St. Andrew's Eve

The last night of November

All dreaming as I lay,

I saw a fisher toiling

In stormy seas and grey, -

A glimmering seine-net casting

In foam as white as wool...

And sometimes it came empty,

And sometimes it came full.

That port that fisher hailed from

Was the port of Heaven above:

The shining net he cast there

Was the net of Christ His love.

That seine it shone like silver

Or the Milky Way come down...

And, oh! the catch he took there

Was the souls of those who drown.