They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters:
These see the read more

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters:
These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.

She comes majestic with her swelling sails,
The gallant Ship: along her watery way,
Homeward she drives read more

She comes majestic with her swelling sails,
The gallant Ship: along her watery way,
Homeward she drives before the favouring gales;
Now flirting at their length the streamers play,
And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
read more

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver,
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made
The water which they beat to follow faster,
As amorous of their strokes.

For why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?
The air is cut read more

For why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?
The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.

It would have been as though he [President Andrew Johnson] were
in a boat of stone with masts of read more

It would have been as though he [President Andrew Johnson] were
in a boat of stone with masts of steel, sails of lead, ropes of
iron, the devil at the helm, the wrath of God for a breeze, and
hell for his destination.

And let our barks across the pathless flood
Hold different courses.

And let our barks across the pathless flood
Hold different courses.

Morn on the waters, and purple and bright
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light
O'er read more

Morn on the waters, and purple and bright
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on.

The true ship is the ship builder.

The true ship is the ship builder.

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
read more

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out
trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail, the trail that is always
new.