It cheers me yet like bugle-note
To fancy from the tiny throat
Brave words "Old friend, we float, we float!"
We are old friends, in truth are we ; Your boat has slept on its summer sea, While mine has tossed most fitfully.
Your face still wears its hopeful smile : Dream you of some bright, blooming isle, While I grow old and sad the while ?
No rocks have struck your bonny boat, Nor winds the kerchief from your throat, Unloosed and left astern to float.
Your cargo lies by spray unwet ; My ship has not come in as yet, Or else off shore has been upset.
You have not tried to sound the lead, While dark clouds scudded overhead, Only to find the quicksand s bed.
Rest on your oar and quiet lie : We re floating, aren t we, you and I, Till the Pilot calls me by and by?