Boatman's Hymn by Sir Samuel Ferguson

Bark that bare me through foam and squall,
You in the storm are my castle wall:
Though the sea should redden from bottom to top,
From tiller to mast she takes no drop;
On the tide-top, the tide-top,
Wherry aroon, my land and store!
On the tide-top, the tide-top,
She is the boat can sail go leor.
She dresses herself, and goes gliding on,
Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn;
For God has bless'd her, gunnel and whale,
And oh! if you saw her stretch out to the gale,
On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c.
Whillan, ahoy! old heart of stone,
Stooping so black o'er the beach alone,
Answer me well—on the bursting brine
Saw you ever a bark like mine?
On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c.
Says Whillan—"Since first I was made of stone,
I have looked abroad o'er the beach alone—
 But till to-day, on the bursting brine,
Saw I never a bark like thine,"
On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c.
"God of the air!" the seamen shout,
When they see us tossing the brine about:
"Give us the shelter of strand or rock,
Or through and through us she goes with a shock!"
On the tide-top, the tide-top,
Wherry aroon, my land and store!
On the tide-top, the tide-top,
She is the boat can sail go leor!