The Coast Guard Station

Stout fortress on the battle line Of shrieking winds and thunderous surge, A barbican against the brine, A challenge to the breakers’ dirge; Not all the wild Atlantic’s wrath Can bar your men from life boats frail, Nor all the fury of the gale Can swerve them from their destined path! The churning foam may pelt and freeze, The stinging sleet cut to the bone, They venture forth on perilous seas, They venture forth, unsung, alone. Like knights of olden time arrayed In oilskin armor, theirs the role To battle with the raging shoal And beard the tempest unafraid! No martial strains ring in their ears, No banners blaze their desperate way; Only a wife or mother peers From distant sand dunes through the spray. And yet no crown that fame may give Can e’re transcend the solemn pride Of men, whatever may betide, Who risk their lives that men may live.