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Sea Songs

By W. C. Bennett
 
 
 

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MY OLD FISHING-BOAT.
 


134

MY OLD FISHING-BOAT.

Yes, there she lies,
The lass that we prize,
There she rests from her work awhile,
Hauled high on the beach
Where no waves can reach,
Where at storms our lass can smile.
And she should be blest
With her turn of rest,
Unvexed by the waves; for why?
Did she ever shirk
Her tide of work?
Who says it? I trow, not I.

135

I say it to you,
We've both been true
To each other this many a day;
Through cold and warm,
Through calm and storm,
Since I stepped her first, years away
By wild squalls caught,
How often I've thought
Her hour and mine had come!
And she's shook with pride
As through all she'd ride
And bring me and our nets' take home.
I love my wife
As I love my life,
No better wife breathes—that's clear;
Years come and go;
Let them pass; I know
They but make her to me more dear;
So 'tis with my boat,
My wife afloat,
Since the hour she lipped the sea
There's been never a day
That we've worked away
But she's gotten more dear to me.

136

I've come to think
There's a strange fast link
'Twixt her and me here in life;
We're one together
While every weather
We face for my chicks and wife;
Day and night go by
And still she and I
In one work our hard hours spend,
And the selfsame sun,
When my race is run,
May see hers and my own life's end.
Well, till that hour,
Through sun and shower,
With blue or with black o'erhead,
In sun or squall,
With our nets, through all,
For our dear ones we'll win our bread
Our farm, the deep,
We'll plough and we'll reap
While herring and mackerel swim;
And for death and the rest,
That's as God thinks best,
We'll work and leave that to Him.