Alec Yeaton's Son

GLOUCESTER, AUGUST, 1720     The wind it wailed, the wind it moaned,     And the white caps flecked the sea;     "An' I would to God," the skipper groaned,     "I had not my boy with me!"     Snug in the stern-sheets, little John     Laughed as the scud swept by;     But the skipper's sunburnt cheek grew wan     As he watched the wicked sky.     "Would he were at his mother's side!"     And the skipper's eyes were dim.     "Good Lord in heaven, if ill betide,     What would become of him!     "For me--my muscles are as steel,     For me let hap what may;     I might make shift upon the keel     Until the break o' day.     "But he, he is so weak and small,     So young, scarce learned to stand--     O pitying Father of us all,     I trust him in Thy hand!     "For Thou, who markest from on high     A sparrow's fall--each one!--     Surely, O Lord, thou'lt have an eye     On Alec Yeaton's son!"     Then, helm hard-port; right straight he sailed     Towards the headland light:     The wind it moaned, the wind it wailed,     And black, black fell the night.     Then burst a storm to make one quail     Though housed from winds and waves--     They who could tell about that gale     Must rise from watery graves!     Sudden it came, as sudden went;     Ere half the night was sped,     The winds were hushed, the waves were spent,     And the stars shone overhead.     Now, as the morning mist grew thin,     The folk on Gloucester shore     Saw a little figure floating in     Secure, on a broken oar!     Up rose the cry, "A wreck! a wreck!     Pull, mates, and waste no breath!"--     They knew it, though 'twas but a speck     Upon the edge of death!     Long did they marvel in the town     At God his strange decree,     That let the stalwart skipper drown     And the little child go free!