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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408893" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Port O'Call</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our hull is seldom painted,<br>Our decks are seldom stoned;<br>Our sails are patched and cobbled<br>And chains by rust marooned.<br>Our rigging is untidy,<br>And all things in accord:—<br>We always sail on Friday<br>With thirteen souls on board. <br>For all the days save Friday<br>Were days of dark despair—<br>The fourteenth died of fever<br>Whenever he was there.<br>Our good ship is the Chancit—<br>Her oldest name of all;<br>But, in the ports we’re blown to,<br>She’s called the ‘Port o’ Call.’ </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our captain old Wot Matters—<br>Our first mate young Hoo Kares,<br>Our cook is Wen Yew Wan Tit,<br>And so the Chancit fares.<br>The sweethearts, wives, and others—<br>And all we left behind—<br>Have many names to go by;<br>But mine is Never Mind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We fear no hell hereafter,<br>We hope for no reward—<br>We always sail on Friday<br>With thirteen men on board.<br>And every wind’s a fair wind,<br>That suits us, one and all,<br>And every port we’re blown to<br>We call our port-of-call. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ve seen the poor boy striving<br>For just one chance to rise:<br>The light of truth and honour<br>And genius in his eyes.<br>His school-mates jeered and mocked him,<br>They mocked him through the town:<br>And his relatives scarce pitied,<br>While his parents crushed him down. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ve seen the young man fighting<br>The present and the past,<br>Till he triumphed in the city,<br>And fame was his at last!<br>And generous, but steadfast,<br>All for his Country then,<br>Unspoiled and all unconscious<br>He stood, a prince of men. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ve seen the husband ruined,<br>And drunken in the street,<br>When the World was all before him,<br>And the ball was at his feet—<br>Thrust down by fate most bitter,<br>Most cruel and unjust;<br>His children taught to loathe him,<br>And his name dragged in the dust. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">. . . . .<br>Our hull is never painted,<br>Our decks are never stoned,<br>The cabin air is tainted,<br>The good ship is disowned;<br>Our rigging is untidy,<br>And all things in accord—<br>We always sail on Friday,<br>With thirteen hands on board. <br>I’ve seen strong bushmen slaving,<br>As men ne’er slaved before,<br>To win homes from the scrublands<br>And win their country more.<br>And I’ve seen their children scattered<br>As work-slaves on the soil;<br>And the old-age-pension begged for<br>After fifty years of toil! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the Bush Muse is discarded,<br>There’s a wanton on the track,<br>And her panderers are sneering<br>At old soldiers of Out Back<br>The motor cars go racing<br>Past the Heroes of Long Years,<br>And the dust is in their faces<br>And the laughter in their ears. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>We care not where we’re bound for,<br>Nor how the storm might howl;<br>For every wind’s a fair wind,<br>And every wind a foul.<br>There’s nothing left to sail for<br>Save that we keep our decks,<br>And watch for other castaways<br>On rafts from other wrecks.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408893" data-title="The Port O'Call de Henry Lawson" data-description="Our hull is seldom painted,
Our decks are seldom stoned;
Our sails are patched and cobbled
And chains by rust marooned.
Our rigging is untidy,
And all things in accord:—
We always sail on Friday
With thirteen souls on board. 
For all the days sa..."></div>
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