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The Old Sailor
(Crossing the Bar)
He was getting a little
older, and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the
Naval Club telling stories of the past.
Of
a war that he had fought in, and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his
buddies - they were heroes every one.
And though sometime to his
neighbours, his tales became a joke
All his navy buddies
listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales
no longer, for our shipmates passed away,
And the world is a little
poorer, for a sailor died today.
He was just a common
sailor, and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should
remind us, we may need his kind again.
For when countries are in
conflict, then we find the sailor's part,
Is to clean up all the
troubles that others often start.
If we cannot give him
honour, while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give
him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps a simple notice in
a paper that would say,
Our country is in
mourning, because a sailor passed away.
Author Unknown
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When The Last
Hand Comes Aboard
No more a watch
to stand, Old Sailor.
For you are drifting on an ebbing tide.
Eight Bells has rung. Last dogwatch done.
Now a new berth awaits you on the other side.
Your ship is
anchored in God’s Harbour.
And your ship mates, now of equal rank.
Are mustered on the deck to greet.
And Pipe as you ascend the Plank.
Her Boilers
with full head of steam.
Cargo stowed and alley stored.
Just waiting to get underway.
When the last Hand comes aboard.
Look sharp!
That Hand is you, Old Sailor.
And you’ll be sailing out on Heavenly Seas.
May the wind be ever at your back.
Fair weather, and God Speed!
Written by
Richard John Scarr
© Richard John
Scarr
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