Hearty anchors drawn from stately ships
at rest in the calm harbors near the sea,
hold sterns to slow the drift from safety;
they keep laden hulls where they ought to be.
Flukes of bronze, sturdy iron, or steel,
cling to firm deep beds far below the wave,
no quarrels they seek with neighboring weights,
united in purpose, heart and soul to save.
We wayfarers of many religions,
done with foreign land and market concern,
haul in the heavy chain and set for sail,
to vast and turbulent waters return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem