MY BOY JACK

‘ Have you news of my boy Jack?’

Not this tide.

‘ When d'you think that he'll come back?’

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

‘ Has any one else had word of him?’

Not this tide.

For what is sunk will hardly swim,

Not with this wind blowing, and this tide.

‘ Oh, dear, what comfort can I find?’

None this tide,

Nor any tide,

Except he did not shame his kind —

Not even with that wind blowing, and that tide.

Then hold your head up all the more,

This tide,

And every tide;

Because he was the son you bore,

And gave to that wind blowing and that tide!