VAGRANT VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 19458, 23 January 1925, Page 4

VAGRANT VERSE

THE WESTERN OCEAN. Oh, a man’s blood thrills in the breeae’s swing And the swing of the salt sea’s roll. There’s a call to men in the salt spray’s slap. There’s a call to the heart and soul. Each foaming crest, as it tumbles' past* Is the wave of a friendly hand; Each dash of brine, as our bows dip low, Is a tourfi of the sea-god’s wand. Oh, there’s flying scud in a stocDfr-fiet «ky, Sailing low where the main-track swxngß; The cordage hums in the rising gala, And there's life in the song it sings. The royals are snug on the sharp-brand yards, And we’re clewing t'ga&anta, too. Oh, it’s “Rolling Home” is our duntegn now, And it tells of a willing orew. Oh a valiant note holds the wiH time, Like the note of a bugle’s cafl, And it finds response m a heart thak naught Of the rage of it can appaL Each crashing sea is a challenge fltangi To the man with a courage sure, For the test that the Western Ocean, makes Takes the might of a man to endure. —Mire T. Greene, j