Poems for the Sea/Tom Hardy
TOM HARDY.
Tom Hardy was an honest lad,
His pleasant face made others glad,
Like suns that cloudless shine;
Aloft he ran with right good will,
The topsail reefed with ready skill,
And snugly clewed the line.
Obedient still at every call,
And friendly to his messmates all,
For others' pain he felt;
And ever neatest of the crew,
On Sundays, in his jacket blue,
At morning prayers he knelt.
No draught he took to cheer his mind,
The temperance pledge he early signed,
Nor from that promise roved;
In every duty free from blame,
Blow high, blow low, 'twas all the same,
Still happy, and beloved.
But once, upon a sultry shore
The burning fever smote him sore,
And when he shipped again,
Still to this sad disease a prey,
He wasted like the snows away,
And all our care was vain.
So with weak hand, he took the key
From out his chest and gave it me;
"This to my mother take,
My little all, to her I leave,
And tell her not too much to grieve,
For her lost sea-boy's sake.
Here is the Bible that she gave,
It was my compass o'er the wave
When prosperous skies were fair;
And now, when darksome billows roll,
It is the anchor of my soul,
That drives away despair.
Cut from my temples, when I'm dead
One of these curling locks, he said,
And bear to Mary dear,
Tell her, I lov'd her till the last,
But ah! my breath is failing fast,
The stroke of death is near.
Yet, now, my peace with God is made,
So, not of the last foe afraid,
I dare a watery grave,
For in yon skies, with pierced hand
I see the blest Redeemer stand
My parting soul to save."
Bright rose the morn, but cold as lead
Lay poor Tom Hardy, pale and dead;
Though yet a smile of joy
Sate on his face, while sad and true
The roughest tar amid the crew
Mourned for the sailor-boy.
Now, sometimes while my watch I keep
At lonely midnight, on the deep,
When all is calm and clear,
I seem to hear his well known voice,
"Oh, messmate, make your God your choice.
And to His haven steer."
