SAILOR'S GRAVE
(learned from Martin Choate in about 1961)
Our bark was far, far from the land
We watched him through long hours of pain.
We had no costly winding sheet,
We decked him out all in our best
Our voices broke, our hearts were weak,
A splash, a plunge, and our task was o'er,
(from miriam berg's folksong collection)
When the fairest of our gallant band
Grew deadly pale and pined away
Like the twilight on an autumn day.
Our fears were great, our hopes were vain.
Death's call he heard, made no alarm,
But smiled and died in his messmates' arms.
But a cannon shot we placed at his head and feet.
And in his hammock snug and sound
A kingly shroud like marble bound.
With a starry flag upon his chest.
We have him this as a badge so brave,
Then he was fit for a sailor's grave.
And tears were seen on the brownest cheek.
A quiver placed on the lip of pride
As we lower'd him over the ship's dark side.
And the billows rolled as they rolled before,
And many a prayer said to the wave
That lower'd him into a sailor's grave.