Becalmed

My grand-daughter is over-kind,— She ties my tie for me, And sets me out of afternoons The strong pot o' tea.

She winds a muffler round me,— (Me with it round my throat!) And she buttons up the buttons Of my old pilot coat.

I who sailed the great ships Down the seven seas, Put out with the fishermen,— Or rest at my ease.

Rest by the fireside, And walk along the sand, Holding the littlest baby By his small pink hand.

I who knew the Southern Cross, As friend knows a friend, Watch the North Star every night, At my journey's end.

I sit and think o' sailor-men That knew the ships I knew,— I sit and think o' far ports, And storms we weathered through.

Myself's outlasted all of them, Those good lads and strong, Who followed morning round the world With a light-hearted song.

Some o' them lie safe ashore In all security, And some are lost—'Tis God knows where,— But most went down at sea.

Ay! Most o' them went down at sea;— The sea took her own, And there be times I envy them, Smoking my pipe alone.

For one who used to hold me fast, When I must sail away,— She is not here—she is not here, Now I am home to stay.

But my little grand-daughter is kind, She ties my tie for me,— And sets me out of afternoons, The strong pot o' tea.