To the tune of “Southern Cross.”
On the fifteenth day of February,
The Ocean Ranger was capsized
And lost all of its crew;
Eighty-four precious lives were lost
On that sad and fateful day,
Some were Newfoundlanders
And some were CFA.
The crew in desperation tried
To launch their covered boats,
When they saw the rig, the Ranger,
Would no longer stay afloat;
But the seas were far too treacherous,
And the waves were far too high;
And each man knew that hope was gone,
It was his time to die.
And what an awful night it was,
Out on those roaring seas;
The Russian trawler went down, too,
Just sixteen miles east;
And thirty Russian lives were lost,
And they were just as dear
As those we lost from Newfoundland
And memories we revere.
Like their sons who follow after,
And their fathers gone before,
Our men must earn their living
On that wild and treacherous shore;
And whether they’re hunting fish,
Or seals, whales, or crude oil,
They must endure and persevere
In hardship and in toil.
And now the wakes are over,
And the masses have been said;
And the widows and the orphans
Now are left to mourn their dead;
We pray to God the Father,
And the Son, and Holy Ghost,
To protect all those who venture forth
Off Newfoundland’s fateful coast.