The Rower's Chant

ROW till the land dip 'neath

The sea from view.

Row till a land peep up,

A home for you.

Row till the mast sing songs

Welcome and sweet,

Row till the waves, outstripped,

Give up, dead beat.

Row till the sea-nymphs rise

To ask you why

Rowing you tarry not

To hear them sigh.

Row till the stars grow bright

Like certain eyes.

Row till the noon be high

As hopes you prize.

Row till you harbour in

All longing's port.

Row till you find all things

For which you sought.

T. Sturge Moore