Men In A Ship Are

When The Last Sea Is Sailed And Last Shallow Charted, When The Last Field Is Reaped And The Last Harvest Stored, When The Last Fire Is Out And The Last Guest Departed Grant The Last Prayer That I Pray, Be Good To Me, O Lord.

I Must Go Down To The Sea Again For The Call Of The Running Tide It's A Wild Call And A Clear Call That May Not Be Denied.

My Road Leads Me Seawards To The White Dipping Sails.

Men In A Ship Are Always Looking Up, And Men Ashore Are Usually Looking Down.

It's A Warm Wind, The West Wind, Full Of Birds' Cries; I Never Hear The West Wind But Tears Are In My Eyes. For It Comes From The West Lands, The Old Brown Hills, And April's In The West Wind, And Daffodils.