'Ships . . . they go,' said Murphy, 'like a spent pay-roll . . .
They're sunk in the deep water or they're wrecked in the shoal;
Burnt or scrapped in the long run, the big ships an' the small, -
An' the ships a man remembers, they're the best ships of all.'

'Friends . . . they go,' said Murphy, 'the false an' the true,
They all go at the finish, the same as the ships do;
They go like a spree that's ended or a last year's song,
But the friends a man remembers, they're his own his life long.'

'Times . . . they pass,' said Murphy, 'the fair and foul weather,
The good times an' the bad times, they all pass together;
Like a steersman's trick that's ended, or a blown-out squall . . .
An' the times a man remembers . . . they're the best times of all!'