Oh, a sailor hasn't much to brag -
An oilskin suit and a dunnage bag.
But, howsoever humble he be,
By the Living God, he has the sea!
The long, white leagues and the foam of it,
And the heart to make a home of it,
On a ship that kicks up waves behind
Through the blazing days and tempests blind.
Oh, a sailor hasn't much to love -
But he has the huge, blue sky above
The everlasting waves around,
That wash with an eternal sound.
So bury me, when I come to die,
Where the full-sailed, heeling clippers ply;
Give up the last cold body of me,
To the only home that I have - the sea!
