1.The fisheries off the coast of Newfoundland have been for nearly three hundred years among the mostimportant of the world.Hundreds of schoonersandother fishing craftcrowd the great Bank of New-foundlandand the neighbouring coasts from June toSeptember，some of them British，some French，and others American.The cold current which flows past thecoast of Labrador，often bringing icebergs with it，meetsthe warmer waters of the Gulf Streamnear these banks，and dense fogs are very common where this meetingtakes place.In the following poem the QuakerPoe.ofAmerica refers to the dangers of the fisherman‘s life：-]
2.Hurrah！the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain ；Heave up，my lads，the anchor，Run up the sail again！Leave to the lubber landsmenThe rail-car and the steed；The stars of heaven shall guide us，The breath of heaven shall speed.
3.From the hill-top looks the steeple，And the lighthouse from the sand，And the scattered pines are waving Their farewell from the land.
One glance，my lads，behind us，For the homes we leave one sigh，Ere we take the change and chances Of the ocean and the sky.
4.Now，brothers，for the icebergs Of frozen Labrador，Floating spectralin the moonshineAlong the low，black shore，Where like snow the gannet’sOn ‘Brador’s rocks are shed，feathersAnd the noisy murre Like black scuds are flying overhead；
5.Where in mist the rock is hiding，And the sharp reef And the white squall smites in summer，And the autumn tempests blow；Where through grey and rolling vapour，From evening unto morn，A thousand boats are hailing，Horn answering unto horn.
6.There we‘ll drop our lines，and gather Old Ocean’s treasures in，Where‘er the mottled mackerel Turns up a steel-dark fin.
7.Though the mist upon our jackets In the bitter air congeals ，And our lines wind stiff and slowly From off the frozen reels；Though the fog be dark around us，And the storm blow high and loud，We’ll whistle down the wild wind，And laugh beneath the cloud.
8.In the darkness as in daylight，On water as on land，God‘s eye is looking on us，And beneath us is His hand.Death will find us soon or later，On the deck or in the cot；And we cannot meet Him better Than in working out our lot.
9.Hurrah！hurrah！the west wind Comes freshening down the bay；The rising sails are filling，-Give way，my lads，give way！
Leave the coward landsman clinging To the dull earth，like a weed；The stars of heaven shall guide us，The breath of heaven shall speed！
