In flame beneath the tropics, And some we got by purchase, At midnight, 'mid-sea meetings, And light the rolling homeward-bound By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred From the kentledge on the kelson To the slings upon the yard. Six oceans had their will of us To carry all away Our galley 's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay! We've floundered off the Texel, We've ratched beyond the Crcssets That tusk the Southern Pole, And dipped our gunnels under Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed, And saw the land-lights burning On islands none have hailed; Our hair stood up for wonder, But, when the night was done, There danced the deep to windward Blue-empty 'neath the sun! Strange consorts rode beside us The witch-fire climbed our channels, Till, through the red tornado, That lashed us nigh to blind, We saw The Dutchman plunging, We've heard the Midnight Leadsman On frozen bunt and gasket The sleet-cloud drave her hosts, When, manned by more than signed with us, We passed the Isle o' Ghosts! And north, amid the hummocks, We met the silent shallop That frighted whalers know; For, down a cruel ice-lane, That opened as he sped, So dealt God's waters with us But we were heading homeward Let go, let go the anchors; Now shamed at heart are we To bring so poor a cargo home That had for gift the sea! Let go the great bow-anchors Ah, fools were we and blind- Coastwise-cross-seas—round the world and back again, Whither the flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down: Plain-sail-storm-sail-lay your board and tack again And al! to bring a cargo up to London Town! MCANDREW'S HYMN. LORD, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream, An', taught by time, I tak' it so-exceptin' always Steam. From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod. John Calvin might ha' forged the same-enorrmous, certain, slow Ay, wrought it in the furnace-flame-my "Institutio." I cannot get my sleep to-night; old bones are hard to please; I'll stand the middle watch up here-alone wi' God an' these My engines, after ninety days o' race an' rack an' strain Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin' home again. |