Death Opens Unknown Doors. It Is Most

Lord, Give To Me Who Are Old And Rougher The Things That Little Children Suffer, And Let Keep Bright And Undefiled The Young Years Of The Little Child.

The Lord Who Gave Us Earth And Heaven Takes That As Thanks For All He's Given. The Book He Lent Is Given Back All Blotted Red And Smutted Black.

All I Ask Is A Tall Ship And A Star To Sail Her By.

The Thames Is A Wretched River After The Mersey And The Ships Are Not Like Liverpool Ships And The Docks Are Barren Of Beauty ... It Is A Beastly Hole After Liverpool; For Liverpool Is The Town Of My Heart And I Would Rather Sail A Mudflat There Than Command A Clipper Out Of London

So Death Obscures Your Gentle Form, So Memory Strives To Make The Darkness Bright; And, In That Heap Of Rocks, Your Body Lies, Part Of The Island Till The Planet Ends, My Gentle Comrade, Beautiful And Wise, Part Of This Crag This Bitter Surge Offends, While I, Who Pass, A Little Obscure Thing, War With This Force, And Breathe, And Am Its King.