Now that we’re bent on changing course
Let us amend our wicked ways.
You may live on St. Thomas or St. John
St. Croix, Water Island, or even
At your mother’s house;
Let’s drop the chicanery in the sea
And row towards this treach’rous shore.
It’s hard enough to battle boist’rous waves
Let us not risk our boat with broken oars.
Our blessing can indeed become our curse
If we look unto Man instead of Christ.
For Man with all his foibles seems
So strong; even the moon could come
Out in the day, thinking it’s night.