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.