To Fred W. Boltz, Lt. Com. U.S. Navy
The sea
Has a way of building a man . . . . .
The sea
With its deafening, massive span.
Out of the stillness . . . in the stark,
Dim spread of colossal dark,
The soul of a man has room to grow,
White
As the clean, white whip of the surf;
Right
As a ship’s sure cleft of the sea.
The sky
Has a way of molding a man . . . . .
The sky
With its winging, cloudy clan.
Out of the twisted winds, the wonder
Of lightning-laden strides of thunder,
The mind of a man has room to grow,
Wise
As the stars that cradled silence,
Eyes
Circling truth as gulls sight prey.
The soul
Has a way of finding a man . . . .
The soul
With its fearless, mystic plan.
Out of stardust and ocean foam,
Grinding clay and pregnant loam,
It shapes the noble heart of man,
True
As the sun that conquers shadows,
Blue
As the waves that burn in brine.
Salute this man of ocean’s making!
Drink him joy with singing lips.
Drink him joy with glasses breaking . . . . .
Master of men, and seas, and ships!
Evelyn Coffey
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