Volume 147 — THE USES OF OCEAN.

To people who allege that we Incline to overrate the Sea, I answer, “We do not; Apart from being coloured blue, It has its uses not a few— I cannot think what we should do If ever ‘the deep did rot.’” Take ships, for instance. You will note That, lacking stuff on which to float, They could not get about; Dreadnought and liner, smack and yawl, And other types that you’ll recall— They simply could not sail at all If Ocean once gave out. And see the trouble which it saves To islands; but for all those waves That made us what we are— But for their help so kindly lent, Teutons could march right through to Kent And never need to circumvent A single British tar. Take fish, again. I have in mind No better field that they could find For exercise and sport; How would the whale, I want to know, The blubbery whale contrive to blow; Where would your playful kipper go If the supply ran short? And hence we rank the Ocean high; But there are privy reasons why Its praise is on my lip: I deem it, when my heart is set On walking into something wet, The nicest medium I have met In which to take a dip. Ah, speed the hour already fixed When, mid the bathers (freely mixed), In a polite costume I mean to plunge beneath the spray And, washing from a soul at play The City’s stain—three times a day— Restore its vernal bloom. Rocked like a babe upon the brine It is my dream to float supine And to the vast inane Banish awhile from off my chest The cares that hold it now obsessed, And even take a clean-cut rest From Ulster-on-the-brain. O. S.