That silent gliding Albatross,
White god of the Southern sky.
Quite alone, the oceans to cross,
With no-one to hear its cry.
That graceful swooping Albatross,
Wild oceans its domain.
Soaring high, near the Southern Cross,
In all weathers, sun and rain.
That lovely, lonely, Albatross,
Only coming ashore in spring,
To seek a mate, on some cliff-top moss,
Then once again, take wing.
That natures child, the Albatross,
It sleeps at night below.
Ignores how steep, those waves to cross,
refreshed in the mornings glow.
That clever thoughtful Albatross,
The soul of a shipwrecked tar,
Looking to guide, mariners lost,
In those Southern wastes, so far,
So when you see an Albatross,
Soaring above you in the sky,
Make the sign of the holy cross,
your guardian is close by.