The Hungry Sea

Down to the sea, the hungry sea,
    O the sea is hungry ever!
Seeking food for the bairns and me,
Seeking food in the hungry sea;
    O the sea is hungry ever!

My man and my lad--their bones are white,
    O the sea is hungry ever!
Into the maw of the grim black night,
Their hearts were bold and their faces bright;
    O the sea is hungry ever!


The sun was red and the clouds were black,
    O the sea is hungry ever!
And the sky was heavy with flying wrack,
When forth they fared,--and they came not back;
    O the sea is hungry ever!


Forth they fared and they came not back,
    O the sea is hungry ever!
O, I fear the sea, and I hate the sea,
That took my man and my lad from me;
    O the sea is hungry ever!

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

William Arthur Dunkerley, better known by his pen name John Oxenham, was an English journalist, novelist, and poet. He was a prolific writer in the early 20th century, producing a wide range of literary works including poetry, hymns, and novels. His works often reflected Christian themes and were popular during his time. Dunkerley also contributed to the establishment of the Boys' Brigade, a notable youth organization in the UK. His legacy includes a significant contribution to both literature and social causes.

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham)

Everymaid

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

No East Or West

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

Props

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

The Winnowing

William Arthur Dunkerley (John Oxenham), Simple Poetry

English

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"Alas! what perils do environ
That man who meddles with a siren!" - Hudibrus.



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I met a sailor in the woods,
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He lifts his voice yet louder,
    'What smell be this,' says he,
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And winy briar too,' says I,
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Down on the shore, on the sunny shore!
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Down on the shore, on the stormy shore!
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Hear now the Song of the Dead, in the North by the torn berg-edges,
They that look still to the Pole, asleep by their hide-stripped sledges.
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Where the warrigal whimpers and bays through the dust of the sere river-courses.

Song of the Dead in the East, in the heat-rotted jungle-hollows,
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I

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Three corpses lay out on the shining sands
    In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
...

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