POETRY.

THE MINESWEEPERS.

(Over three hundred of Grimsby's great fleet of trawlers are engaged in the hazardous tusk of sweeping the seas for mines sown by the Germans.)

"'WARE mine ! "

"Starboard your helm!" . . . " Full speed ahead!"

The squat craft duly swings:— A hand's breadth off, a thing of dread

The sullen breaker flings.

Carefully, slowly, patiently, The men of Grimsby Town

Grope their way on the rolling sea—

The storm-swept, treach'rows, grey North Sea—.

Keeping the death-rate down.

Cold is the wind as the Gates of Death, Howling a dirge with its biting breath, Tearing rude music from rigging taut—. The tune with deadly omen fraught " Look to yourselves, oh, sailors bold-. I am the one ye know of old!

I make my sport with such as ye— The game that is played on every sea With death as the loser's penalty!"

Valiantly, stoutly, manfully, The trawlers fight the gale ;

Buoyant they ride on the rolling sea—

The storm-swept, treacherous, grey North Sea—.

Lashed by the North Wind's flail.

Crnel the waves of that ocean areal., Whelming the heart with a pulsying fear, Hurling their might on the stagg'ring craft, Crashing aboard of her fore and aft, Buffeting, pounding, a dreadful force, Sweeping her decks as she bugs her course.

Little they care, cone wind or wave, The men of Grimsby Town; There are mines to destroy and lives to save, And they take the risk, these eailormen brave, With a laugh and a joke, or a rollicking stave, As the gear goes plunging down.

Honour the trawler's crew, For Fear they never knew ! Now on their quest they go With measured tack and slow—. Seeking the hidden fate Strewn with a devilish hate.

Death may come in a ten-ibis form, Death in a calm or death in a storm, Death without warning, stark and grim. Death with a tearing of limb from limb, De all in a horrible, hideous guise :— Snell is the minesweepers' sacrifice! Careless of terrors and scornful of ease, Stolid and steadfast, they sweep the seas. Cheerfully, simply, fearlessly,

The men of Grimsby Town

Do their bit on the rolling sea— The storm-swept, treach'rous, grey North Sea—

Doing their duty unflinchingly Keeping the death-rate down.