Song of the Lightships. — (Landlubber’s Chantey.)
When the wolves of wind press hard
On the wild seas snarling pack,
And the waves bite the shore
And the shore bites back;
When the night’s like a cave
Full of black things howling
And the hurricanes rave
With the whistle buoy yowling.
There’s a rusty trusty boat that never makes a port,
There’s a scrubby bold boat that never finds a lee,
The blunt little lightship,
The iron clad lightship,
The weather-wise lightship,
Anchored out at sea!
When the storms signal’s set,
Great Point stuck with masts,
And the range lights blur
Through the wicked black blasts
When the extra anchors drag
And the bell buoy clangs
And the jetty rocks swirl
Under tide rips fangs.
There’s one little boat that never makes a port
There’s one tidy ship that never seeks a lee
The blunt little lightship
The staunch, able lightship
The game, snubby lightship
Anchored out at sea.
When the night’s very still
And the moon rides high,
There’s one strange craft
Gives a hail and stands by.
Though the forms on her decks
Have a look of the dead
Still they warn of a wreck
Or a shoal dead ahead.
It’s the winter-lost Lightship that never found a lee
It’s the tide-driven Lightship that never made a port
It’s the silent-crewed Lightship, the speechless brave Lightship
The ice-covered Lightship
Sunk at sea.
Now when home fires blaze
And the storm is shut out,
And the wind and its ways
Are sea-yarned about;
When the good glass is lifted
In the good pipe smoke
And the good talk has drifted
From the well worn joke....
Toast the one little boat that never makes port!
Sing of the craft that never hunts a lee—
Drink to the lightships, the lonely crews of lightships
The lunging, plunging lightships
Anchored out at sea!