The Prize

She has been gaining on us Our hold heavy With burdensome loot Our riggings pock-marked From the shot of exchanges And the stress of this South Sea. Duties never change Sometimes lightened with song But many a time On our knees scrubbing. Or hauling sheets Or scampering aloft. We know our lowliness Those skeletons of drink, darkness And debauchery ashore. Captain reads us Psalms Many a morn But the images are so foreign Like an exotic verdant isle Not yet landed. And this other bonnie ship Gaining this late afternoon All sails full and profiting This might be the last Of our nights for this flag. Close watch to lights and breeze We reckon. And who are they? And whose Crown? And will we be shackled Below decks? Or given happy privilege To serve and strain And sing yet again? For a different Captain Headed for a different land? With what seems Totally different purpose. (* Salvation starts with total despair of self, leading to an overthrow, a boarding, and a subjugation with ultimate gladness to a different Captain and King. Think I'm gonna sail away with Him.)