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| WHEN the fisher-folk of the Netherland coast | |
| On perilous cruises sped, | |
| When the howling wind and the swirling foam | |
| A message of danger read— | |
| There was one to measure the dread of the sea | 5 |
| For the helpless women then, | |
| Whose bread was found on the crest of the wave | |
| By the sturdy fishermen. | |
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| There was one to read the cry of the heart | |
| As it sobbed to the lonely stone, | 10 |
| On the mound of the man who came no more, | |
| Who left her all alone— | |
| Alone to the wind and the sea and the storm | |
| That had claimed their murderous fill; | |
| Alone to the break of the taunting deep | 15 |
| And a cottage void and still. | |
| |
| There was one to sound the plumb of despair | |
| In the wandering martyr race | |
| That flies with the wind in the fearful round | |
| Of an everlasting chase; | 20 |
| To note the patient shoulder shrug, | |
| The pathos of mind and eye, | |
| In the form of the man with the mortal wounds, | |
| Who yet disdained to die. | |
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| Be good to the soul of the master, Lord, | 25 |
| Who limned with a deathless hand, | |
| The woes of the men whose mettle you try— | |
| The waifs of the sea and the land. | |
| Be good to his artist soul, O Lord, | |
| For he ate of the bread of tears | 30 |
| And drank from the bitter cup of those | |
| Who count the leaden years. | |
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