our pilots.
69
When the sweet church bells are chiming, his anchor he must weigh,
For neither time nor tide will wait while the pilot goes to pray;
And at this festive season, when other homes are gay,
The pilot's home is cheerless, for father must away.
For neither time nor tide will wait while the pilot goes to pray;
And at this festive season, when other homes are gay,
The pilot's home is cheerless, for father must away.
Tides ebb and flow, ships come and go,
And the pilot must be at his post;
So o'er the harbour bar, we watch him sail afar,
And nobody counts the cost.
And the pilot must be at his post;
So o'er the harbour bar, we watch him sail afar,
And nobody counts the cost.
And sometimes 'tis the pilot's lot to lose his life at sea,
Dying bravely at his post. Alas! that it should be.
But none would call him hero, although his life he gave,
Though he died at the post of duty, finding a watery grave.
Dying bravely at his post. Alas! that it should be.
But none would call him hero, although his life he gave,
Though he died at the post of duty, finding a watery grave.
Tides ebb and flow, ships come and go,
And the pilot must be at his post;
Though death itself is nigh, he answers duty's cry,
Lest the good ship should be lost.
···········
Sing, aye sing, of the soldier's deeds,
And tell the gallant sailor's story:
But, when speaking of heroes of the wave,
Tell of those trusty pilots brave,
And give them their meed of glory!
And the pilot must be at his post;
Though death itself is nigh, he answers duty's cry,
Lest the good ship should be lost.
···········
Sing, aye sing, of the soldier's deeds,
And tell the gallant sailor's story:
But, when speaking of heroes of the wave,
Tell of those trusty pilots brave,
And give them their meed of glory!
