All day we fought the tides between the North 

Head and the South, 

All day we hauled the frozen sheets to scape the 

storm's 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 it's 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 coastguard's 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.