The Strangers Home
Liverpool the city with the ever open door,
Where the stranger is at home though a thousand miles or more -
Will part him from his hearth and kin and all that he knows best.
In Liverpool the pilgrim is the warmly welcomed guest.
We're everyone a migrant to this city on the sea;
Because we too were welcomed when we chanced upon its quay.
We understand it's in our blood, for we were strangers too;
And long ago we shared your past, when we were one with you.
We understand the meaning of the barter and its gift;
You give to me I give to you and this will bring us thrift.
A sense of pride that I have got as good as that I gave;
I lived with you and not from you and neither was a slave.
Our riches overwhelm you and our gifts are yours to share;
You never need to be in want to know how much we care.
What's ours is yours, we share with you, we work as we will spend.
We'll give as get to all well met, an equal and a friend.
We'll share your sense of humour though it's here that we excel;
But do forgive us this one sin for we can laugh so well.
For we have known mixed blessings and we rise as we will fall.
We laugh with you but not at you, and we shall conquer all.
We take great pride in what we do, in all we have achieved;
We are the cross-roads of the world and comfort those who grieved.
We bear our gifts with pleasure and we gladly share them all,
And take them each for granted yet we're never in their thrall.
By Michael Walsh