home to the scene of her future duties, labours and delights. There were the flags of old England and of many other land of progress upborne by stalwart, noble-looking fellows – members of God’s aristocracy – men whose hard-earned medals told plainly enough of past service, and whose calm, steadfast look told also of stuff being there to do good service again, if need there should be for it. And so they brought the boat home to the town where she is to abide, and good men waited beside her – men whose moral worth is a rock of strength to the place to which they belong; and the whole town had seen her; she is brought down to the beach and blessed with holy words of solemn prayer, and named with a good name. And then “Launch her out” is the cry. Forth she goes dancing over the waves as if glad to be on them. May she last long, strong and firm, to bear the buffeting of many rougher waves! Launched on a bright spring day amidst the hearty cheers of many thousands, we must remember that her launch for real work will be very different. Then eager eyes will be straining towards a scene of human agony, and every voice will be hushed in the excitement of anticipation. Then the true meaning of her name will be realised, when in the struggle for dear life she shall become the ark of refuge – the Lifeboat to those who without her aid must have gone down to the cold graves in the ocean depth. Three cheers then for the Lifeboat, and may her gallant crew go forth successfully on their errands of mercy!”
“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in the great waters; these see the works of the Lord and his wonders in the deep” Psalm cvii, 23, 24.
“Upon the beach that dreary night,
Men wandered up and down.
For they had seen an awful sight,
Hard by their ancient town.
Hard by the shore had perished
All souls upon the deck –
Souls whom they might have rescued
When first they saw the wreck.
No rocket and no lifeboat
This goodly town could boast
Though treach’rous rocks lie hidden
Along the Hastings coast.
No help for storm toss’d sailors,
In such a town as yours,
No lifeboat to the rescue
From Hastings happy shores.
But now the town is all astir,
The boat is on her way;
They bring her in procession
To launch her from the bay.
With banners and with music,
With clergy and with May’r;
With noble men to man her,
They give her greeting fair.
They call her the Victoria,
And send her on her way
Rejoicing as she ploughs the waves
Of Hastings noble bay.
God speed her now and ever!
And may she gladly save
Full many a human creature
From out a watery grave.
