The wind blew shrill and smart,
And the wind awoke my heart
Again to go a-sailing o’er the sea,
To hear the cordage moan
And the straining timbers groan,
And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee.
O sailor of the fleet,
It is time to stir the feet!
It’s time to man the dingy and to row!
It’s lay your hand in mine
And it’s empty down the wine,
And it’s drain a health to death before we go!
To death, my lads, we sail;
And it’s death that blows the gale
And death that holds the tiller as we ride.
For he’s the king of all
In the tempest and the squall,
And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide!
MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE
Man sails the deep awhile;
Loud runs the roaring tide;
The seas are wild and wide;
O’er many a salt, o’er many a desert mile,
The unchained breakers ride,
The quivering stars beguile.
Hope bears the sole command;
Hope, with unshaken eyes,
Sees flaw and storm arise;
Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand,
Steers, under changing skies,
Unchanged toward the land.
O wind that bravely blows!
O hope that sails with all
Where stars and voices call!
O ship undaunted that forever goes
Where God, her admiral,
His battle signal shows!
What though the seas and wind
Far on the deep should whelm
Colours and sails and helm?
There, too, you touch that port that you designed—
There, in the mid-seas’ realm,
Shall you that haven find.
Well hast thou sailed: now die,
To die is not to sleep.
Still your true course you keep,
O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky;
And fifty fathom deep
Your colours still shall fly.