And, fed with precious food, the flame

Shone bravely on the black,
Till a cry ran through the people,
"A boat is coming back!"
Staggering dimly through the fog,
Come shapes of fear and doubt;
But when the first prow strikes the pier,
Cannot you hear them shout?

Then all along the breadth of flame,
Dark figures shriek'd and ran,

With "Child, here comes your father!"
Or, "Wife, is this your man?"

And faint feet touched the welcome stone,
And wait a little while :

And kisses drop from frozen lips,
Too tired to speak or smile.

So, one by one, they struggle in,
All that the sea would spare ;
We will not reckon through our tears
The names that were not there;
But some went home without a bed,
When all the tale was told,

Who were too cold with sorrow
To know the night was cold.

And this is what the men must do
Who work in wind and foam;
And this is what the women bear

Who watch for them at home,

So when you see a Brixham boat

Go out to face the gales,

Think of the love that travels

Like light upon her sails!

*

MISS M. B. SMEDLEY, with kind Permission.

THE THREE FISHERS.

THREE fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down ;
Each thought on the woman who loved him best,

And the children stood watching them out of the

town;

For men must work, and women must weep,
And there's little to earn, and many to keep,
Though the harbour-bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And they trimm'd the lamps as the sun went down ; They look'd at the squall, and they look'd at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown.

But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbour-bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,

* From a choice little volume of poems entitled "Poems Written for a Child," but in which many a key is struck above the reach of a child's experience and thought.

And the women are weeping and wringing their hands
For those who will never come home to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep,
And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.

REV. C. KINGSLEY.

THE SAILOR'S WIFE.

HEAVEN keep the wives of seamen,
And bless their children small,
For they have power to cheer us,
If sorrow should befall!

I'll tell you how the thoughts of them
Once saved the ship in need,

As if they'd been the seraphim
That had of us good heed.

A stout ship was the Halcyon,
As ever sailed the sea;

The crew that manned the Halcyon,
Were thirty hands and three.

I was the good ship's purser,
The ocean was my joy—

The waves had been my playmates
When I was but a boy.

The master of the Halcyon
Was good as he was bold;

Let the name of William Morrison

Throughout the world be told !

We heaved the Halcyon's anchor
On the twenty-first of May,
And from our wives and children
With sorrow went away.

My wife was bonny Betsy,

Both trim and true was she;

We called the good ship after her,
When next we went to sea :
And how this glory chanced to her
I'll tell ye presently.

With her I left two children,

More dear than mines of gold

Another dark haired Betsy,

And a boy scarce two years old.

Said I, "My bonny Betsy,

These idle tears restrain

;

The happy day will soon come round,

When we shall meet again!

"So fare-ye-well, my jewels!"

Said I in feigned glee,

For I feared the pain of parting,
Would make a child of me.

We went on board the Halcyon,
On the twenty-first of May,

And with a fresh and prosperous gale, From England bore away.

We were bound unto the islands
In the South Pacific Sea;
And many a day and many a week,
We sailed on prosperously.

But then a dreadful malady
Broke out among the crew;
The ocean waves rolled heavily,
And the hot wind scarcely blew !

'Twas on a Monday morning,
When first the plague appeared,
About the latter days of June,
When the Equinox we neared.

The brave men gazed in sorrow,
The weak men in despair-
As the reaper in the harvest-field,
Death drove his sickle there!

They died within the hammock,

They dropped from off the shroud;

And then they 'gan to murmur,

And misery spoke aloud.

When at the helm the helmsman died,

All care of life seemed gone;

We sate in stupid anguish,

And let the ship drive on.