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!