Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 43

And then the anchor parted--'twas a tussle to keep afloat!

But the father stuck to the rudder, and the boys to the brave old boat.

Then at last on the poor doomed lifeboat a wave broke mountains high!

"G.o.d help us now!" said the father. "It's over, my lads! Good-bye"!

Half of the crew swam sh.o.r.eward, half to the sheltered caves, But father and sons were fighting death in the foam of the angry waves.

Up at a lighthouse window two women beheld the storm, And saw in the boiling breakers a figure--a fighting form; It might be a gray-haired father, then the women held their breath; It might be a fair-haired brother, who was having a round with death; It might be a lover, a husband, whose kisses were on the lips Of the women whose love is the life of men going down to the sea in ships.

They had seen the launch of the lifeboat, they had seen the worst, and more, Then, kissing each other, these women went down from the lighthouse, straight to sh.o.r.e.

There by the rocks on the breakers these sisters, hand in hand, Beheld once more that desperate man who struggled to reach the land, 'Twas only aid he wanted to help him across the wave, But what are a couple of women with only a man to save?

What are a couple of women? well, more than three craven men Who stood by the sh.o.r.e with chattering teeth, refusing to stir--and then Off went the women's shawls, sir; in a second they're torn and rent, Then knotting them into a rope of love, straight into the sea they went!

"Come back!" cried the lighthouse-keeper. "For G.o.d's sake, girls, come back!"

As they caught the waves on their foreheads, resisting the fierce attack.

"Come back!" moaned the gray-haired mother, as she stood by the angry sea, "If the waves take you, my darlings, there's n.o.body left to me!"

"Come back!" said the three strong soldiers, who still stood faint and pale, "You will drown if you face the breakers! you will fall if you brave the gale!"

"_Come back_!" said the girls, "we will not! go tell it to all the town, We'll lose our lives, G.o.d willing, before that man shall drown!"

"Give one more knot to the shawls, Bess! give one strong clutch of your hand!

Just follow me, brave, to the shingle, and we'll bring him safe to land!

Wait for the next wave, darling! only a minute more, And I'll have him safe in my arms, dear, and we'll drag him to the sh.o.r.e."

Up to the arms in the water, fighting it breast to breast, They caught and saved a brother alive. G.o.d bless them! you know the rest-- Well, many a heart beat stronger, and many a tear was shed, And many a gla.s.s was tossed right off to "The Women of Mumbles Head!"

_Clement Scott._

The Fireman's Story

"'A frightful face'? Wal, yes, yer correct; That man on the enjine thar Don't pack the han'somest countenance-- Every inch of it sportin' a scar; But I tell you, pard, thar ain't money enough Piled up in the National Banks To buy that face, nor a single scar-- (No, I never indulges. Thanks.)

"Yes, Jim is an old-time engineer, An' a better one never war knowed!

Bin a runnin' yar since the fust machine War put on the Quincy Road; An' thar ain't a galoot that pulls a plug From Maine to the jumpin' off place That knows more about the big iron hoss Than him with the battered-up face.

"'Got hurt in a smash-up'? No,'twar done In a sort o' legitimate way; He got it a-trying to save a gal Up yar on the road last May.

I heven't much time for to spin you the yarn, For we pull out at two-twenty-five-- Just wait till I climb up an' toss in some coal, So's to keep old '90' alive.

"Jim war pullin' the Burlin'ton pa.s.senger then, Left Quincy a half an hour late, An' war skimmin' along purty lively, so's not To lay out No. 21 freight.

The '90' war more than whoopin' 'em up An' a-quiverin' in every nerve!

When all to once Jim yelled 'Merciful G.o.d!'

As she shoved her sharp nose 'round a curve.

"I jumped to his side o' the cab, an' ahead 'Bout two hundred paces or so Stood a gal on the track, her hands raised aloft, An' her face jist as white as the snow; It seems she war so paralyzed with the fright That she couldn't move for'ard or back, An' when Jim pulled the whistle she fainted an' fell Right down in a heap on the track!

