Then stooped the Lord, and He called the good sea up to Him, And 'stablished his borders unto all eternity, For to praise the Lord by measure, They may enter into galleons and serve Him on the sea. Sun, wind, and cloud shall fail not from the face of it, Stinging, ringing spindrift, nor the fulmar flying free; And the ships shall go abroad To the Glory of the Lord Who heard the silly sailor-folk and gave them back their sea! THE MERCHANTMEN KING SOLOMON drew merchantmen, For peacocks, apes, and ivory, Which Hiram rafted down, But we be only sailormen That use in London Town. Coastwise-cross-seas—round the world and back again Where the flaw shall head us or the full Trade suits Plain-sail-storm-sail-lay your board and tack again And that's the way we'll pay Paddy Doyle for his boots! We bring no store of ingots, Of spice or precious stones, In flame beneath the tropics, And some we got by purchase, For charity to keep, And light the rolling homeward-bound That rode a foot too deep. By sport of bitter weather We're walty, strained, and scarred Our galley's in the Baltic, And our boom's in Mossel Bay! We've floundered off the Texel, Awash with sodden deals, We've slipped from Valparaiso With the Norther at our heels: Beyond all outer charting We sailed where none have sailed, On islands none have hailed; Strange consorts rode beside us The witch-fire climbed our channels, We've heard the Midnight Leadsman 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, Steer, North by West, his dead. So dealt God's waters with us But we were heading homeward Let go, let go the anchors; Ah, fools were we and blind- Coastwise cross-seas round the world and back again, Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down: Plain-sail-storm-sail—lay your board and tack again And all to bring a cargo up to London Town! |