As Of Old

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: Then "We're not moping," 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.