A Mariner's Grave

I recall the days right after the discovery of the wreck of the Civil War ironclad USS Monitor. (She sank in a storm off Cape Hatteras, I believe, during an open-ocean transit.) Some discussion was aired as to whether the wreck should be raised in its entirety and placed on display, since the technology exists to perform such a feat of engineering. Finally the decision came down to leave most of the ship where she was, and that she would be designated a Mariner's Tomb. It occurred to me that it would probably be an especially lonely place to spend eternity ... or then again, perhaps not.


A Mariner's Grave
By William Breyfogle

Now gather 'round, Sailors, and lis't while I sing
of the fate from which nothing can guard.
For no bearers will carry our mortal remains
when we go to our final reward.

CHORUS:
Oh, Sailors will toil, and rollick, and roil
and many are hearty and brave
But their bones will grow old in the dark and the cold
when they go to a mariner's grave.

Oh, a man can get nipped 'fore his time out at sea
and hasten his maker to meet.
So they'll grant his last wish, and feed him to fish
wrapped all in a white winding sheet.
The Skipper will muster the crew at the stern
and some words from the Book he'll intone.
But you'll slip in their wake, and below as you take
your long journey down, all alone.

CHORUS:
Oh, Sailors will toil, and rollick, and roil
and many are hearty and brave
But their bones will grow old in the dark and the cold
when they go to a mariner's grave.

The fish will accomp'ny you down, while they feast
but their bites needn't cause any pain
'Cause the honor you'll carry in Hell is affixed
by the size of your funeral train.
When you finally land, and rest on the sand,
and the oceans once more claim their own,
your keepers are moray and mollusk and skate
and the coral will build you a stone.

CHORUS:
Oh, Sailors will toil, and rollick, and roil
and many are hearty and brave
But their bones will grow old in the dark and the cold
when they lie in a mariner's grave.

And then there's the ships that take all hands below
as they slide to a watery doom.
And their decks are still manned by chilled corpses that stand
forever in unending gloom.
Now, shipwrights still build 'em the best that they can
and carpenters caulk up the seams.
But there's nothing will keep us from watery fates
when the waves put an end to our dreams.

CHORUS:
Oh, Sailors will toil, and rollick, and roil
and many are hearty and brave
But their bones will grow old in the dark and the cold
when they lie in a mariner's grave.


So pity poor Sailors, who'll never more walk
through a port with a wench by their side.
And with only a mark on the skipper's tide chart
To note the place where they died.


CHORUS:
Oh, Sailors will toil, and rollick, and roil
and many are hearty and brave
But their bones will grow old in the dark and the cold
when they go to a mariner's grave.