Poems for the Sea/The Happy Mariner
THE HAPPY MARINER.
I am a happy mariner,
My home is on the sea,
And Mother Cary's chickens,
They are the birds for me.
With swelling breeze, and favoring tide
How glorious is our lot,
And storms that strike a landsman pale,
Scarce stir our blood a jot,
Even, if our sails like ribbons fly,
And the dead-lights long are in,
Hard up the helm! and keep good heart!
Till skies are bright again.
The Ocean is my garden,
Our vessel ploughs the brine,
And the pleasant fruits that there I reap,
Are my friends' as well as mine,
My friends, who lead such stupid lives
On land, among the flowers,
I'm sure my wages they must need
To cheer their gloomy hours.
My books, they are the fleecy waves,
And when the moonbeams shine,
Methinks, a pencil on their page
Doth write the Name Divine.
Yes, I'm a happy mariner,
If any do me wrong
I'll wish for them a better mind,
And sing my merriest song.
Here, in our small forecastle
Where there's scarcely room to spare
To stow away the chest and cot,
There's none for spite or care.
And so, all tight from stem to stern
I'd show an honest face,
And have my chart without a blot
Of hatred to my race.
And when my task seems hardest
And storms arouse in might
I'll throw my self-love overboard
To make the cargo light.
So, come, my hearties, one and all,
Good comrades, true and dear,
Let's do what's right, both day and night,
And keep the log-book clear.
And ever ask for heavenly grace
At the last billows' shock,
To strike an anchor where 'twill hold
In the Everlasting Rock.