Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/123

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Ocean’s Own.
87
“John Smith, A.B., Drowned in latitude 53,A heavy gale and a following sea.”
We have lost the way to the open sea;We have missed the doom we hoped to dree.
For the big ships running their easting downAre far from the din of Sydney town.
Instead of the clean blue sunlit wave,Our bones will lie in a darksome grave.
For the means to live we barter life.Would I were back in the old-time strife,        Once more to beReefing topsails in 53In the blinding drift from the angry sea.

D. H. Rogers.

L.

Ocean’s Own.

The song that the surf is brawling Is meant for their ears alone,Who followed the deep-sea calling And slaved at it, blood and bone.Oh! softly the North Wind sings them A measure that bids them restWhere Ocean, their mother, swings them To sleep on her throbbing breast.
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