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FLOWER OF YOUTH
Yet the ships they go crowding
The roads of the sea;
They bring home their treasures
To you and to me.
O listen, good people,
And hearing, praise God,
That the watch-dogs are keeping
The ships on their road!
They sit watchful and steady
Where the North winds blow;
Sleepless they are keeping
The roads the ships go.
In the day, in the hour,
They will spring—until then,
Their eyes keep the courses
Of the merchantmen.
Forget not, good people,
When ye heap the white board,
When ye draw to the hearth-fire,
To praise the Lord,
