Burial at Sea

From his room to the deck they brought him drest —
For his funeral rites, at his own request,
With his boots and stock and garments on,
And not but the breathing spirit gone,
For he wished a child might come and lay.
An unstained hand upon his clay.

Then they wrapped his corse in the tarry sheet,
To the dead as Arabia's spices sweet,
And prepared him to seek the depths below,
Where waves never beat nor tempest blow
No steeds with their nodding plumes where here,
No sabled hearse and no coffin or bier,

To bear with parade and pomp away
The dead to sleep with his kindred clay.
But the little group, a silent few,
His companions mixed with the hardy crew
Stood thoughtful around till a prayer was said
O’er the corse of the deaf unconscious dead.

They bore his remains to the vessel’s side,
And committed them safe to the dark blue tide,
One sullen plunge — and the scene is o'er,
The sea rolled as it rolled before.

Poem from the Ulster General Advertiser, 15 November 1842.
Image:  The Burial at Sea by: Sir Frank William Brangwyn

Sunset on the Sea

The shadows of eve were falling,
   and coldly the night wind blew;
The sky was a dusky crimson
   that faded to smoky blue;
And the sun, low down in the heavens,
   flamed as it sank from view.

There was no living creature,
   save only the gulls on high;
There was no sound in the stillness,
   save only the sea-birds cry;
And the wind-swept sea tossed purple
   under the fiery sky.

And white Kerbane to the westward
   shot out to the ocean wide;
And dark Benmore to the eastward
   swept down to the water's side;
And the white foam leaped from the breakers,
   as the last of the daylight died.

A white mist rose from the ocean;
   the face of sun was veiled;
The fiery light in the heavens waned,
   and the crimson paled.
And still through the gathering darkness,
   the voice of the seagulls wailed.

H. K. LEATHEM.

Poem: The Witness, 24 January 1919

Seaside Thoughts

I looked on the silver, shimmering sea,
And a message of peace it brought to me,
As it mirrored the infinite blue above
’Twas an emblem fair of eternal love;
A message of peace to a world of woe,
A healing balm to the souls that know
Of the wounds of sorrow, and pangs of grief,
Unto tired hearts a sweet relief.

A holy calm like a healing balm
Or hallowed hush at the close of day;
Were life’s sea like thee from tempests free
What a peaceful haven this earth would be;
Not a ripple of care on its bosom fair,
No sob of sorrow, or dark despair.

Then the glassy bosom rose and fell
As if a sob caused that surging swell;
But presently like a child at play
Over the rocks tossed the feathery spray;
And I thought of the varying scenes of life,
The playful prank's and the storms of strife,
The peaceful calm and the sunshine fair,
The nights of sorrow and days of care.

O ever changing, restless sea!
Such must life’s ocean ever be;
Not always for us the sunshine sweet,
The holy calm and restful retreat;
But storms and sorrows, tempests and tears,
Mingle with joys thro' the passing years.

I looked on the sea when the billows roared
And the frowning sky its torrents poured,
While not a gleam illumed the grey,
Save the seething foam of the silv’ry spray,
And all night long the storm raged high;
But morning came with a cloudless sky,
And I thought of the conflicts stern and grim
When my flickering faith waxed weak and dim.

When life’s skies were grey and on my way
No beacon gleamed or sunshine lay;
But dawning came at the darkest hour,
God’s sunshine dispelled the storm-cloud’s power;
So may the woes of warfare cease,
And Freedom’s dawn bring eternal peace.

MARGARET S. NORRIS

Poem from The Witness, 20th September 1918