There we'll drop our lines, and gather
Old ocean's treasures in,
Where'er the mottled mackerel
Turns up a steel-dark fin.
The sea's our field of harvest,
Its scaly tribes our grain;
We'll reap the teeming waters
As at home they reap the plain.
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 will whistle down the wild wind,
And laugh beneath the cloud!
Hurra!--Hurra!--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!
* * * * *
Directions for Reading.--Let some pupil in the class state in what
manner the lesson should be read.
* * * * *
Language Lesson.--Change the verbs throughout the sixth stanza so as
to represent past action.
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