By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

They said she was a beauty,
Never saw her for myself;
But a replica to suit her,
Sits up nicely on my shelf.

She was made a wooden vessel,
With the strongest sail and mast;
Made by hands that knew the ocean,
And a mind to hold her fast.

She was everything a sailor,
Ever hopes for in a dream;
She was named "The Irish Beauty,"
And her voyage always clean.

Never mind the ocean churning,
Never mind the tempest’s gale;
She was deemed to be successful,
If her name was on the sail.

It was on a night uncertain,
When the winds began to blow;
The waves began to beat about,
And toss her to and fro.

The sailors unrelenting,
Never wavered from her side;
She was sure to match the fierceness,
On her strength and in her pride.

But a boat is only wooden,
And constructed out of hand;
Can be beaten and be broken,
By what can’t be seen or planned.

So it was "The Irish Beauty,"
When the winds became untame;
The churning of the ocean sank,
"The Irish Beauty’s" fame.

We are each like broken vessels,
We are human and we’re frail;
Like the ship we can be broken,
And so often we can fail.

Some ride voyages uncertain,
Some have storms that rage within;
Some have battles so enormous,
Seem impossible to win.

Every sailor needs a Savior,
Broken vessels let us know;
Jesus is the only answer,
When the winds begin to blow.