Bring Our Father Home

Up before dawn and down to the sea

A sturdy boat beneath his feet.

Battling waves cresting o’er the bow

It's with the ocean he competes.



He bends his back and pulls at the oars

The sea surrenders grudging ground.

Spray in his face, joy in his life

The crashing surf is his favorite sound.



Wind in his hair, the sun on his face,

He rows out through the salty foam,

We ask, dear Lord, that friendly winds

Will bring our father home.