She took her tide and she passed the Bar with the
first o' the morning light;
She dipped her flag to the coast patrol at the
coming down of the night;
She has left the lights of the friendly shore and
the smell of the English land,
And she's somewhere South o' the Fastnet now--
God help her ... South o' the Fastnet now,
Playing her own lone hand.
She is ugly and squat as a ship can be, she was new
when the Ark was new,
But she takes her chance and she runs her risk as
well as the best may do;
And it's little she heeds the lurking death and
little she gets of fame,
Out yonder South o' the Fastnet now--
God help her ... South o' the Fastnet now,
Playing her own lone game.
She has played it once, she has played it twice,
she has played it times a score;
Her luck and her pluck are the two trump cards
that have won her the game before;
And life is the stake where the tin fish run and
Death is the dealer's name,
Out yonder South o' the Fastnet now--
God help her ... South o' the Fastnet now,
Playing her own lone game.
MISS C. FOX SMITH.
Jan. 2, 1918.