A Dash Of Spray, A Weed-Browned Way, - My Ship'S In The Bay, In The Glad Blue Bay, - The Wind'S From The West And The Waves Have A Crest, But My Bird'S In The Nest And My Ship'S In The Bay! At Dawn To Stand Soft Hand To Hand, Bare Feet On The Sand, - On The Hard Brown Sand, - To Wait, Dew-Crowned, For The Tarrying Sound Of A Keel That Will Ground On The Scraping Sand. A Glad Surprise In The Wind-Swept Skies Of My Wee One'S Eyes, - Those Wondering Eyes. He Will Come, My Sweet, And Will Haste To Meet Those Hurrying Feet And Those Sea-Blue Eyes. I Know The Day Must Weary Away, And My Ship'S In The Bay, - In The Clear, Blue Bay, - Ah! There'S Wind In The West, For The Waves Have A Crest, But My Bird'S In The Nest And My Ship'S In The Bay!