Rhymes of the Firing Line #270856

It was the Good Wind said: Mother, I come from a pathless sea Where none before had gone, save me; And there I saw with infinite dread A lonely ship; Battered and worn from a desperate trip. Mother, aloft your flag it bore Crirnson and blue and White it shone; And high above the sea's sad roar Voices I heard that echo-cd your own. And strange men sang a song A song that breathed of liope!