In ocean wastes no poppies blow,
No crosses stand in ordered row,
Their young hearts sleep; beneath the wave,
The spirited, the good, the brave,
But stars a constant vigil keep, For them who lie beneath the deep.
‘Tis true you cannot kneel in prayer,
On certain spot and think “He’s there.”
But you can to the ocean go,
See whitecaps marching row on row;
Know one for him will always ride,
In and out; with every tide,
And when your span of life is passed,
He’ll meet you at the “Captain’s Mast.”
And they who mourn on distant shore,
For sailors who’ll come home no more,
Can dry their tears and pray for these,
Who rest beneath the heaving seas.
For stars that shine and winds that blow,
And whitecaps marching row on row,
And they can never lonely be,
For when they lived; they chose the sea.