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Katharine Tynan - The Open Road
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THE roads of the Sea
     Are thronged with merchantmen; 
East and West, North and South
     They go and come again. 

All precious merchandise
     They bear in their hold: 
Lest the people be starving
     In the night and cold. 

Now tell me, good merchants, 
     How this thing can be
That the white ships are thronging
     The roads of the sea? 

For there`s death in the skies
     And there`s death on the earth; 
And men talked of famine
     And a frozen hearth. 

Yet the ships they go crowding
     The roads of the sea; 
They bring home their treasures
     To you and to me. 

O listen, good people, 
     And hearing, praise God, 
That the watch-dogs are keeping
     The ships on their road! 

They sit watchful and steady
     Where the North winds blow; 
Sleepless they are keeping
     The roads the ships go. 

In the day, in the hour, 
     They will spring--until then, 
Their eyes keep the courses
     Of the merchantmen. 

Forget not, good people, 
     When ye heap the white board, 
When ye draw to the hearth-fire, 
     To praise the Lord, 

That the watch-dogs unsleeping
     Keep the roads of the Sea, 
Up by the Northern Lights 
     Where the great ships be.
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