The Seven Seas

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Tauchnitz, 1897 - English poetry - 256 pages
 

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Page 19 - We have fed our sea for a thousand years • And she calls us, still unfed, Though there's never a wave of all her waves But marks our English dead: We have strawed our best to the weed's unrest To the shark and the sheering gull. If blood be the price of admiralty, Lord God, we ha
Page 17 - Fair is our lot — O goodly is our heritage ! (Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth /) For the Lord our God Most High He hath made the deep as dry, He hath smote for us a pathway to the ends of all the Earth...
Page 168 - And only The Master shall praise us, and only The Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame. But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!
Page 53 - I wonder if a soul was gied them wi' the blows. Oh for a man to weld it then, in one trip-hammer strain, Till even first-class passengers could tell the meanin' plain! But no one cares except mysel' that serve an' understand My seven thousand horse-power here.
Page 116 - Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre, He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea; An' what he thought 'e might require, 'E went an
Page 167 - When earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it — lie down for an aeon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew...
Page 147 - Oogli, Shy as a girl to begin; Aggie de Castrer she made me, An' Aggie was clever as sin; Older than me, but my first un— More like a mother she were— Showed me the way to promotion an' pay, An' I learned about women from 'er!
Page 66 - an she never looks nor 'eeds — The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband, an' 'e gives 'er all she needs; But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun', They're just the same as you an' me a-plyin' up an
Page 86 - There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays, 'And — every — single — one — of — them — is — right...
Page 30 - Ho, we revel in our chains O'er the sorrow that was Spain's; Heave or sink it, leave or drink it, we were masters of the sea!