"I'll never forgit till the day o' my death The look that c.u.m over Jim's face; He throw'd the old lever cl'r back like a shot So's to slacken the '90's' wild pace, Then let on the air brakes as quick as a flash, An' out through the window he fled, An' skinned 'long the runnin' board cla'r in front, An' lay on the pilot ahead.

"Then just as we reached whar the poor creetur lay, He grabbed a tight hold, of her arm, An' raised her right up so's to throw her one side Out o' reach of danger an' harm.

But somehow he slipped an' fell with his head On the rail as he throw'd the young la.s.s, An' the pilot in strikin' him, ground up his face In a frightful and horrible ma.s.s!

"As soon as we stopped I backed up the train To that spot where the poor fellow lay, An' there sot the gal with his head in her lap An' wipin' the warm blood away.

The tears rolled in torrents right down from her eyes, While she sobbed like her heart war all broke-- I tell you, my friend, such a sight as that 'ar Would move the tough heart of an oak!

"We put Jim aboard an' ran back to town, What for week arter week the boy lay A-hoverin' right in the shadder o' death, An' that gal by his bed every day.

But nursin' an' doctorin' brought him around-- Kinder s.n.a.t.c.hed him right outer the grave-- His face ain't so han'some as 'twar, but his heart Remains just as n.o.ble an' brave.

"Of course thar's a sequel--as story books say-- He fell dead in love, did this Jim; But hadn't the heart to ax her to have Sich a batter'd-up rooster as him.

She know'd how he felt, and last New Year's day War the fust o' leap year as you know, So she jist cornered Jim an' proposed on the spot, An' you bet he didn't say no.

"He's building a house up thar on the hill, An' has laid up a snug pile o' cash, The weddin's to be on the first o' next May-- Jist a year from the day o' the smash-- The gal says he risked his dear life to save hers, An' she'll just turn the tables about, An' give him the life that he saved--thar's the bell.

Good day, sir, we're goin' to pull out."

Little Willie's Hearing

Sometimes w'en I am playin' with some fellers 'at I knows, My ma she comes to call me, 'cause she wants me, I surpose: An' then she calls in this way: "Willie! Willie, dear! Willee-e-ee!"

An' you'd be surprised to notice how dretful deef I be; An' the fellers 'at are playin' they keeps mos' orful still, W'ile they tell me, jus' in whispers: "Your ma is callin', Bill."

But my hearin' don't git better, so fur as I can see, W'ile my ma stan's there a-callin': "Willie! Willie, dear! Willee-e-ee!"

An' soon my ma she gives it up, an' says: "Well, I'll allow It's mighty cur'us w'ere that boy has got to, anyhow"; An' then I keep on playin' jus' the way I did before-- I know if she was wantin' much she'd call to me some more.

An' purty soon she comes agin an' says: "Willie! Willee-e-ee!"

But my hearin's jus' as hard as w'at it useter be.

If a feller has good judgment, an' uses it that way, He can almos' allers manage to git consid'ble play.

But jus' w'ile I am playin', an' prob'ly I am "it,"

They's somethin' diff'rent happens, an' I have to up, an' git, Fer my pa comes to the doorway, an' he interrup's our glee; He jus' says, "William Henry!" but that's enough fer me.

You'd be surprised to notice how quickly I can hear W'en my pa says, "William Henry!" but never "Willie, dear!"

Fer though my hearin's middlin' bad to hear the voice of ma, It's apt to show improvement w'en the callin' comes from pa.

The Service Flag

Dear little flag in the window there, Hung with a tear and a woman's prayer, Child of Old Glory, born with a star-- Oh, what a wonderful flag you are!

Blue is your star in its field of white, Dipped in the red that was born of fight; Born of the blood that our forebears shed To raise your mother, The Flag, o'er-head.

And now you've come, in this frenzied day, To speak from a window--to speak and say: "I am the voice of a soldier son, Gone, to be gone till the victory's won.

"I am the flag of The Service, sir: The flag of his mother--I speak for her Who stands by my window and waits and fears, But hides from the others her unwept tears.