Classic Poem

I think if you've lived the average life,
And been fair to everyone,
'Twill matter little what you have done
Or what you have left undone
When you sail by the South-West Cape of Life
Where the baffling West Winds blow,
By the reefs of Doubt that run far out
To a Lighthouse sadly low,
The low Lighthouse,
The low Lighthouse,
To a Lighthouse sadly low.

But 'twill matter a lot the brave, wise words,
The words that you left unsaid —
The kind, forgiving, repentant words
That you can't say when you're dead;
How many hearts, and one, they'd help
You'll surely never know,
Till your pride has died when the waves break wide
Out there by the Lighthouse low,
The low Lighthouse,
The low Lighthouse,
By a Lighthouse sadly low.

Those poor, pale ghosts of the Wish-we-had
Shall haunt while the Home Fires burn —
The kindly letters we always should
Have answered by return.
O we mean to write and we meant to write
Till it is (or seems) too late —
There's a mail ashore where the breakers roar,
Ere you pass through the South-West Gate,
By the low Lighthouse,
The low Lighthouse,
By the Lighthouse sadly low.

There were " straight-wire " scrawls from the good old mate
And the mate that I never met;
Perhaps in an Outback hell they wait
For a line from the " inside " yet;
And I lie and think in Hospital here
With aching limbs and brow
How she begged for a sign, if only a line —
And I wish I could write it now,
Near the low Lighthouse,
The low Lighthouse,
Down here near the Lighthouse low.

No business to press, but we " lose the address " ,
Or pleasure — and then we forget,
Till a dark day of rain finds us searching in vain
For his or for her address. Yet
I'm back from death and I feel the breath
Of a glorious East Wind blow,
And I'll do my bit to make up for it
When we've weathered the Lighthouse low,
The low Lighthouse,
The low Lighthouse,
When I've rounded the Lighthouse low.