Song for the Sailor-men.

NOW it's hail to the commander,

And it's hail the valiant fleet! And it's hail the guns that thundered Through the battle's lurid heat! But we'll not forget the sailors, So it's sailor-men, hurrah!

It's your country's hand we give you, For to shake your grimy paw.

The sailor-men, the sailor-men,
The men who fought below,
The gunners and the striplings

And the navvies we don't know
But it's hail to them, and Honor
Wreath her roses 'round their fame;
For 'twas them that did their duty
When the cannon spoke their flame!

Oh, cheer the mighty commodore,-
The credit is his due, —
And cheer the under officers,
The gunners and the crew!
But don't forget the sailor-men,
Who fought the fight below,

A SONG FOR THE SAILOR-MEN.

Where the devil lit his furnace,
And they hadn't any show.

The sailor-men, the sailor-men,
A flag we'll fly for them,
And the girls will wreath the roses
In a gaudy diadem,

For to crown the seaman's valor,
And to honor them that sweat
Where the devil lights his furnace
And the bloody decks are wet.

Now it's hail unto the commodore,
The captains, and all that!
But we sha'n't forget the underlings,
Or be they Mike or Pat;

For they fought the fight with valor
Here's your country's hand to you,
Every hearty lad that's numbered
In the squadron's noble crew.

The sailor-men, the sailor-men,
The lowest and the high,
With a heart for any duty,—

Though that duty be to die,
Here's a cheer across the valleys,
And an echo o'er the hills;

For the land from hill to valley

With your splendid triumph thrills!

Yea, hail the grimy sailor-man, —
And sure he's got a breast
That is filled with love of country, -
And it's hail him with the rest,
For the fires he kept a-burning,
And the guns he kept awake,
And the sweet life that he offered
For his darlin' country's sake!

Oh, the sailor-man, the sailor-man!
When all is said and done,
At Manila or wherever

Valor's bloody race is run,
He's deservin' of affection;

For, behold, the commodore Without the grimy sailor-man Can't make the cannon roar!

IN DAYS LIKE THESE.

In Days Like These.

GOD of hosts, whose mighty hand
Our fathers led across the seas,
We took from thee our goodly land,
To thee we look in days like these.
'Mid swelling tumult, bitter word,

'Mid clashing arms and bugles' blare, While war-drums fret the fevered air, In days like these, be near, O Lord.

The winds have swept our colors out,
Our polished guns the sun has kissed;

With measured step and loyal shout,

The men trooped by who now are missed. The hilltops signal far away,

And sea calls sea with beacon lips,
Where ride our far-flung battle ships,

To strike the foe at break of day.

Forgive, O Lord, that we forgot

To humble self and thee to please; Our vows unkept, sins thought, unthought, Forgive, O Lord, in days like these. Our gift upon the altar lies,

Accept it ere thou call us hence, Although thou saidst obedience Is better than a sacrifice.

'Tis not for gain or vengeful spite

Our treasure and our life is poured,
But for the wronged who have no might,
Whose cry has reached the ear of God.
In days like these our motives take,

Since whom thou usest thou must trust;
And when we strike because we must,
Help us to heal the wounds we make.

- Thomas H. Stacy.