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THE HAPPY MARINER.
103
I'll wish for them a better mind,
And sing my merriest song.
Here, in our small forecastle
Where there's scarcely room to spare
To stow away the chest and cot,
There's none for spite or care.
And so, all tight from stem to stern
I'd show an honest face,
And have my chart without a blot
Of hatred to my race.
And when my task seems hardest
And storms arouse in might
I'll throw my self-love overboard
To make the cargo light.
So, come, my hearties, one and all,
Good comrades, true and dear,
Let's do what's right, both day and night,
And keep the log-book clear.
