Rowers Chant

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  Row till the land dip 'neath
  The sea from view.
  Row till a land peep up,
  A home for you.

  Row till the mast sing songs
  Welcome and sweet.
  Row till the waves, out-stripped,
  Give up dead beat.

  Row till the sea-nymphs rise
  To ask you why
  Rowing you tarry not
  To hear them sigh.

  Row till the stars grow bright
  Like certain eyes.
  Row till the noon be high
  As hopes you prize.

  Row till you harbour in
  All longing's port.
  Row till you find all things
  For which you sought.

© Thomas Sturge Moore