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.

She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier.

She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier.

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

Where lies the land, to which the ship would go?Far, far ahead is all, her seamen know.And where the land read more

Where lies the land, to which the ship would go?Far, far ahead is all, her seamen know.And where the land she travels from?Away, far far behind, is all that they can say.

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.

When rats leave a sinking ship, where exactly do they think
they're going?

When rats leave a sinking ship, where exactly do they think
they're going?

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An', taught by time, I tak' it read more

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream,
An', taught by time, I tak' it so--exceptin' always steam,
From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see thy Hand, O God--
Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.

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

Ships that sailed for sunny isles,
But never came to shore.

Ships that sailed for sunny isles,
But never came to shore.