The ship pull anchor moving in the night
As tides rolling briskly out to sea.
Vessels small and great sank at the faintest,
But thou, O ship of Zion, remainest. Storms growing strong, the night too long
Billows roar dauntlessly in the dark.
"Gone With The Wind," is a fate thou containest,
Still, thou remainest. On and on, fierce waves push to no ends
Twisting, twirling, tossing.
Chart and compass 'alas now seem vainest,