(From Twilight Clear, also appeared in Valor magazine, Vo.1, no.25, Oct, 1951)

Someday my Ship shall come sailing in,
Will appear off a blue-gold sea,
With silken sails and a creaming prow
And a cargo of wealth for me;

Doubloons and spices, pieces of eight,
In her chests, that might ransom kings,
A hold of slaves—and one Captive Fair
That one's galleon rarely brings.

Up to my dock she shall float at last
In a light like a golden wine,
The banners proud on her jeweled spars
And a Captain to vouch she's mine.

There at the dock she shall tie secure
And the World and his Wife shall see
From across the foam has my Ship come home
And the gods have been good to me.

But when all her freight has been brought ashore
And her cables and sails are furled,
When her stalwart hull is a sounding shell
And her timbers are warped and curled,

Pray what of the days that are Still To Be,
When I watch for a Sail no more?
Pray what of the nights when I pray no prayer
For a voyage to be safely o'er?

What then shall I do when the ocean's bar
Shall have lost all its Hope and Thrill,
When my ship's come home like the huntsman bold,
The huntsman home from the Hill?

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