  The fishermen bade their wives farewell, (The sun floated merry up the morning) They sang, to the rhythm of the low-swung swell, "O come, lads, scorning The highlands high, There's no warning In the blue south sky, There's no warning, O come, lads, free, We'll cross the harbor bar and put to sea!" The fisherwives prayed, the sails blew fast, (O home it is happy where there's hoping) They prayed—till the mist dimmed each dim mast: They sweetly sang, "Winds come groping And clouds o'erhang, But we're not moping Tho left ashore; They'll come to us at dusk when day is o'er." But swifter than God the sea-quake came, (The fishers they were swallowed in its swirling) O swifter than men could name God's name. And white waves curling Hissed in to shore. The sea-birds whirling Saw what, dashed hoar? The sea-birds whirling Saw dead upborne The fishers that went forth upon the morn. |
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