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.

The Liner she's a lady, 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' down.

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.

The coastwise lights of England watch the ships of England go!

God help us for we knew the worst too young.

I always try to believe the best of everybody -it saves so much trouble.