Lucy Maud Montgomery

Off to the Fishing Ground

There’s a piping wind from a sunrise shore
Blowing over a silver sea,
There’s a joyous voice in the lapsing tide
That calls enticingly;
The mist of dawn has taken flight
To the dim horizon’s bound,
And with wide sails set and eager hearts 
We’re off to the fishing ground. 

Ho, comrades mine, how that brave wind sings
Like a great sea-harp afar!
We whistle its wild notes back to it 
As we cross the harbor bar.
Behind us there are the homes we love 
And hearts that are fond and true,
And before us beckons a strong young day 
On leagues of glorious blue. 

Comrades, a song as the fleet goes out,
A song of the orient sea!
We are the heirs of its tingling strife, 
Its courage and liberty.
Sing as the white sails cream and fill, 
And the foam in our wake is long,
Sing till the headlands black and grim 
Echo us back our song! 

Oh, ’tis a glad and heartsome thing
To wake ere the night be done
And steer the course that our fathers steered 
In the path of the rising sun.
The wind and welkin and wave are ours 
Wherever our bourne is found,
And we envy no landsman his dream and sleep 
When we’re off to the fishing ground.