O wind that bravely blows! O hope that sails with all Where stars and voices call! O ship undaunted that forever goes Where God, her admiral, His battle signal shows! What though the seas and wind Far on the deep should whelm Colours and sails and helm? There, too, you touch that port that you designed— There, in the mid-seas’ realm, Shall you that haven find. Well hast thou sailed: now die, To die is not to sleep. Still your true course you keep, O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky; And fifty fathom deep Your colours still shall fly. THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR THE cock’s clear voice into the clearer air Where westward far I roam, Mounts with a thrill of hope, Falls with a sigh of home. A rural sentry, he from farm and field The coming morn descries, And, mankind’s bugler, wakes The camp of enterprise. He sings the morn upon the westward hills Strange and remote and wild; He sings it in the land Where once I was a child. He brings to me dear voices of the past, The old land and the years: My father calls for me, My weeping spirit hears. Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, And sing the morning in; For the old days are past And new days begin. NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS NOW when the number of my years Is all fulfilled, and I From sedentary life Shall rouse me up to die, Bury me low and let me lie Under the wide and starry sky. Joying to live, I joyed to die, Bury me low and let me lie. Clear was my soul, my deeds were free, Honour was called my name, I fell not back from fear Nor followed after fame. Bury me low and let me lie Under the wide and starry sky. Joying to live, I joyed to die, Bury me low and let me lie. Bury me low in valleys green And where the milder breeze Blows fresh along the stream, Sings roundly in the trees— Bury me low and let me lie Under the wide and starry sky. Joying to live, I joyed to die, Bury me low and let me lie. WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO WHAT man may learn, what man may do, Of right or wrong of false or true, While, skipper-like, his course he steers Through nine and twenty mingled years, Half misconceived and half forgot, So much I know and practise not. Old are the words of wisdom, old The counsels of the wise and bold: To close the ears, to check the tongue, To keep the pining spirit young; To act the right, to say the true, And to be kind whate’er you do.