Classic Poem

I' VE never traveled for more'n a day,
— I never was one to roam,
— — But I likes to sit on the busy quay,
— — Watchin' the ships that says to me —
" Always somebody goin' away,
— Somebody gettin' home. "

I likes to think that the world's so wide —
— 'Tis grand to be livin' there,
— — Takin' a part in its goin's on. . . .
— — Ah, now ye're laughin' at poor old John,
Talkin' o' works o' the world wi' pride
— As if he was doin' his share!

But laugh if ye will! When ye're old as me
— Ye'll find 'tis a rare good plan
— — To look at the world — an' love it too! —
— — Though never a job are ye fit to do. . . .
Oh! 'tisn't all sorrow an' pain to see
— The work o' another man.

'Tis good when the heart grows big at last,
— Too big for trouble to fill —
— — Wi' room for the things that was only stuff
— — When workin' an' winnin' seemed more'n enough —
Room for the world, the world so vast,
— Wi' its peoples an' all their skill.

That's what I'm thinkin' on all the days
— I'm loafin' an' smokin' here,
— — An' the ships do make me think the most
— — (Of readin' in books 'tis little I'd boast), —
But the ships, they carries me long, long ways,
— An' draws far places near.

I sees the things that a sailor brings,
— I hears the stories he tells. . . .
— — 'Tis surely a wonderful world, indeed!
— — 'Tis more'n the peoples can ever need!
An' I praises the Lord — to myself I sings —
— For the world in which I dwells.

An' I loves the ships more every day
— Though I never was one to roam.
— — Oh! the ships is comfortin' sights to see,
— — An' they means a lot when they says to me —
" Always somebody goin' away,
— Somebody gettin' home. "