The Fisherman.
The fisherman’s life is a mighty war,—
He fights the winds and waves;
And on the broad plain of ocean afar
The hostile tempest braves.
When the sun shines clear, and the clouds float bright,
He hoists his ruddy sail,
And away he goes under breezes light
From home with a joyous—hail!
He baits his long lines and prepares his nets,
To take the finny prey;
And sings at his work until he gets
Far off in the open sea.
Now the land is gone, and no sights are near,
But calm blue skies above,
And ocean below him as bright and clear,
Yet green as a summer grove.
Mid the emerald depths he strives to snare
The swift free fish of the sea;
And when he has won of the spoils a share
He homeward plies his way.
Now the sun sinks down with a fierce red glare,
And dark clouds crowd his path,
To bid the fisherman bold beware
O’ th’ coming tempest’s wrath.
The night grows dark, and the winds roar high,
The wild waves proudly swell;
But mid the dread gloom, no star in the sky,
The mariner’s path to tell!
Each billow comes on like a mountain rock
To crush his fragile bark,
And cast him far down with an awful shock
To a grave in the waters dark.
His courage is high, but his heart will think
Of all in his happy home,
How in tears they’ll rush to the cliffs steep brink
And watch if his boat may come.
His home is where widows and orphans dwell,
Whose kin were lost in the sea;
And oft to each other they weeping tell
Of the loved they no more shall see.
But bright morning comes, and the wild wind veers,
The huge waves die away,
And mid the lost rage of the surf he steers
Right home through the well-known bay.
Go thou forth, then, fisherman bold, go forth
A thousand times again;
And loaded with spoils, to fond hearts return
In joy o’er the peaceful main.