand,
Beheld from land to land,
There as they lie in time,
Within their native clime.
⁠Ships with the noon-tide weigh,
⁠And glide before its ray,
⁠To some retired bay,
⁠Their haunt,
⁠Whence, under tropic sun,
⁠Again they run,
⁠Bearing gum Senegal and Tragicant.
For this was ocean meant,
For this the sun was sent,
And moon was lent,
And winds in distant caverns pent.