Classic Poem

I'd rather be the ship that sails
— And rides the billows wild and free;
Than to be the ship that always fails
— To leave its port and go to sea.

I'd rather feel the sting of strife,
— Where gales are born and tempests roar;
Than to settle down to useless life
— And rot in dry dock on the shore.

I'd rather fight some mighty wave
— With honor in supreme command;
And fill at last a well-earned grave,
— Than die in ease upon the sand.

I'd rather drive where sea storms blow,
— And be the ship that always failed.
To make the ports where it would go,
— Than be the ship that never sailed.

I'd rather be the ship that sails
— And rides the billows wild and free;
Than to be the ship that always fails
— To leave its port and go to sea.

I'd rather feel the sting of strife,
— Where gales are born and tempests roar;
Than to settle down to useless life
— And rot in dry dock on the shore.

I'd rather fight some mighty wave
— With honor in supreme command;
And fill at last a well-earned grave,
— Than die in ease upon the sand.

I'd rather drive where sea storms blow,
— And be the ship that always failed.
To make the ports where it would go,
— Than be the ship that never sailed.