While The Billy BoilsSearchO softer than Slumber and sweeter than MirthThat is Sorrow’s half-brother,Is thy call to the weary, the children of earth,Sea Mother! Sea Mother!
The poor souls, the pent souls, the people that pineWhere the church bells are pealing;O succour them, soothe them with largess divineOf thine exquisite healing!
From the blinding white pathways that blistered their feet,From the fear-folk beside them,Close cradle them, Sea Mother, mother most sweet!And hold them and hide them!
From the Barmecide boons of Life’s bitter-black wine,From the storm-stress and smother,Clasp them close in those soft arms, those strong arms of thine,Sea Mother! Sea Mother!