All day we fought the tides between the North

Head and the South,

All day we hauled the frozen sheets to scape the

storms wet mouth,

All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and

dread,

For very life and nature we tacked from head

to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the

tide-race roared;

But every tack we made we brought the North

Head close aboard:

We saw the cliffs and houses and the breakers

running high,

And the coastguard in his garden, his glass

against his eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as

ocean foam;

The good red fi res were burning bright in every

long-shore home;

The windows sparkled clear and the chimneys

volleyed out;

And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel

went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a

mighty jovial cheer;

For its just that I should tell you how (of all days

in the year)

This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas

morn,

And the house above the coastguards was the

house where I was born.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that

was of me,

Of the shadow on the household and the son that

went to sea;

And, oh, the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind

of way,

To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed

Christmas Day.