The sails of the ships are white on the sea,
The wind is playing along the waves;
And slowly, solemnly, over the quay,
The sun descends and the evening paves
A golden path where the mariner sees
His harbor and home at last.
He breathes the air of the peaceful shore,
And the light of the lamps begins to shine;
The bells of the city ring once more,
And the streets are hushed in the quiet time.
The tide rolls in with a gentle hum,
And the voices of men are soft and low;
The ships come home from their travels some,
And the tide and the town in their beauty glow.