With awe-struck gladness we looked around,
Waiting to hear the last trumpet sound.
From living death in that desolate Bay,
We had sprung to welcome the judgment day;
Although in the pit should our lot be cast,
So that this our great woe should end at last.
The bleak spring came, the ice did part;
Devils entered each sailor's heart;
No blessed thoughts sweetened our wretched lives,
Of the distant mother's, sweethearts, and wives;
Of innocent pleasures we valued most,
In the greenwood haunts of our childhood's home,
In sweet English vale, or bold Breton coast,
That we left to sail on the salt sea foam.
We launched the boat--we, the wicked crew--
Strong in the evil we meant to do,
To leave the most helpless ones behind--
The men who were loathsome, sick and blind.
We tumbled them in without sail or oar;
We forced in the captain and his son;
And when the horrible crime was done
We mocked them and told them to go ashore.
O, Mighty God of the sea and land!
Where hadst Thou hidden Thy strong right hand;
That this should happen under the sky,
And be looked at by Thy All-seeing eye
For we spread our sails to leave that spot,
Secure in that God regarded not.
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