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The Fisherman's Summons

The Fisherman's Summons image
Parent Issue
Public Domain
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The sea 'is calling, calling, Wüe, is there a log to spare f Fling it down on the hearth and cali tlicm in, 'J'lit; boys and girls with their merry din, I ara loath to leave you all just yet, In the light aud noi'se I might forget The voice in the open air. The sea i calling, calling, Along the hollow shore, I kuow each nook in tho rocky strand, And the erimson weeds on the golden sancl, And the worn oldcliffs where the sea-pinks chng, And the wmking caves where the echoes ring, 1 shall wake them liever more. How it keeps a calling, calling, It is nover a night to eail. I save the " sea-dog " over the height, A I straiued through the haze my failmg signt, Aud the cottage creaks and rocks, well nigh, As the old " Fox " did in the days goue ly, In the moau of the rismg gale. Yet it is calling, calling, It is hard on a soul I say To go fluttering out in the cold and dark, Like the bad tliey teil us of froni the ark ; While the fuani flies thick on the bitter blust, Aud tlie angry waves roll fierce and fast, Where the black buoy inarks the bay. Do you hear it calling, calling ? And yet, I am none so old. No boat beat mine ior tackle and gear, ruid 1 steered the coble past the reef, Wlieu the broad sail shook like a withered leaf, And the rudder chafed ïny hold. Will it never stop calling, calling F Cau't you siug a soug ty the heai th 'i A heartsome stave ot a merry glass, Or a gallant flght , or a bonnie lass, Düu't you care yor your graud-dad just so raven, (Jome near then, give ma a hand to touch, . iátill warm with the warinth of earth. You hear it calling, calling ? Ask liuf why she sits aud cries. She al vaya did when the sea was up, She woulJ fret, aud never take bit or sup Wheu I and the lads were out at night, And sbe saw the breakers cresting white lieueath the low black skies. But, then, it is calling, callmg, No summous to soul was sent. Now- well, fetch the parson find the book, It is up on the shelf there if you look, The sea has beeu friend, aud iire, aud bread ; Pat me where it will teil of me, lying dead, Huw it called, and I rose and went.


Old News
Michigan Argus