The Old Figurehead Carver    H.A. Cody/Dick Swain

Capo 2nd fret

(D)(D)(D7)(D7)(D6)(D) (G)
I have done my bit of carving, figure(Am)heads of quaint design,
For the Olives and the (D)Ruddocks and the (C)famous Black Ball (G)Line. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
Brigantines and (G4)barques and (G5)clippers, brigs and (C)schooners, (C/B)lithe and (Am)tall,
But the bounding Marco (D7)Polo was the (C)proudest of them (G)all. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)

And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G) (G4)(G) (D)

I can (G)see that white-winged clipper, reeling (Am)under scudding clouds,
Tramping down a hazy (D)skyline with a (C)Norther in her (G)shrouds. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
I can feel her (G4)lines of (G5)beauty, see her (C)flecked with (C/B)spume and (Am)brine
As she drives her scuppers (D7)under and that (C)figurehead of (G)mine. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)

And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4) (G) (D)

´Twas of (G)seasoned pine I made it, clear from (Am)outer bark to core,
And the finest piece of (D)timber from the (C)mast-pond on Straight (G)Shore. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
Every bite of (G4)axe or (G5)chisel, every (C)ringing (C/B)mallet (Am)welt,
Brought from out that block of (D7)timber all the (C)spirit that I (G)felt. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)

And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G) (G4)(G) (D)

I had (G)read of Marco Polo till his (Am)daring deeds were mine,
And I saw them all a-(D)glowing in that (C)balsam-scented (G)pine, (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
Saw his eyes a(G4)light with (G5)purpose, facing (C)every (C/B)vagrant (Am)breeze,
Saw him lifting, free and (D7)careless, over (C)all the Seven (G)Seas. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)

And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G) (G4)(G) (D)

That was (G)how I did my carving, beat of (Am)heart and stroke of hand,
Blended into life and (D)action all the (C)purpose that I (G)planned, (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
Flowing robes and (G4)wind-tossed (G5)tresses, forms of (C)beauty, (C/B)strength, de(Am)sign.
Saw them all and strove to (D7)carve them in those (C)figureheads of (G)mine. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)

And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G) (G4)(G) (D) (C) (G)

I am old, my hands are feeble, and my (Am)outward eyes are dim,
But I see again those (D)clippers, lifting (C)o´er the ocean´s (G)rim. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
Great white fleets of (G4)reeling (G5)rovers, wind a(C)bove, the (C/B)surf be(Am)neath,
And the Marco Polo (D7)leading with my (C)carving in her (G)teeth. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)

And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G)
And while my (G4)hand is (G5)steady, (C)while my (C/B)eyes are (Am)good,
I will carve the (D7)music of the (C)wind into the (G)wood. (G4)(G5)(G4)(G) (D) (G)

© Words Hiram A. Cody, 1872-1948, music Dick Swain, All Rights Reserved

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