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100
POEMS FOE THE SEA.
Though yet a smile of joy
Sate on his face, while sad and true
The roughest tar amid the crew
Mourned for the sailor-boy.
Now, sometimes while my watch I keep
At lonely midnight, on the deep,
When all is calm and clear,
I seem to hear his well known voice,
"Oh, messmate, make your God your choice.
And to His haven steer."
