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(learned in grade school in 1944)
(about a monumental statue in Boston harbor)

(staff to go here)

The Fisherman of Gloucester, he's weathered many gales,
He's gazing toward the open sea, and looking for the sails
Of the fishing boats of Gloucester, from the port of missing men.
The fishing boats of Gloucester that will never come again.

'Twas on an April morning when the boats they did set out,
Their sails were crisp and white as in the port they steered about,
And the womenfolk were waving as they stood upon the shore
To the fishing boats of Gloucester they'd never see no more.

'Twas at midnight on the ocean, all the hands they were asleep,
Except the sailors on the bridge the lonely watch did keep,
And a storm it started blowin' and they reefed up all the sail,
But mountains of the salty sea left none to tell the tale.

Many were the fisherwomen whose hearts they were bereft,
For of fourteen boats, two hundred men, not anyone was left.
Many were the little children whose fathers never came again
To sit down at the table in the port of missing men.

So the people there in Gloucester that mighty statue raised
Of the Fisherman of Gloucester with his never-blinking gaze,
Staring out across the sea at the changing of the sky
A symbol of the women's hope and prayer that never dies.

(from miriam berg's folksong collection)
(verses 2 through 5 added by miriam berg)