The Rebel Maid

Around the shores of England, which stretch towards the sea,
There dwell an ancient people, and they labour mightily.
In havens unfrequented that the busy life forgets,
The fishermen of England are working at their nets.

In tiny vessels they defy the perils of the deep
And scan the waters' dreary waste with eyes that never sleep.
And when at night you safely lie, in blankets snug and warm,
The fishermen of England are riding out the storm.

And when the foes of England, set sail in fury blind
The children of the storm arise, and leave their nets behind
With merry oath and laughter, and a smile apon their lips,
The fishermen of England, go down to the sea in ships.