The Mariners

Raise we the yard and ply the oar,
The breeze is calling us swift away;
The waters are breaking in foam on the shore;
Our boat no more can stay, can stay.

When the blast flies fast in the clouds on high,
And billows are roaring loud below,
The boatman's song, in the stormy sky,
Still dares the gale to blow, to blow.

The timber that frames his faithful boat,
Was dandled in storms on the mountain peaks,
And in storms, with a bounding keel, 'twill float,
And laugh when the sea-fiend shrieks, and shrieks.

And then in the calm, and glistening nights,
We have tales of wonder, and joy, and fear,
And deeds of the powerful ocean sprites,
With which our hearts we cheer, we cheer.

For often the dauntless mariner knows
That he must sink to the land beneath,
Where the diamond on trees of coral grows,
In the emerald halls of Death, of Death.

Onward we sweep through smooth and storm;
We are voyagers all in shine and gloom;
And the dreamer who skulks by his chimney warm,
Drifts in his sleep to doom, to doom