The Anchor Poem by Philip Henry Savage
The Anchor
AS when, these autumn days, I ride
Along the painted country-side,
Meadow and way and wood go by,
A never-ending race,
But yet, beyond their passing, my
Wachusett holds his place;
So let each wingèd month and year
Sweep into place and disappear;
In order seen and loved, be sure!
Ere ends its period;
But let, beyond them all, endure
One year, and that be God.
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8/21/2026 2:00:03 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
