Small craft in a harbour that's still and serene
give no indication that their ways have been.
They rock at their moorings all nestled in dreams,
away from the roll of the sea.
Their stern lines are groaning a lullaby air,
a ghost in the cuddy, a gull on the spar.
But never they whisper of journeys afar,
away from the roll of the sea.
oh, had they the tongues for to speak,
what tales of adventure they'd waeve,
but now they are anchored to sleep and slumber a-lee
Come fair winds to wake them tomorrow we pray.
Come harvest a-plenty to them ev'ry day
till guided by harbour lights they're home to stay,
away from the roll of the sea.