Songs for Sailors :: :: University of Virginia Library

Heroes and saints! and do they say
The past had these alone?
Brothers, have we not both to-day,
And both, the people's own?
Theirs may be homes in lanes and streets,
But theirs are deeds one hears
With blood that quicker, nobler beats,
And the proud praise of tears.
If e'er your heart ignobly faint
At great deeds in your way,
Then think of many a living saint
And hero of to-day.

The ‘Birkenhead,’ see, settles down,
Down to its ocean grave;
Who grasp from death the glorious crown
With life they yet might save?
Ranked on that holy deck, that square
Of English life, for death
Stands calm and hushed, save for low prayer,
Set teeth and hard-drawn breath:
No coward cry; no weak heart faints;
The full boats bear away
But wives and babes! down go those saints,
Those heroes of to-day.

A boat puts from that lighthouse—see,
It cleaves the raging storm!
Who pulls it? light of death, thinks he;
Is that a woman's form?
Her pitying heart forgets all fear,
Sees not the seething waves;
The cries alone her heart can hear
Of those she dreadless saves!

Grace Darling—her heart never faints
On that wild ocean way;
And now we hail her of our saints,
Our heroes of to-day.

Look, through Scutari's ghastly walls—
Plague-haunted, anguish-filled—
Walks Mercy's Saint, to do her Lord's
Dear will, and moans are stilled.
Dreads Florence Nightingale the breath
Of pestilence she breathes?
Thinks she of that crown, won from death,
That now her memory wreathes?
Through all her angel heart ne'er faints:
Blessing and blessed, her way
She takes, white light amongst our saints,
Our heroes of to-day.

Yes, these and others well we know,
And flush with pride to name;
How many to death nameless go
Who well might share their fame!
How many a noble deed unsung,
To mortal lips unknown,
Unsyllabled by earthly tongue,
Is told by heaven alone?
Ah! there where hungered misery faints,
Yet thrusts its crust away
To dear ones, say, have we not saints,
And heroes still to-day?

Thank God! to many a toiling home,
His Angels of the Earth,
With His own love and mercy come,
Though few proclaim their worth.
Ah! could we know the nobleness
By Him to poor lives given,
His graciousness how should we bless
For such high gifts of Heaven!

Thou, Genius, when thy pencil paints
God's chosen, never say
Thou canst not give to glory, saints
And heroes of to-day.