On Chatham Bars

On Chatham bars the surges moan And sea birds cry; A gull goes winging stark and lone Across the sky; While on the shore, with menace low, Mutters the seething undertow. O’er Chatham bars a frighted cloud Goes driven fast; The shoals are answering hoarse and loud The roaring blast, And joining that wild revelry Of frenzied winds and raging sea. Through blinding sands with bended head The coast guard goes By Chatham bars, in silent dread For well he knows, That surf may leave, on its retreat, Some ghastly trophy at his feet! On Easter morn the mourners stand On Chatham hill, To chant again His high command, Of - “Peace be still” And scatter flowers upon the wave To drift above some nameless grave. For Chatham bars are silent now On Easter Day, Before that solemn group who bow Their heads and pray To Him, the Risen One, Who said, “Then shall the sea give up its dead.”