On Chatham Bars
On Chatham bars the surges moan
And sea birds cry;
A gull goes winging stark and lone
Across the sky;
While on the shore, with menace low,
Mutters the seething undertow.
O’er Chatham bars a frighted cloud
Goes driven fast;
The shoals are answering hoarse and loud
The roaring blast,
And joining that wild revelry
Of frenzied winds and raging sea.
Through blinding sands with bended head
The coast guard goes
By Chatham bars, in silent dread
For well he knows,
That surf may leave, on its retreat,
Some ghastly trophy at his feet!
On Easter morn the mourners stand
On Chatham hill,
To chant again His high command,
Of - “Peace be still”
And scatter flowers upon the wave
To drift above some nameless grave.
For Chatham bars are silent now
On Easter Day,
Before that solemn group who bow
Their heads and pray
To Him, the Risen One, Who said,
“Then shall the sea give up its dead.”