Gloucester Skipper's Song
by James Brendan Connolly

OH, Newf'undland and Cape Shore men, and men of Gloucester town,
With ye, I've trawled o'er many banks and sailed the compass roun' ; 
I've ate with ye, and watched with ye, and bunked with ye, all three,
And better shipmates than ye were I never hope to see.
I've seen ye in the wild typhoon beneath a Southern sky,
I've seen ye when the Northern gales drove seas to masthead high;
But summer breeze or winter blow, from Hatt'ras to Cape Race,
I've yet to see ye with the sign of fear upon your face.  

There's a gale upon the waters and there's foam upon the sea,
 And looking out the window is a dark-eyed girl for me— 
And driving her for Gloucester, maybe we don't know 
What the little ones are thinking when the mother looks out so. 
Oh, the children in the cradle and the father out to sea,
The husband at the helm and looking westerly — 
When you get to thinking that way, don't it make your heart's blood foam?
Be sure it does —so here's a health to those we love at home! 

Oh, the roar of shoaling waters, and the awful, awful sea,
Busted shrouds and parting cables, and the white death on our lee! 
Oh, the black, black night on Georges, when eight score men were lost!- 
Were ye there, ye men of Gloucester? Aye, ye were; 
and tossed Like chips upon the water were your little craft that night —
Driving, swearing, calling out, but ne'er a call of fright: 
So knowing ye for what ye are, ye masters of the sea,
Here's to ye, Gloucester fishermen, a health to ye from me!
 
And here's to it that once againWe'll trawl and seine and race again;
Here's to us that's living and to them that's gone before!
And when to us the Lord says "Come,"
We'll bow our heads, " His will be done,"
And all together we shall go beneath the ocean's roar.