God Help Our Men at Sea
The wild night comes like an owl to its lair,The black clouds follow fast,And the sun-gleams die, and the lightnings glare,And the ships go heaving past, past, past—The ships go heaving past!Bar the doors, and higher, higherPile the faggots on the fire:Now abroad, by many a light,Empty seats there are to-night—Empty seats that none may fill,For the storm grows louder still:How it surges and swells through the gorges and dells,Under the ledges and over the lea,Where a watery sound goeth moaning around—God help our men at sea!
Oh! never a tempest blew on the shoreBut that some heart did moanFor a darling voice it would hear no moreAnd a face that had left it lone, lone, lone—A face that had left it lone!I am watching by a paneDarkened with the gusty rain,Watching, through a mist of tears,Sad with thoughts of other years,For a brother I did missIn a stormy time like this.Ah! the torrent howls past, like a fiend on the blast,Under the ledges and over the lea;And the pent waters gleam, and the wild surges scream—God help our men at sea!
Ah, Lord! they may grope through the dark to findThy hand within the gale;And cries may rise on the wings of the windFrom mariners weary and pale, pale, pale—From mariners weary and pale!’Tis a fearful thing to know,While the storm-winds loudly blow,That a man can sometimes comeToo near to his father’s home;So that he shall kneel and say,“Lord, I would be far away!”Ho! the hurricanes roar round a dangerous shore,Under the ledges and over the lea;And there twinkles a light on the billows so white—God help our men at sea!