The Old Sailor  (Crossing the Bar)

He was getting a little older, and his hair was falling fast,

And he sat around the Naval Club telling stories of the past.

Of a war that he had fought in, and the deeds that he had done,

In his exploits with his buddies - they were heroes every one.

And though sometime to his neighbours, his tales became a joke

All his navy buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.

But we'll hear his tales no longer, for our shipmates passed away,

And the world is a little poorer, for a sailor died today.

He was just a common sailor, and his ranks are growing thin,

But his presence should remind us, we may need his kind again.

For when countries are in conflict, then we find the sailor's part,

Is to clean up all the troubles that others often start.

If we cannot give him honour, while he's here to hear the praise,

Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.

Perhaps a simple notice in a paper that would say,

Our country is in mourning, because a sailor passed away.

Author Unknown

When The Last Hand Comes Aboard

No more a watch to stand, Old Sailor.
For you are drifting on an ebbing tide.
Eight Bells has rung. Last dogwatch done.
Now a new berth awaits you on the other side.

Your ship is anchored in God’s Harbour.
And your ship mates, now of equal rank.
Are mustered on the deck to greet.
And Pipe as you ascend the Plank.

Her Boilers with full head of steam.
Cargo stowed and alley stored.
Just waiting to get underway.
When the last Hand comes aboard.

Look sharp! That Hand is you, Old Sailor.
And you’ll be sailing out on Heavenly Seas.
May the wind be ever at your back.
Fair weather, and God Speed!

Written by Richard John Scarr

© Richard John Scarr