"I’m an owl; you’re another. Sir Critic, good day."

The skipper stormed and tore his hair, Hauled on his boots and roared at Marden— "Nantucket's sunk and here we are Right over old Marm Hackett’s garden!"

Is n’t God upon the ocean Just the same as on the land?

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, The owl very gravely got down from his perch, Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic.

Oh, to be home again, home again, home again! Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill!

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.