Outward bound
C. Stanford
Dear Earth, near Earth, the clay that made us men,
The land we sowed,
The hearth that glowed,
O Mother, must we bid farewell to thee?
Fast dawns the last dawn, and what shall comfort then
The lonely hearts that roam the outer sea?
Gray wakes the daybreak, the shiv'ring sails are set,
To misty deeps
The channel sweeps,
O Mother, think on us who think on thee!
Earth-home, birth-home, with love remember yet
The sons in exile on th' eternal sea.