What joy attends the fisher's life,
Blow, winds, blow,
The fisher and his faithful wife,
Row, boys, row.
He drives no plough on stubborn land,
His fields are ready to his hand;
No nipping frosts his orchards fear,
He has his autumn all the year.

The husbandman has rent to pay,
Blow, winds, blow,
And seed to purchase every day,
Row, boys, row.
But he who farms the rolling deeps,
Though never sowing, always reaps.
The ocean's fields are fair and free,
There are no rent days on the sea.