Windblown, abreast the tide,
Upon the sun-baked sand,
She looks out across the foam,
Down the beach and back again.

She scans the flannel bay,
As a vessel crowds the bar,
Implores it on to safety,
T’ward a harbor down the shore.

She shouts across the waves—
Through mists and mocking gale—
And rails against her rival,
Who would dash the driven sail.

Though tides and breakers grasp
In frenzy at her skirt,
She stands her ground serenely,
Unflagging and alert.

She never leaves her post
Nor wearies of her care,
To faithfully give guidance
To one faltering out there.

Surely, that is all God asks,
Of each safe upon the shore,
To call to those in danger
And light the way to safety’s moor?