The Union from St. Johns

Ye landsmen and ye landsmen bold
Such little that you know
What us poor sailors do endure
When the stormy winds do blow.
The eighteenth day of November passed
A heavy gail came on
The heavens above looked angry on us
And the clouds o'ercast the sun.
The wind about east and beside me boys.
And heavy showers of hail
The night been dark and stormy me boys,
'Twas on a leeshore we detailed.
Our captain gave us orders
And orders we must obey
He said you'd had better get for'ard me boys
Your forsail to lower away
We tried to reef our main sail in
It really couldn't be done
It was under a free reefed for'sail me boys
Five leagues o'er the sea she run.
Once more she gently rises
Which caused all hands to say:
"God bless our noble vessel me boys
Once more she has the sea."

Bout three o'clock in the morning
We recieved a dreadful shock
We spied a craft on her beam-ends
A mile below Bellows Rock.
We boarded the wreck in the morning
A dismal sight to behold.
Three frozen seamen lashed at her pumps
Five more in her cabin lay cold.
And now they're gone, God bless them
My boys, your race is run
A widow must weep for her husband dear,
And a mother, her darling son.
She is the Union from St. Johns.
How well I knows her mold.
And every time I thinks un'er distress
It makes my blood run cold.
She is the Union from St. Johns.
Right well I knows her name
And every night as I lay on my bed,
I can hear the young widows complain.

Traditional Folk Song