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.

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters:
These see the read more

They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great
waters:
These see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep.

For she is such a smart little craft,
Such a neat little, sweet little craft--
Such a read more

For she is such a smart little craft,
Such a neat little, sweet little craft--
Such a bright little,
Tight little,
Slight little,
Light little,
Trim little, slim little craft!

The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds--
The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband an' 'e gives 'er read more

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.

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

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.

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.

And let our barks across the pathless flood
Hold different courses.

And let our barks across the pathless flood
Hold different courses.

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill.

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill.

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

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.