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'TIS TRUE THAT OUR LOT IS BUT
ROUGH.
'Tis true that our lot is but rough ;
It's not your smooth life of the shore ; But your days are more dull than enough ;
And, the life of the deck, we love more ; We give Death more chances, we own ;
He may stop with salt-water, our breath, But the end of us all lies alone
With Him who gives long days or death; Ships must trade ; we must sail them, we know;
Tempests, men always onwards have swept; All must work with a will while below;
Calm or storm, still the watch must be kept. |
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