Cape Cod Ballads, and Other Verse | Page 2

knows--where'er it be,?On low Cape Cod or bluff Cape Ann--?With straining eyes that search the sea?A watching woman waits her man:?He knows it, and his love is deep,?But work is work, and bread is bread,?And though men drown and women weep?The hungry thousands must be fed.
To some the gain, to some the loss,?To each his chance, the game with Fate:?For men must die that men may live--?Dear Lord, be kind to those who wait.

THE SONG OF THE SEA
Oh, the song of the Sea--?The wonderful song of the Sea!?Like the far-off hum of a throbbing drum?It steals through the night to me:?And my fancy wanders free?To a little seaport town,?And a spot I knew, where the roses grew?By a cottage small and brown;?And a child strayed up and down?O'er hillock and beach and lea,?And crept at dark to his bed, to hark?To the wonderful song of the Sea.
Oh, the song of the Sea--?The mystical song of the Sea!?What strains of joy to a dreaming boy?That music was wont to be!?And the night-wind through the tree?Was a perfumed breath that told?Of the spicy gales that filled the sails?Where the tropic billows rolled?And the rovers hid their gold?By the lone palm on the key,--?But the whispering wave their secret gave?In the mystical song of the Sea.
Oh, the song of the Sea--?The beautiful song of the Sea!?The mighty note from the ocean's throat,?The laugh of the wind in glee!?And swift as the ripples flee?With the surges down the shore,?It bears me back, o'er life's long track,?To home and its love once more.?I stand at the open door,?Dear mother, again with thee,?And hear afar on the booming bar?The beautiful song of the Sea.

THE WIND'S SONG
Oh, the wild November wind,?How it blew!?How the dead leaves rasped and rustled,?Soared and sank and buzzed and bustled
As they flew;?While above the empty square,?Seeming skeletons in air,?Battered branches, brown and bare,
Gauntly grinned;?And the frightened dust-clouds, flying.?Heard the calling and the crying
Of the wind,--?The wild November wind.
Oh, the wild November wind,?How it screamed!?How it moaned and mocked and muttered?At the cottage window, shuttered,
Whence there streamed?Fitful flecks of firelight mild:?And within, a mother smiled,?Singing softly to her child
As there dinned?Round the gabled roof and rafter?Long and loud the shout and laughter
Of the wind,--?The wild November wind.
Oh, the wild November wind,?How it rang?Through the rigging of a vessel?Rocking where the great waves wrestle!
And it sang,?Light and low, that mother's song;?And the master, staunch and strong,?Heard the sweet strain drift along--
Softened, thinned,--?Heard the tightened cordage ringing?Till it seemed a loved voice singing
In the wind,--?The wild November wind.

THE LIFE-SAVER
(Dedicated to the Men in the United States Life-saving Service.)
When the Lord breathes his wrath above the bosom of the waters, When the rollers are a-poundin' on the shore,?When the mariner's a-thinkin' of his wife and sons and daughters, And the little home he'll, maybe, see no more;?When the bars are white and yeasty and the shoals are all a-frothin', When the wild no'theaster's cuttin' like a knife;?Through the seethin' roar and screech he's patrollin' on the beach,-- The Gov'ment's hired man fer savin' life.
He's strugglin' with the gusts that strike and bruise him like a hammer, He's fightin' sand that stings like swarmin' bees,?He's list'nin' through the whirlwind and the thunder and the clamor-- A-list'nin' fer the signal from the seas;?He's breakin' ribs and muscles launchin' life-boats in the surges, He's drippin' wet and chilled in every bone,?He's bringin' men from death back ter flesh and blood and breath, And he never stops ter think about his own;
He's a-pullin' at an oar that is freezin' to his fingers,?He's a-clingin' in the riggin' of a wreck,?He knows destruction's nearer every minute that he lingers, But it do'n't appear ter worry him a speck:?He's draggin' draggled corpses from the clutches of the combers-- The kind of job a common chap would shirk--?But he takes 'em from the wave and he fits 'em fer the grave, And he thinks it's all included in his work.
He is rigger, rower, swimmer, sailor, doctor, undertaker,?And he's good at every one of 'em the same:?And he risks his life fer others in the quicksand and the breaker, And a thousand wives and mothers bless his name.?He's an angel dressed in oilskins, he's a saint in a "sou'wester", He's as plucky as they make, or ever can;?He's a hero born and bred, but it hasn't swelled his head,?And he's jest the U.S. Gov'ment's hired man.

"THE EVENIN' HYMN"
When the hot summer daylight is dyin',?And the mist through the valley has rolled,?And the soft velvet clouds ter the west'ard?Are purple with trimmings of gold,--?Then, down in the medder-grass, dusky,?The crickets chirp out from each nook,?And the frogs with their voices so husky?Jine in from the marsh and the brook.
The chorus grows louder and deeper,?An owl sends a hoot from the hill,?The leaves on the elm-trees are