The Buoy-Bell

Charles Tennyson Turner (1808–1879)

HOW like the leper, with his own sad cry

Enforcing his own solitude, it tolls!

That lonely bell set in the rushing shoals,

To warn us from the place of jeopardy!

O friend of man! sore-vexed by ocean’s power,

The changing tides wash o’er thee day by day;

Thy trembling mouth is filled with bitter spray,

Yet still thou ringest on from hour to hour;

High is thy mission, though thy lot is wild—

To be in danger’s realm a guardian sound;

In seamen’s dreams a pleasant part to bear,

And earn their blessing as the year goes round,

And strike the key-note of each grateful prayer,

Breathed in their distant homes by wife or child!