When the dark comes down, oh, the children fall 
     
     asleep, 
     
    

    
     And mothers in the fisher huts their happy vigils keep; 
     
    

    
     There’s music in the song they sing and music on the 
     
     sea, 
     
    

    
     The loving, lingering echoes of the twilight’s litany, 
     
    

    
     For toil has folded hands to dream, and care has 
     
     ceased to frown, 
     
    

    
     And every wave’s a lyric when the dark comes down. 
     
    
   
   
    
     15