|
|
|
|
Naval & Military Poems and Prayers
A Prayer for those lost in battle
O God and Father of us all, we gather in sincere gratitude for all those who, at their country’s call, have met the rude shock of battle and have surrendered their lives amid the ruthless brutalities of war. Forbid that their suffering and death should be in vain. We beseech you that, through their devotion to duty and suffering, the horrors of war may pass from earth and that your kingdom of right and honor, of peace and brotherhood, may be established among men. Comfort, O Lord, all who mourn the loss of those near and dear to them, especially the families of our departed brothers. Support them by your love. Give them faith to look beyond the trials of the present and to know that neither life nor death can separate us from the love and care of Christ Jesus, in whose name we pray. Amen.
FOR THOSE IN PERIL ON THE SEA
Eternal Father, Strong to save Whose arm hath bound the restless wave Who bids the mighty ocean deep Its own appointed limits keep Oh, hear us when we cry to thee For those in peril on the sea.
How long you been in the Navy? All me bloomin life, sir Me mother was a mermaid Me Father was King Neptune I was born on the crest of a wave And rocked in the cradle of the deep Seaweed and barnacles are me clothes Every tooth in me head is a marlin spike And the hair on me head is hemp Every Bone in me body is a spar And when I spits, I spits tar I’s hard, I is, I am, I are
Sea Fever
by John Masefield
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over
Twas the night before Christmas, and he lived in a crowd, In a 40 man berthing, with shipmates so loud. I had come down the exhaust stack with presents to give, And to see just who in this rack did live. I looked all about, and a strange sight I did see, No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree. No stockings were hung, just boots close at hand, On the bulkhead hung pictues of far distant lands. He had medals and badges and awards of all kind, And a sobering thought came into my mind. For this place was different, it was so dark and dreary, I had found the home of a Sailor, this I could see clearly. The Sailor lay sleeping, silent and alone, Curled up in his rack, dreaming of home. The face was so gentle, the berthing in such good order, But not how I pictured a United States Sailor. Was this the hero whom I saw on TV? Defending his country so we all could be free? I realized the families that I've seen this night, Owed their lives to these Sailors who were willing to fight. Soon round the world, the children would play, And grownups would celebrate a new Christmas Day. They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year, Because of the Sailors, like the one lying here. I couldn't help but wonder how many lay alone, On a cold Christmas Eve, on a sea far from home. The very thought brought a tear to my eye, I dropped to my knees and started to cry. The sailor awakened and I heard a rough voice, "Santa, don't cry, for this life is my choice." "Defend the seas this day, the peace do I keep." The sailor then rolled over and drifted to sleep, I couldn't control it, I continued to weep. I kept watch for hours so silent, so still, And we both shivered from the night's cold chill. I didn't want to leave on that cold, dark night, This guardian of honor so willing to fight. Then the Sailor rolled over and with a voice soft and pure, Whispered, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas ... All is Secure."
by Robert L. Harrison . July 22, 1997 . Greenfield, Indiana
He was old and worn and a bit forlorn as he ambled through the park, He spoke to me and I could see that his eyes had lost their spark. His gait was slow and his voice was low as he asked to sit with me, And I answered him with a friendly grin, The sittin’ here is free. He gave a smile and we talked a while and his voice was rather weak, But his mind was strong and it wasn't long til he began to speak Of yesteryears and I saw the tears as the mem’ries flooded through For he spoke of times and other climes as old men often do. He smiled at me and I could see as he glanced at my Navy blues That he’d earned his keep on the briny deep and paid his share of dues. I asked if he would share with me some mem'ries from his career, He said he might if the price was right, and the price was a can of beer! I’ve shipped on subs and oily tubs, on battleships and cruisers, Ten thousand mates and I can state not one of them was losers. LST’s on foreign seas, from Tarawa to Leyte, You name it, lad, I’ve been there, from Alaska down to Haiti. Liberty ships of paper clips, balsa wood and glue, I saw one break apart one time and lose her gallant crew. Marine Corps I took ashore on Tarawa and Truk. Oh what the Hell, for quite a spell, I've had my share of luck. One thing more, he said, before I move along, There ain't no air that’s quite as fair as the pipe of the boatswain’s song. And the place to be is on the sea riding a fair sea swell, With mates like you in Navy blue who’ll follow you straight through Hell. So here’s to you and your Navy crew who take our ships to sea, You’ve fought and died and never cried throughout our history. You’re heroes all and ten feet tall and your spirits never lag, You’re the nation’s best and you never rest in defense of our country’s flag! He rose to leave and I believe that he seemed to move much faster, His eyes agleam like a laser beam and his skin was alabaster, He glowed at first then soon dispersed in a cloud of misty cotton, A dream at most, perhaps a ghost, but not to be forgotten.
