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Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed, Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor With a hairy old crown on 'er 'ead? She 'as ships on the foam--she 'as millions at 'ome, An' she pays us poor beggars in red.

Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass, And her ropes are taut with the dew, For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail, We're sagging south on the Long Trail, the trail that is always new.

The Liner she's a lady, an' she never looks nor 'eeds-- The Man-o'-War's 'er 'usband an' 'e gives 'er all she needs; But, oh, the little cargo-boats, that sail the wet seas roun', They're just the same as you an' me, a'-plyin' up an' down.

Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream, An', taught by time, I tak' it so--exceptin' always steam, From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see thy Hand, O God-- Predestination in the stride o' yon connectin'-rod.

But that's another story.

And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth; Four things greater than all things are-- Women and Horses and Power and War.

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Follow the Romany Patteran Sheer to the Austral light, Where the bosom of God is the wild west wind, Sweeping the sea floors white.

Down to Gehenna or up to the throne, He travels the fastest who travel alone.

The gull shall whistle in his wake, the blind wave break in fire. He shall fulfill God's utmost will, unknowing His desire, And he shall see old planets pass and alien stars arise, And give the gale his reckless sail in shadow of new skies. Strong lust of gear shall drive him out and hunger arm his hand, To wring his food from a desert nude, his foothold from the sand.

But till we are built like angels, with hammer and chisel and pen, We will work for ourself and a woman, for ever and ever, Amen.

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They Are!

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed--they know the angels are on their side: They know in them is the Grace confessed, and for them are the Mercies multiplied; They sit at the Feet, they hear the Word, they see how truly the Promise runs; They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and--the Lord He lays it on Martha's sons!