I Must Go Down To The Sea

Once In A Century A Man May Be Ruined Or Made Insufferable By Praise. But Surely Once In A Minute Something Generous Dies For Want Of It.

The Lord Who Gave Us Earth And Heaven Takes That As Thanks For All He's Given. The Book He Lent Is Given Back All Blotted Red And Smutted Black.

Life's Battle Is A Conquest For The Strong; The Meaning Shows In The Defeated Thing.

I Must Down To The Seas Again, To The Vagrant Gypsy Life, To The Gull's Way And The Whale's Way Where The Wind's Like A Whetted Knife And All I Ask Is A Merry Yarn From A Laughing Fellow Rover, And Quiet Sleep And A Sweet Dream When The Long Trick's Over.

The Distant Soul Can Shake The Distant Friend's Soul And Make The Longing Felt, Over Untold Miles.