This is the tale that was told to me By a battered and shattered son of the sea-- To me and my messmate, Silas Green, When I was a guileless young marine.
'Twas the good ship Gyascutus, All in the China seas, With the wind a-lee and the capstan free To catch the summer breeze.
'Twas Captain Porgie on the deck, To his mate in the mizzen hatch, While the boatswain bold in the forward hold, Was winding his larboard watch.
"Oh, how does our good ship head to-night? How heads our gallant craft?" "Oh, she heads to the E.S.W. by N., And the binnacle lies abaft!"
"Oh, what does the quadrant indicate, And how does the sextant stand?" "Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing point, And the quadrant's lost a hand!"
"Oh, and if the quadrant has lost a hand, And the sextant falls so low, It's our bodies and bones to Davy Jones This night are bound to go!"
"Oh, fly aloft to the garboard strake! And reef the spanker boom; Bend a studding sail on the martingale To give her weather room."
"Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold, What water do you find?" "Four foot and a half by the royal gaff And rather more behind!"
"Oh, sailors, collar your marlin spikes And each belaying pin; Come stir your stumps and spike the pumps, Or more will be coming in."
They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps, They spliced the mizzen brace; Aloft and alow they worked, but oh! The water gained apace.
They bored a hole above the keel To let the water out; But strange to say, to their dismay, The water in did spout.
Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship And he was a lubber brave; "I have several wives in various ports, And my life I'd orter save."
Then up spoke the Captain of Marines, Who dearly loved his prog; "It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry, And I move we pipes to grog."
Oh, then 'twas the noble second mate What filled them all with awe; The second mate, as bad men hate, And cruel skippers jaw.
He took the anchor on his back And leaped into the main; Through foam and spray he clove his way, And sunk and rose again.
Through foam and spray, a league away The anchor stout he bore; Till, safe at last, he made it fast, And warped the ship ashore!
'Tain't much of a job to talk about, But a ticklish thing to see; And suth'in to do, if I say it too, For that second mate was me!
Such was the tale that was told to me, By that modest and truthful son of the sea, And I envy the life of a second mate Though captains curse him and sailors hate, For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen, As would go and lie to a poor marine.
Attributed to William Schwenck Gilbert (English 1836-1911)
'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man.
His hair was weedy, his beard was long And weedy and long was he; And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key:-
"Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig."
"O elderly man, it's little I know Of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand However you can be
And he shook his fists and tore his hair, 'Till I really felt afraid, For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking, And so I simply said:-
"At once a cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig."
And he gave a hitch to his trousers, which Is a trick that all seaman larn, And having got rid of a thumping quid, He spun his painful yarn:-
"'Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell That we sailed to the Indian Sea, And there on a reef we come to grief, Which has often occurred to me.
"And pretty nigh all the crew was drowned (There were seventy-seven o'soul), And only ten of the Nancy's men Said 'Here!' to the muster roll.
"There was me and the cook and the captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And the bo'sun tight and midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig.
"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, Till a-hungry we did feel; So we drawed a lot, and accordin', shot The captain for our meal.
The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, And a delicate dish he made; Then our appetite with the midshipmite We seven survivors stayed.
"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, And he much resembled a pig; Then we wittled free, did the cook and me, On the crew of the captain's gig.
"Then only the cook and me was left, And the delicate question, 'Which Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, And we argued it out as sich.
"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, And the cook he worshipped me; But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed In the other chap's hold, you see.
"I'll be eat if you dines of me,' says Tom; 'Yes, that' says I, 'you'll be: I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I; And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.
"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me Were a foolish thing to do, For don't you see that you can't cook me, While I can - and will - cook you?'
"So he boils the water, and takes the salt And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shallot, And some sage and parsley too.
"'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride, Which his smiling features tell; "'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.'
"And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaming froth; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals In the scum of the boiling broth.
"'And I eat that cook in a week or less, And - as I eating be The last of his chops, why, I almost drops, For a vessel in sight I see!
"And I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, But sit and croak, and a single joke I have - which is to say: -
"Oh, I am the cook, and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captains' gig."
|
