Classic Poem

There 's seven seas that 's charted, but there 's one that will not be,
(O, what 's the use of knowin' things, unless you know 'em all?)
There 's eighty billion stars, accordin' to As-tron-o-mee —
But what 's the use of namin' 'em — if there is more to fall?
With my hand upon the lever,
And my eyes upon the gauge,
I gotter drive this 'plane all night
To reach the landin' stage.

The air is boilin' ugly, though th' engine 's running strong;
But the boss won't know what 's happened, if anything goes wrong!

" It takes a nerve that 's steady and an eye that 's clear, " they say!
(O, what 's the good of knowin' things that 's mostly guff and guess?)
It takes a nerve that's reckless, and an eye, blind in th' day,
To operate a 'plane at night — and not land in a mess!
With the outcome, if I blunder,
I 've nothin' much to do;
They 'll bury what they find of me —
And of the others, too!

Zing! I nearly clipped his rudder....Hear his siren curse and drool,
I wonder if he thinks he owns this streak of air, the fool!

There's the Night Mail's hum above me and th' French Express below
(O, you get to know the tunes they sing while learnin' how to drive!)
There 's a wrecking storm ahead of us — my indicators show —
And there 's goin' to be some trouble in Strata Number Five!
The game is full of trouble,
And the end is hard and short;
But the Lord do n't like a quitter
Accordin' to report!

So I try to keep her steady, and you 'll hear my engine hum
Till some night I miss the current — and wake up in Kingdom Come!