Dear God—they shone in Palestine
Like this, and yon pale moon serene
Looked down among the lowing kine
On Mary and the Nazarene.
The angels called from deep to deep,
The burning heavens felt the thrill,
Startling the flocks of silly sheep
And lonely shepherds on the hill.
To-night beneath the dripping bows
Where flashing bubbles burst and throng,
The bow-wash murmurs and sighs and soughs
A message from the angels’ song.
The moon goes nodding down the west,
The drowsy helmsman strikes the bell;
Rex Judæorum natus est,
I charge you, brothers, sing Nowell, Nowell,
Rex Judæorum natus est.
A BALLAD OF CAPE ST. VINCENT
Now, Bill, ain’t it prime to be a-sailin’,
Slippin’ easy, splashin’ up the sea,
Dossin’ snug aneath the weather-railin’,
Quiddin’ bonded Jacky out a-lee?
English sea astern us and afore us,
Reaching out three thousand miles ahead,
God’s own stars a-risin’ solemn o’er us,
And—yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.
There they lie, Bill, man and mate together,
Dreamin’ out the dog-watch down below,
Anchored in the Port of Pleasant Weather,
Waiting for the Bo’sun’s call to blow.
Over them the tide goes lappin’, swayin’,
Under them’s the wide bay’s muddy bed,
And it’s pleasant dreams—to them—to hear us sayin’,
Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.
Hear that P. and O. boat’s engines dronin’,
Beating out of time and out of tune,
Ripping past with every plate a-groanin’,
Spitting smoke and cinders at the moon?
Ports a-lit like little stars a-settin’,
See ’em glintin’ yaller, green, and red,
Loggin’ twenty knots, Bill,—but forgettin’,
Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.
They’re ‘discharged’ now, Billy, ‘left the service,’
Rough an’ bitter was the watch they stood,
Drake an’ Blake, an’ Collingwood an’ Jervis,
Nelson, Rodney, Hawke, an’ Howe an’ Hood.
They’d a hard time, haulin’ an’ directin’,
There’s the flag they left us, Billy—tread
Straight an’ keep it flyin’—recollectin’,
Yonder’s Cape St. Vincent and the Dead.