Whale Song

I
Oh! the whale is free of the boundless sea;
   He lives for a thousand years;
He sinks to rest in the billow's breast,
   Nor the roughest tempest fears.
The howling blast, as it hurries past,
   Is music to lull him to sleep;
And he scatters the spray in his boisterous play,
   As he dashes—the king of the deep.
      Oh! the rare old whale, 'mid storm and gale,
         In his ocean home will be,
      A giant in might, where might is right,
         And king of the boundless sea!

II
A wondrous tale could the rare old whale
   Of the mighty deep disclose,
Of the skeleton forms of bygone storms,
   And of treasures that no one knows.
He has seen the crew, whom the tempest blew,
   Drop down from the slippery deck,
Shaking the tide from his glassy side,
   And sporting with ocean and wreck.
      Then the rare old whale, 'mid storm and gale
         In his ocean home shall be,
      A giant in might, where might is right,
         And king of the boundless sea.

III
Then, the whale shall be still dear to me,
   When the midnight lamp burns dim;
For the student's book, and his favourite nook,
   Are illumed by the aid of him;
From none of his tribe could we e'er imbibe
   So useful, so bless'd a thing.
Then, we'll on land go hand in hand,
   To hail him the Ocean King.
      Oh! the rare old whale, 'mid storm and gale,
         In his home will ever be,
      A giant in might, where might is right,
         And king of the boundless sea!

This poem is in the public domain.