Rage in the Atlantic rolls the Clipper about
The men scurry to bring down the sails
The salty spray makes the deck into a slide
And the handholds insecure as they grasp the rigging.
The waves so large and so furious the ship heaves
From port to starboard and starboard to port.
The captain at the wheel feels his gut tighten
As he aims the ship through the churning sea.
Minutes turn to hours as the men heave their breaths
And strain their muscles against the warring gale,
Then they strap themselves to the masts
For fear they will all be tossed overboard.
It is up to the captain, his wits and his fortitude,
As the timbers creek and moan bringing fear to their hearts.
The cargo lashed in the hold strains the ropes and breaks free,
Rolling and reeling, jerking the ship with each wave.
On and on it is tossed like a toy in the hands of God,
The grit and the gall of the crew carrying on.