Tune: “Pride of Fishermen”
Morning mist and surging clouds spread to join the sky,
The Milky Way fades, a thousand sails dance on high.
It seems as if my soul to God’s abode would fly,
And I be kindly asked where I’m going. I reply:
“The road is long, alas! The sun on the decline,
In vain I’m famed for clever poetical line.
The roc soars up to ninety thousand miles and nine.
O wind mine!
Don’t stop but carry my boat to three isles divine!”