Page:The whistle maker, and other poems (IA whistlemakerothe00rick).pdf/11

 

I sit on the hillside and watch them,
 * All they who go down to the sea,

And I watch the white sails As they bend to the gales And the gulls as they fly 'neath the clouds rushing by—
 * They all tell their story to me.

They have called as they passed on their way,
 * They've asked why I sit me to rest

In the shade of the tree When the great rolling sea Is calling so loud, when the wind and the cloud
 * All rush to the gold tinted west?

Asking in turn why they sail away
 * When there's wealth and health at my feet.

But they dance in their glee, Waving farewell to me; "Oh the water is blue, and our sweethearts are true
 * And the wind on the wave is sweet."

But I've seen when the ships 'turn again—
 * The sails are all battered and torn,

And the the youth that was free Has gone down in the sea There to rest evermore, 'neath the waves sullen roar,
 * And the home he left is forlorn.

But the sailors are born for the sea;
 * The plowmen are bound to the land,

And God's way is the best For He brings them to rest, From their labor and toil, from the rush and the moil,
 * To the fold and care of His hand.

July 23, 1913.

