"While many a manly spirit quenched Its life beneath the wave, A few from death a moment wrenched, Clung o'er an awful grave. Their cries were heard from lonely tower, Unseen amidst the gloom; A simple girl was sent, with power To snatch them from the tomb. "She urged her aged sire to ply, With her, the frail boat's oar; A father's love had mastery, He dared not leave the shore. Her prayers prevailed--they forth were led By God's own helping hand; And those who were accounted dead Sang praises on the land. "'Tis sad to think the ocean cave May hide a gem so pure-- But joy to feel 'tis ours to save Such worth from fate obscure. Then let us sing 'The boatie rows,' To tell of her fair fame, Who honour on the race bestows-- Grace Darling is her name. "'The boatie rows, the boatie rows,' In safety through the deep; For Grace on Mercy's mission goes, And angels watch shall keep." Numerous songs in honour of the lighthouse-maiden were written and sung, some of which we shall give in these pages. Among the rest was the following, which both Grace and her father highly esteemed, as it was from the pen of Wordsworth:-- "Among the dwellers in the silent fields The natural heart was touched, and public way, And crowded street, resound with ballad strains, Inspired by one, whose very name bespeaks Favour divine, exalting human love, Whom, since her birth on bleak Northumbria's coast, Known but to few, but prized as far as known, A single act endears to high and low Through the whole land--to manhood, moved in spite Of the world's freezing cares--to generous youth-- To infancy, that lisps her praise--and age, Whose eye reflects it, glistering through a tear Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame Awaits her now; but, verily, good deeds Do not imperishable record find Save in the rolls of heaven, where her's may live, A theme for angels, when they celebrate The high-soul'd virtues which forgetful earth Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak Of things which their united power call'd forth From the pure depths of her humanity! A maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call, Firm and unflinching as the lighthouse reared. On the island rock, her lonely dwelling place, Or like the invincible rock itself that braves, Age after age, the hostile elements, As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell.