"I� II start to meet him in the wave."�

�Keep back!" she bade. " What strength have you,"

And I shall have you both to save,

Must work to pull you through !

"But out he went. Up shallow sweeps

Raced the long white-caps, comb on comb;

The wind, the wind that lashed the deeps,

Far, far it blew the foam.

The frozen foam went scudding by,�

Before the wind, the seething throng,

The waves, the waves came towering high

They flung the mate along.

The waves came towering high and white,

They burst m clouds of angry spray.

There mate and cripple sank from sight,

And, clinching, roll'd away.

Oh, Mother Becker, seas are dread,

Their treacherous paths are deep and blind.

But widows soon may mourn their dead

If thou art slow to find.

She sought them near, she sought them far.

Three fathoms down she gripp'd them tight

With both together up the bar

She stagger'd into sight.

Beside the fire her burdens fell:

She paused the cheering draught to pour,

Then waved her hands: " All's well, all's well !

Come on! Swim! swim ashore ! "

Sure, life is dear, and men are brave:

They came,�they dropped from mast and spar;

And who but she could brave the wave,

And dive beyond the bar?

Dark grew the sky from east to west;

And darker, darker grew the world;

Each man from off the breaker's crest

To gloomier depths was hurl'd.

And still the gale went shrieking on,

And still the wrecking fury grew;

And still the woman, worn and wan,

Those gates of death went through

As Christ were walking on the waves,

And heavenly radiance shone about,�

And bore the sailors out.

Down came the night, but far and bright,

Despite the wind and flying foam,

The bonfire flamed to give them light

To trapper Becker's home.

Oh, safety after wreck is sweet!

And sweet is rest in hut or hall;

One story life and death repeat,�

God's mercy over all.

Next day men heard, put out from shore,

Crossed channel-ice, burst in to find

Seven gallant fellows sick and sore,

A tender nurse and kind.

Shook hands, wept, laugh'd, were crazy glad;

Cried: " Never yet, on land or sea'

Poor dying, drowning sailors had

A better friend than she."

�Billows may tumble, winds may roar,

Strong hands the wreck'd from death may snatch;

But never, never, nevermore

This deed shall mortal match! "

Dear Mother Becker dropped her head,

She blushed as girls when lovers woo;

"I have not done a thing," she said,

"More than I ought to do."