The weary harbour

A breaking surf that rocks the bay

of foam and jets of ocean spray.

The cold before the break of day

the weary harbour prays.

 

The sea takes men both young and old

it seeks the desperate and the bold

and all the while, against the cold

the weary harbour prays.

 

The boats go sailing two by two

and none among the shivering crew

can ever cheerfully bit adieu

while the weary harbour prays.

 

The pines are roaring with the sea

the night is full of revelry

but not of you, and not of me.

The weary harbour prays.

 

Neptune rends the deep-green sea

above, Zeus rants so angrily

that even mercy must concede.

The weary harbor prays.

 

To salmon god, and salty spray

to clifftop gull and rocky bay

to foam birth in those ancient days

the weary harbour prays.   

 

Beneath the great exploding dawn
The harbour slowly wakes, forlorn.

Their shipwrecked hearts are ever torn.

The weary harbour prays.

 

The boats return, of course not all

The children weep, the mothers call

and those that live to tell withal

to the weary harbour pray.