A sailor looks back on his time at sea and compares it with life on land. Out on the water he had everything in excess: an "abundance of sea," spice and gold, and something grander than religion. The phrase "in lieu of god" suggests the sea itself filled the place where belief might have been, a vastness big enough to feel sacred. Even time seems to have fallen away, so the voyage reads as a kind of timeless freedom.
The last three lines shrink sharply. Back home, he sleeps while a woman mends his breeches beside his bed. The details are domestic, quiet, and a little condescending in the word "wench," which reduces her to a function. The speaker doesn't say he misses the sea, but the contrast does that work for him. The mood is dry and subdued, tinged with restlessness. Safety and comfort have arrived, yet they feel small next to what he has left behind, and the poem's brevity echoes that shrinking.