The Port of St. John
by H.A.Cody

Where is the Port of grey St.John?
The sea clans knew it well;
They winged up by my Island light,
They steered by buoy and bell,
And of the welcome that I gave,
They had one tale to tell.

I bred a hardy seaman race upon my rugged steeps,
Who sailed my fastest clipper hounds and sounds the deeps;
My ships were known in every port,
manned by bluenose breed,
Stern fearless driving skipper-men,
hard both in will and deed.

The finest wooden sailing-ships were built upon my shore,
The roaring "Marco Polo" and the bounding "Beejapore";
The "Flying Cloud", the "Guiding Star",
and other far famed ships,
Designed and built by St. John men,
went smoking from their ships.

The tide flows out, the tide flows in,
it never can be still,
It follows where the strong sea call,
the sea that works it will,
And ships come up, and ships go down
black smoke trailing far,
Great rovers of the ocean ways where ports of heros are.

But sure as homing swallows wing in from the open main,
The ships from all the Seven seas coming sweeping back again.
The know the port is open wide,
my headlights always clear,
No ice to stab, no rocks to scar,
no tempest blast to fear.

Where is the Port of grey St. John?
The sea clans know it well;
They point up by my Island light,
The steer by buoy and bell,
And of the welcome that I give,
They have one tale to tell.

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