⁠Beneath the roaring skies,
So walked His signs and marvels
⁠All naked to our eyes:
But we were heading homeward
⁠With trade to lose or make—
Good Lord, they slipped behind us
⁠In the tailing of our wake!

Let go, let go the anchors;
⁠Now shamed at heart are we
To bring so poor a cargo home
⁠That had for gift the sea!
Let go the great bow-anchors—
⁠Ah, fools were we and blind—
The worst we stored with utter toil,
⁠The best we left behind!

Coastwise—cross-seas—round the world and back again,
⁠Whither flaw shall fail us or the Trades drive down:
Plain-sail—storm-sail—lay your board and tack again—
⁠And all to bring a cargo up to London Town!