"
They coiled a stout rope and with powerful hand,
Flung it out o'er the turbulent wave.
Joy! Joy! he is saved! He clutches the rope,
With cold, bruised and stiffening hand,
A long pull, a strong' pull, and more dead than alive,
Through the surf they draw him to land.
"Home, home for hot coffee," to the lassie she cried,
Home, home for hot coffee, went she,
Returning, brought coffee, dry clothing, warm food,
A fleet-footed lassie was she.
But the kid, boylike, would investigate the boat,
And so he climbed over its side.
"Half full of water," he said, "not a bluefish or clam,
Must have all floated out on the tide."
With boat hook and lantern, the kids travelled home,
"Little sister, now what do you think,
Hadn't we said, 'Now I lay me,' to the Lord every night?
Would He let Pa and our dory sink?"
"No, no," said the lassie, "No, no, that ain't so,
Naughty children very often are we,
'Tis 'cause Ma puts a Bible in Pa's chest of clothes
Every time that he goes 'way to sea."
Gratitude profound, thanksgiving and joy
Filled the heart of the loving wife,
But the captain, a man of few words, only said,
"Yes, a pretty narrow squeak for a life.
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